Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) (59 page)

The moment when she looked over her shoulder at me and casually asked, “I think it’s stuck…can you get the zipper for me?”

I just stared at her like an uber-mental defective. I couldn’t even formulate a coherent word or question to help myself comprehend the incomprehensibility of what she was doing. All I had was a string of consonants and symbols like; ?wh%[email protected]*rsz!

The tears had dried up in my confused stupor but I was still blinking when she looked at me again and said, “Please? It just won’t budge at—Oh! There it goes...never mind.”

I found my voice and words when I watched her dress slip off her shoulders, slide down the entire length of her body, and come to rest in a puddle of velvet around her bare feet. Well, stockinged feet if I’m being specific, but she
had
kicked off her heels at some point. I’m guessing I missed that part due to my extreme divergence from the path of rational thought a minute ago.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Tristan?”

“Uh, it looks like you’re taking your fucking clothes off!”

“That’s because I am.”

“Wha—
Why?!?
I mean for the love of
God
, Camie, I
just
got done telling you that I almost
raped
you, so in response you’re taking your
clothes
off??!!”

“Mm-hm. You can help if you want or, you can start on yours…your choice.”

And with that I was back to ?wh%[email protected]*rsz! But I was more baffled? No. Blithering. Yeah, blithering is exceedingly appropriate for my lack of articulate thought here. And since I’m blithering, maybe it should be
?wh%[email protected]*rsz!

Honestly, I just stood there with my jaw completely slack, watching her first put the toes of one slender foot on the ice chest and bend one long leg to remove the shimmering silk stocking that was encasing smooth flesh, and then I watched her go through the same enticingly mouthwatering process with the other. I think the stockings had to have been held up with skyhooks or clear fishing line or something because she wasn’t wearing any kind of garter. That’s what I was trying to focus on figuring out and failing miserably at doing when she got to the tips of her toes on the second leg and still bending at the waist, she turned her head just slightly to look at me. I don’t have the foggiest clue what my expression was or how she took it, but the slow, sensual grin that spread across her face as she finished removing the flimsy silk from her nibble-worthy toes bordered between being suggestively titillating and just this side of explicitly risqué. And yeah, I was totally turned on and completely hard. Oh, and I’m pretty goddamned sure I was drooling…

My mental blithering was losing consonants and gaining symbols, predominantly exclamation points, probably making it look more like,
!?!w%[email protected]!m*!sz!!!
when she straightened, turned to face me and while raising an eyebrow at me as if she were daring me, she reached behind her to begin unhooking the piece of lingerie resembling a corset that she was wearing, causing me to start truly panicking.

“Uh—ooh…no, don—don’t uh…don’t do that…oh Jesus, Camie…ooh
please
, don’t…just um…just no…stop what you’re uh…ju—just…
aaaahhh
!!” I blithered out loud and squeezed my eyes shut. I also put my hand over them and turned around. You know, just because. I heard her quietly chuckle to herself, which made me wince even though I couldn’t see her anymore, and then I said, “Can you um…please put your dress back on, please? Yeah, the dress. Back on…that would be great…I’d like that
very
much. Um, please.”

“Oh, well, I guess. Um...do you mean
this
dress?” She asked so innocently, fooling me into turning around to make sure she and I were talking about the same dress. Oh my God…like there’s another goddamned dress just lying around that she can wear?! Fucking moron.

I was drooling again, seeing her standing in the firelight; naked aside from the charm bracelet I’d given her and the sheer white thong that was essentially just for decoration, holding her dress in one hand. I squeezed my eyes shut again against the painfully tantalizing vision she was and nodding my head and pointing in the dress’s general direction I mumbled, “Yep, mm-hm, that’s the one…”

“Ooops,” she said, making my eyes pop open to see that she’d dropped her dress and flames were devouring it.

It was devious and it was wicked and it was totally on purpose.
And
it made me start to truly whimper.

“
Wh-h-hy, Camie?
Why are you
doing
this?”

“Why are you fighting me on this?”

“Wh—
fighting
you? Camie, I almost ra—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah. I did.”

“No. You didn’t. Tristan, you can’t rape the willing and I was more than willing. I uh…just didn’t tell you I wa—”

“Nope. Nu-uh. You were
not
willing. You were as far away from being willing as Brandon is from being clean cut.”

“You’re wrong. I made up my mind when I woke up Saturday morning and I was
planning
for it to happen
that
night, Tristan. Planning. I just didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t know how and honestly, I thought it would make the whole day and party really awkward and also, I thought it would be better or more romantic or something if it was a surprise. But then I saw you take that shot with Mike in the kitchen so I scratched my plan because in the desert you told me you wanted to be sober for the main event. That’s why I started drinking too, but I promise, I was one hundred percent sober when I decided, I was one hundred percent sure and I was one hundred percent ready.”

“Be that as it may, Camie, I saw your face. You
weren’t
ready. You were petrified. And you said no.
More
than once! I mean do you remember how many times you told me to stop? Because I do! Five times, Camie!
Five.
And once
should’ve
been enough! Actually, you shouldn’t have even had to say it once… And I knew it! I
knew
it, Camie! I knew how hard it was getting for me to control my base desire to have you even when I was
sober
for Christ’s sake, and I should’ve
never
put us in that situation in the first place!”

“
You
didn’t, Tristan. I did. If I’d told you…if I’d just
talked
to you and let you know I was ready and wanted you to give me that
gift
, neither of us would’ve ever taken a drink that night and none of this
bullshit
would’ve happened! The whole thing, the last four, miserable weeks, all the hurt, anguish and heartbreak, all the confusion,
all
of it was
my
fault,
not
yours! And I wasn’t petrified, I was about to puke up my intestines and I desperately didn’t wanna puke them up on you!”

I didn’t know what to say. I was shaking my head in denial, not willing to let her, not even for a single moment, believe that she was at fault for even a minute part of this but everything she’d said made sense. I could see where she’d believe she was to blame because her argument was sound. It had merit. Then it occurred to me that everything that had happened could be summed up in one word. Communication. Or rather, a frightening lack of it. And we were
both
to blame. Equally.

Well, almost equally.

“I get what you’re saying, I do, but Baby, I won’t let you take the blame here because I
am
responsible. Regardless of the details and everything I didn’t know and that you didn’t know that was the result of a devastating lack of communication, ultimately, I’m still the one who has to be responsible. We can throw everything else out as non-factors because regardless of
why
you said it,
you
said rain and I
didn’t
call the game.”

She’d moved so that she was standing within arms of reach of me and as she looked into my eyes, I saw none of the hurt, anger, fear, repulsion, judgment, or accusation I was so sure I was gonna face in hers tonight. All that was there was grace. And love. So I took it. I took what she was giving to me as the free gift it was, and I didn’t argue with her or turn away from her when she walked into my arms and whispered, “But you did. Maybe not right away, but, you did.” Then she raised herself on her tiptoes as she brought my head down to hers and when our lips met and melded, she gave me her breath and I took that too.

And because the contents were no longer under pressure, Camie and I were without risk of bubbling over; free to enjoy the “champagne passion” we have for each other. I only wish that the without risk part carried over throughout the whole night, but, turns out that wasn’t gonna be in the cards. I’m also pretty sure God had been getting another really good chuckle at my expense with the wicked curve ball Camie would shortly be throwing at me in tonight’s game of Thunderdome. I mean, He had to
know
I would go down in this round, too, the big omnipotent jerk…

“Are you sure? I mean are you really,
really
sure?” I asked her in a whisper, looking into her eyes as we were lying on the blankets next to the fire, under the stars and full moon of a clear night sky, “Because once it’s done, there’s no going back and I can wait, so, you need to be sure.”

She nodded and with her voice not producing even the smallest quaver of indecision she said, “I’m sure. I wan—no. I need this…
we
need this.”

Finally assured of her certainty, I went back to kissing her, but cracking my eyes open to look above her head and the pillows, I pulled my essentials bag closer, mentally noting the idea that I would’ve made a phenomenal Boy Scout based on the fact that I’m always prepared, while I also went to reach for my little (don’t laugh), black iCat that was next to the bag that I’d had out here so I could listen to music without needing earbuds while I camped out. However, rather than making all the decisions myself, I stopped in mid-reach, looking at her again, and pulling my lips away from hers I asked, “Music or no music?”

“Um…music?”

I chuckled a little at her indecisive answer while completing my reach, then when I had the girls’ musical cousin in my hand; I turned it and my iPod on and brought up a playlist I’d began making on Halloween after I found out that I might be her first and that she might be mine. I scanned some of the songs but again decided to not leave her out of the process. “Shuffle or no shuffle?”

“Really, Tristan, can you just take this one? I think I’ve made enough life impacting decisions for one night.”

I grinned at her and the impatience in her tone to get things rolling that she didn’t even bother trying to hide and said, “The songs in this playlist are all pretty great so let’s have Jesus DJ for us.” Then I put the cat shaped speaker back where it was and clicked the play shuffle icon before looking down into her beautiful face and eyes that were filled with starlight and anticipation. I’d just barely gotten myself comfy again and had brought my lips to hers when the first song started, causing me to suddenly bury my face in her neck and my whole body to shake with laughter.

“You’ve
got
to be freaking kidding me!” She grumbled under me when she heard and recognized John Fogerty’s classic, hilariously upbeat, and ludicrously inappropriate for this moment baseball song, “Centerfield.” The whole song is about playing the actual game of baseball, but I mean the chorus is “Put me in coach, I’m ready to play today,” and another line is “You know I think it’s time I gave this game a ride,” and it goes on to describe him hitting a home run. And after we’d talked in my car the morning of Halloween, this song was the first to make the playlist…I mean I couldn’t
not
! “I’m finding it really hard to believe, Tristan, that
Jesus
would choose
this
song!”

“Well! He’s obviously got a warped sense of humor, granted, but, really good taste in music too?” I laughed and then looked at her and made a more serious attempt to get serious. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll be serious now…but Camie, come on, that was hysterical. You have to admit it…that was damned funny.”

“Ha. Ha,” she said and then started to giggle.

So that’s how we started. By the time we really got down to business however, the song was long over and neither of us were laughing or giggling. My whole body was still trembling though. I’ll be perfectly honest here; I was
beyond
nervous. Nervous like I’d never been nervous in my entire life! Nervous about asking her out? Nope. Nervous about kissing her the first time? Mm-mm. Nervous when I got to see her naked for the first time? Nu-uh. Nervous about telling her the truth tonight? Not even
that
can compare to the nervousness I was completely wracked with, knowing that I was about to make love to her for the first time. And it would be the first time for that for both of us. Little did I know I would end up experiencing another first at the very same time.

I’m not even gonna try to deny that my hands were shaking so violently that when it came time for it, I couldn’t even hold onto the condom. I dropped it. Twice. My voice even cracked when I muttered, “Damn it” at my jittery ineptness. I finally managed to hold onto it though and stuck a corner of the wrapper in between my teeth to keep it still while I tore it open, but Camie came around to conscious thought right about then and seeing what I was about to do…well, she kind of freaked.

“Let me see that!” She demanded as she grabbed the condom out of my mouth to read the microscopic printing on the wrapper, and because I’d been clamping onto it as tightly as I was, my teeth came together so hard you heard the impact. Then she swore and literally threw that piece of my Boy Scout equipment into the water.

“What th—! Why did y—”

“We can’t use that, Tris—”

“Why the hell not?”
I asked, being close to thinking in consonants and symbols again in my confusion. Then I reached for another one to see if they were expired or something, which I highly doubt…I mean I’m pretty fucking diligent about this shit, you know? “Camie, there’s nothing wrong wi—”

“I’m allergic to latex, Tristan.”