As I floated around a bend, I’d discover I wouldn’t have to find him since he was standing where you entered and exited the gently flowing water. His arms were crossed on his chest. His hair was wet but curling around his neck as it dried. And his blue boardshorts with white stitching and blue flip-flops were the only things hiding his beautiful, tall, broad-shouldered, sculpted, tanned, badass body.
Incidentally, they were doing a poor job of it since the waistband of the shorts fit snug and low along his flat, defined abs and waist and his cut hipbones leading into the shorts would make pretty much anyone who had a vagina wonder what they led to. Luckily, it was only me and my vagina who would know the details.
Taking in all that was him, I felt shivers in four places that were so strong, they defied even the Phoenix heat.
His shaded eyes caught mine, his face behind his sunglasses was impassive and I watched as his hand came up, his finger pointing at me then it turned and he crooked it. Once.
More shivers and my nipples got hard.
I stared at him as I drifted toward him thinking two things.
First, no man since Richard Scott would ever get away with crooking his finger at me and Richard only got away with it because he was a dick who beat me repeatedly. Since him, I’d break a crooked finger before I obeyed such a bossy, arrogant, wordless command.
Not Creed. Oh no. It made me near desperate to jump him.
The second thing was, top to toe, all of him and the all there was of him that every female from sixteen to sixty in the vicinity was staring at and wanted for their own, was all mine.
Not only that, it always was and always would be.
At that, I didn’t feel a shiver. I felt a warmth that wasn’t coming from the Phoenix sun but my own personal one, directed straight at me from behind Creed’s shades.
I was closing in, preparing to exit my inner tube when Kara in her cute, girl’s bikini sidled up to her Dad’s side. The warmth I felt increased when Creed’s shades unlocked from mine, he looked down at his girl, his mouth curved into a gentle smile and his arm naturally slid around her shoulders.
Yeah, he was a good Dad. He loved his girl. He loved his kids.
I got out of the water, his shades came back to me and my lungs hollowed out when I saw the gentle grin still playing at his mouth, his rugged, scarred face was relaxed and contentment was stamped on his features.
He also loved me.
And he was happy.
Tucker Creed hadn’t had a day like today, not ever, not in his life, not even way back when, when it was just him and me.
And this made him happy.
So dandan noodles it was and I wasn’t even going to give him any stick for pulling a fast one.
I moved to him and Kara, smiling back, trying to ignore the wet but still hot pool deck burning the bottoms of my feet, wondering where I left my flip-flops as I came to a halt in front of them.
His deep, smooth voice with its hint of rough came right at me.
“Time to go home.”
Home.
I’d never had that, not ever, not in my life, not even way back when, when it was just Creed and me.
My smile got bigger.
* * * * *
“And they were all, ‘It’s too hot,’ and I was all, ‘Wusses, it’s
not
too hot. There’s a breeze. This is a walk in the park to me. I could run in this heat. I could
sleep
in this heat.’”
Brand and I were sitting at Creed’s island with Brand talking a mile a minute while Kara and Creed were making what they told me was called a “pizzookie”. The pizzookie, as described, was a phenomenon whose existence I was shocked I’d not only never heard of before but also had never partaken of, copiously. Apparently, you took store bought cookie dough, sprayed a cake tin, scrunched a bunch of dough in the bottom, baked it until it was just cooked but mostly gooey, plopped a shitload of ice cream on top and ate it out of the pan. If you were feeling saucy, Kara further explained, you could do this with brownie dough.
See?
A phenomenon. Delicious
and
genius. If it was as good as it sounded, I could make and consume one every night.
I couldn’t wait.
Dandan noodles were a hit. Eating them, I found that I’d had them before at restaurants but I would never consider making them at home. Then again, Creed had always been good in the kitchen. He’d learned to cook out of necessity because his Mom didn’t and he’d always had a knack for it.
I’d learned to cook at the crack of Richard’s whip and thus I avoided it. I could cook and do it well; I just hated doing it because time spent in the kitchen reminded me of Richard. And that was never good.
Grocery shopping with the Creeds before the noodles was a stitch. This was partly because Brand was riding a water park high and sweeping us along with his wave, being a total goof and cracking jokes that were so bad, they were hysterical.
But it was Creed who had us doubled over in an aisle when he inexplicably started roaring with laughter so uncontrolled he couldn’t even speak. He just pointed at a display of DVDs in the center of the aisle that had a label that said “Family Friendly Movies” but were a variety of documentaries on natural disasters and serial killers. Obviously, we all saw the humor and joined in. It took us ten minutes to pull our shit together and move on considering the fact both Brand and Kara kept making suggestions about family friendly movies that should be added such as an in-depth perusal into the Third Reich (Kara’s idea and she even used the words “in-depth perusal”) and the Spanish Inquisition (Brand’s idea).
When we got back to the house, I found it was cool being in Creed’s house with his kids. Even being there only weekends, they were comfortable and there was a kickass family vibe that not only was awesome to see Creed had but was awesome to feel.
I wasn’t a part of it, it was way too early, but both kids included me and it felt more than a little nice.
Once we dumped our stuff, got in showers and changed, the division of labor fell naturally. Kara helped her Dad in the kitchen in a way so practiced I knew it was the norm while Brand entertained me.
We’d had the noodles and were onto dessert and Brand was regaling me with stories of how his cousins (Chelle had a brother and a sister, both with kids) who came from Maine for vacation that summer couldn’t get on in the heat. Something Brand thought made them wusses and something, as a native Phoenician, he was proud he could do, no sweat (literally).
“Son, they’re not wusses,” Creed broke in as Kara pulled the pizzookie out of the oven and Creed tossed a hot pad across the kitchen to land on the island in front of Brand and me. “They’re just not used to it,” he finished.
“Yeah, but they complained about it, like…
a lot.
Like…
all the time.
That says
wuss,
” Brand disagreed.
“Can’t argue with that,” Creed muttered and I silently concurred.
Kara put the pizzookie on the hot pad, Creed opened the freezer to get out the ice cream and I stared at the pizzookie, mentally making it my first priority to hit King Soopers and buy cookie dough and ice cream when I got home.
“Totally,” Kara muttered after her father, now reaching for spoons. “It’s too hot,” she fake whined. “I feel the heat coming through my shoes.” She looked at me as she handed me a spoon and went on, “We don’t complain the ocean’s too salty when we go visit them.”
Brand snorted before he said, “The ocean’s too salty. I am
so totally
using that when we go back to Maine.”
“And the air’s too heavy,” Kara added.
“And the breeze is too breezy,” Brand put in on a boy mini-giggle.
“How about the Creeds don’t bellyache or even pretend to be wusses but suck it up like true Creeds?” Creed suggested, turning away from the fridge.
Kara grinned at her brother, handed him a spoon and all got quiet as Creed arrived with the ice cream, opened it up, scooped it out and piled it on.
I watched him do this with avid fascination.
Holy shit.
Seriously.
I was full of noodles and I still was considering taking all three of them out so I could have that shit all to myself.
Five minutes later, I would lament I didn’t make this move. This was because, with what was clearly abundant practice, the three Creeds fell on that pizzookie like chocolate chip cookie dough was being outlawed the next day. It was every man and his spoon for himself. With difficulty, spoons clinking against spoons, I got a load on mine and got it in my mouth but before I got it back to the pan, swear to God, more than half the pizzookie was gone.
Apparently, Creed gently drilling manners into his children did not include allowing the guest to have a head start on the pizzookie or even a clear go (or two).
As I was trying quickly to form a strategy to get my spoon in there, I heard Creed order with mouth full, “Don’t be shy, baby.”
I made the mistake of looking at him to see him grinning, mouth still full, then he swallowed and honed back in on the pan. By the time my eyes got back there, I estimated there were approximately five bites left.
“Can’t be shy when pizzookie is on the line,” Brand murmured his advice then shoved pizzookie in his mouth, Kara and Creed’s spoons scooped out more and I went in, got a load and hoisted it to my mouth.
By the time I went back, mouth barely having taken its first chew, it was all gone.
I’d had two bites and the entire ten inch cake pan was full when we started.
I looked around the island at the chewing, grinning Creeds, the young male version having melted chocolate and cookie crumbs on his lips.
Okay, right.
I might only have had two bites but next time, I’d do better. Definitely.
And I liked this pizzookie crazy family.
Seriously.
* * * * *
“What’d I say?”
This was Creed, on his back in his bed, me straddling him, his hands on my bare ass, his cock still inside me and we’d just spent several minutes, hands groping, faces nuzzling, post-orgasm.
I stopped licking his neck and lifted my head to look down at him.
After pizzookie and some Diamondbacks baseball, I’d left under enthusiastic, heartwarmingly authentic, “See you later, Sylvies,” from Kara and Brand. Then, three hours later, I came back to have sex and sleep with Creed.
Now he was asking me a question and I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What?” I asked.
His hands slid from my ass, up my back, out over my ribs then up, up, up to frame my face. “The kids. They like you.”
“Not enough to give me a clear go at the pizzookie.”
Creed grinned.
I kept talking but quieter.
“Kids tend to like thirty-four year old women who go all out in a squirt gun fight and don’t mind looking stupid and accidentally running into the pelican that shoots water out of its mouth.”
One of his hands moved down to curl around my neck. The other one slid into my hair at the side, through it and down the back where his arm ended curling around me as he replied, “Yeah, they do. Being a big goof goes down good with kids but it was more than that, baby. They just like you.”
I hoped his latter words were true but I was stuck on his earlier words.
“I’m not a big goof. I’m a badass even with a squirt gun. I totally kicked both their asses.”
“Baby, you ran into that pelican and they nailed you,” he reminded me.
“Sure, but I recovered and rallied
huge.
”
His grin came back. “Yeah, and that’s when
I
nailed you.”
My eyes narrowed, “Creed, hot stuff,
you
didn’t nail me until ten minutes ago.”
His grin got bigger. “I nailed you then, too.”
I disagreed. “It was totally a tie in the squirt gun fight.”
He disagreed with me disagreeing. “I kicked your ass. You were drenched.”
“You did not, the pelican kicked my ass,” I shot back.
His body started shaking under mine as he asked, “Seriously? You’re okay with the fake pelican squirting water out of its mouth kicking your ass and you’re not okay with me doing it?”
Absolutely.
Seeing as this could go on all night, I decided to put a stop to it by announcing, “Paintball tiebreaker when we get back to Denver.”
“Beautiful, I don’t play at business unless I got swim trunks on and my kids with me.”
The breath went out of me at his calling me “beautiful”. Something he hadn’t done in sixteen years. Something I loved back then. Something I missed. Something I loved having back so much, it hurt.
“Sylvie?” he called.
I focused through the exquisite pain and saw the amusement had faded from his face and his eyes were intent on me.
I didn’t share.
I just whispered, “Then, baby, you’re missing out. Business is business and fun is fun and paintball is a freaking
blast.
”
He ignored me and asked, “Where were you?”
I knew what he was asking but I didn’t answer. Instead, I told him, “I’m right here, with you.”
“Five seconds ago, you were somewhere else.”
“Creed –”
His hand at my neck slid back into my hair and his arm around me gave me a squeeze while he prompted gently, “Sylvie, asked you a question.”
I pressed my lips together then slid my hands up his chest, one stopped at his neck, the other one I wrapped around his jaw and watched as my thumb traced the edge of his lower lip.
When my thumb was retracing its path, I looked into his eyes and whispered, “I missed you calling me ’beautiful’.”
“I missed havin’ you close so I could call you that,” he whispered back.
I shifted off his cock but moved down his body so I could lay my cheek on his chest and both his arms went around me.
“It’ll never stop hitting us,” I said softly.
“Don’t ’spect so,” Creed said softly back.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like winning when that sucker punch comes and we’re reminded of how much we lost,” I told him then felt, weirdly, his body shaking under mine like he was laughing.
I lifted up and looked down at him.
Yes, laughing.
“This is funny?” I asked quietly.