I laughed. “OMG, Romeo! Do you ever quit?”
“My apologies, Sam, I’m just so excited to see you all again after break. You know how reunions make me a horny bitch.”
Still laughing, I climbed out of the car and flipped the front seat forward so Romeo and Kamiko could get out.
“I can’t wait to see this boat,” Romeo said excitedly, clambering out of the car.
“Maybe the captain will make you his cabin boy,” Kamiko said, following.
“I hope he looks like Gregory Peck as Captain Ahab,” Romeo tittered. “I’ll walk his gang plank any day, if you know what I mean.”
“I remember that movie!” I said. “We watched Moby Dick in high school during AP English.”
“I bet Romeo fantasizes about Ahab hunting for Romeo’s white whale,” Kamiko quipped.
“You guys!” I pleaded.
Christos chuckled, totally amused.
“Well, it’s more of an olive-colored whale,” Romeo snickered like a crazy man, “but yeah, I’d totally let Gregory Peck as Ahab hunt for it all he wants, as long as he harpoons me before the night is over.” Romeo wiggled his butt at us.
I clapped my hand to my forehead. “I think Romeo’s disease is contagious,” I sighed to Christos. “Guys, can we talk about Santa Claus, or something non-sexual for, like, five seconds?”
“You know,” Romeo said mischievously, “I always loved it when my parents put me on dirty old Santa’s lap as a kid…”
I scowled, “Okay, you just ruined Christmas for me, Romeo. Like, forever.”
Romeo cackled with glee as we walked out along the dock toward wherever our boat was moored. We passed dozens of different kinds of boats of every shape and size. Were we getting on a sailboat? Or one of those cool motorboats that went a hundred miles an hour?
As we walked farther and farther, the boats got bigger and bigger.
“Which one is it, Christos?” I asked.
“The one with all the people,” he said.
“The huge one at the end?”
“Yup.”
“OMG, it looks like a freakin’ yacht.”
“It is a yacht.” He grinned.
“Is it yours?” I gasped.
“Hardly,” he smiled.
There was a small crowd of a half-dozen people still on the dock and more on board.
“Sam!” Madison stepped out of the crowd and waved. She jogged toward me, gorgeous as ever. “So good to see you, girlfriend!”
“Mads!” We hugged like long-lost BFFs. “I didn’t know you were going to be here! You look totally Hollywood tonight, girl! You’re all glammed out!”
“Gotta dress up once in awhile,” she grinned. “Yeah, Jake made me keep it a secret.”
Jake stepped up behind her. “What up, guys.” He bumped fists with Christos before they clapped backs. “How was D.C., bro?”
“Cold as witch tits,” Christos replied.
“I hear that, bro,” Jake said knowingly.
“Why do guys always say things like that?” Madison frowned. “Have either of you ever been with a witch?”
Christos and Jake looked back and forth between me and Madison, then back at each other.
I frowned at them. “Don’t answer that.”
They both burst out laughing.
“Such boys,” Madison said, putting her arm around Jake. “Sam, I brought leashes and muzzles for them both, just in case.”
“So, Christos,” I asked, “whose boat is this?”
He put his arm lovingly around me. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Despite the festive atmosphere, I jumped as if someone had driven a dump-truck full of black cats and broken mirrors over my grave. I gasped with trepidation, “Tell me what?”
“Uhhh…” Christos mumbled, caught off guard by my sudden change in tone.
Fearing an unexpectedly ominous turn of events, I peered into Christos’ eyes. A quick flash blinked across them, then it was gone.
Why did I have the sudden conviction that with every awesome surprise came an equally earthquaking catch?
What wasn’t he telling me?
CHRISTOS
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
Two uniformed deputies took me out of interrogation and led me to booking.
When the guy behind the camera took my mug shot, I made sure to grin. I figured if I was going to be on the cover of one of those pulp WANTED magazines you could get at 7-Eleven for a buck, I may as well flash my pearlies. Get some lovelorn hunnies writing me on the block. Shit, who was I kidding? I couldn’t wait to get processed and get the fuck out of there.
Samantha.
The female officer who led me through fingerprint scanning, DNA swab, cataloging my personals, and fitting me for a prison jumper and paper slippers, was all business. I tried joking with her when I showered and lathered up with the lice shampoo, but Sergeant Stonewall kept her back to me and didn’t peek once. She’d probably seen it all before.
Oh well. I was just trying to lighten shit up while I could.
After I toweled off and stepped into my orange jumper, Sergeant Stonewall led me through a series of bulletproof doors. She maintained the social barrier between us the entire time.
I knew from experience to harden my face before I stepped through the final door into the awaiting dormitory. There would be a dozen or more aggressive criminals inside ready to size me up. With my tats, my height, and my impressive muscles, nobody fucked with me, and that was an order.
Sergeant Stonewall signaled the guard at the far end of the hallway. The electric lock buzzed open and Stonewall opened the door for me.
Time to play.
All eyes were on me when I stood in the doorframe. They sniffed for fresh fish. I glared at them.
No dice, fuckers. I’m the bull in this ring.
Psychological intimidation beat out physical violence. There was enough ugliness in this place without me adding to it for real. The men went back to playing cards and doing pushups and wasting away.
I dropped onto an unoccupied bottom bunk, which I preferred because it blocked out the overhead lights. You had to breathe through your mouth, otherwise the smell of human desperation was overpowering. I laced my fingers behind my head and did my best to relax.
The first thing I saw when I closed my eyes was Samantha’s smiling face.
God, she was beautiful. Somewhere between Monet’s Water Lilies and one of John William Waterhouse’s river nymphs.
Memories of Samantha flooded my mind, blotting out the dreariness of my horrible surroundings. Images of her angelic innocence whisked me away to paradise. Something about her open face, the freedom with which her unbridled emotions played across it, touched my heart for the thousandth time that day.
I held in a happy laugh, keeping it safe from the harm that waited to pounce on my joy if I let any out.
I almost felt greedy, as if sharing the good vibes Samantha brought me might actually bring some positive energy to the men in the room around me, but I didn’t want any opportunists stomping on my good mood.
Normally, dudes in lock-up would go on and on about fucking countless hot chicks with legendary looks. The stories were about as believable as guys on the outside telling “I caught a fish this big” stories. Trading tall-tales about notching your bedpost was a bonding ritual worth a few laughs when the inmates weren’t fighting to survive. But those stories were mostly blustery bullshit.
Samantha, on the other hand, was truth and goodness. At that moment, I needed all the goodness I could get.
I burrowed deeper into my mind. I imagined reaching my hand out to stroke Samantha’s cheek and her leaning into it. Not that she had done that today, not even close. I mean, she gave me plenty of green lights, especially after I cleaned her car, but she’d kept me at arm’s length most of the day, sizing me up.