9. It Takes Two to Play For Pay
Mouth agape, I stare at her in disbelief. A sharp burning sensation flames in my hand as the cigarette cherry sears the flesh between my fingers. “Ow, fuck!” Flinging the ciggy over the dock railing, I rise, bumping my hip into the table, making it rock, and knocking over our drinks. Soda and water sheet off the top and drip everywhere.
Carmella gasps and shoves away from the mess. My chair tips back, and the metal clangs loudly against the wooden floor. Cursing and dusting ash from my pants, I glance up. A sea of faces looks on at the commotion I’m causing. Nosey assholes. “What are you all staring at? I burnt my hand. I’m not going to shoot up the place. Fucking calm down,” I announce to the dock full of people.
“Seriously?” Carmella hisses, trying to shield her beet-red face with her hands, her eyes the size of dinner plates. “Sit down, Luke!” Her tone holds all the threats of a mother who can’t scold an unruly child in public.
Righting my chair, I whisper-yell back at her, “Okay... Okay, fine.”
We clean up as the wait staff rushes over. The waitress wipes down the table and refills our drinks, rolling out some new paper. “Thank you, I appreciate it, and sorry about the mess,” Carmella tells her for the third time.
As soon as the waitress leaves, I bite into her. “One, you never told me your full name and you have no ID. Two, you have tan lines... so I assumed the tan was from... ya know, the beach.” I hold up my hands when she looks ready to murder me. “Granted, Hispanic people can have tan lines as well, so my mistake. Three, you’ve never spoken a word of Spanish. Again, granted, I’ve also only known you for twenty-four hours, so also my mistake. And four, you are blonde and look...”
“So help me God, if you say white, Luke...” Carmella warns.
“European. I was going to say European.”
“I’m Mexican, and skin color isn’t always an indicator of race or ethnicity,” she snaps.
“I know that. I know that!” I snap back.
Carmella’s eyes roll to the sky. We sit quietly for a minute as awkwardness settles in, and my stomach growls. Shit, the food is taking forever.
Rubbing my neck, I try to coax her back into conversation.
“So Gloria, your aunt, has a drug problem, and she didn’t get along with your grandma,” I say, hoping she will pick back up with her story.
Carmella shrugs. “Gloria cut ties and took off long before I was even born. No one knew where she was. No contact information. Nothing. One day, she pops up after being gone for fifteen years and is searching for her brother, my papa, and my abuela. Of course, they were dead by that time, but she didn’t know. So she contacts my family’s lawyer and... yeah. The next thing I know, my caseworker shows up at my foster family’s house and tells me to pack. I’m going to go live with family.”
Family lawyer? Interesting.
I nod. “I take it she wasn’t a great guardian?”
Carmella snorts. “Understatement.” She picks up a black crayon and begins her drawing again on the fresh piece of paper. She’s aggressive this time with the marks and ends up snapping the crayon in half. “What my caseworker and the family lawyer don’t know is my aunt is a raging, pill-popping bitch who made my life hell the moment she laid eyes on me. Fuck being treated like that, so I took off,” she says.
My eyebrows raise into my hairline at the viciousness in her tone. “So, no love lost there?”
She glares at me from across the table. “Not at all. Fuck her.”
My mouth opens to ask her another question, but the arrival of our food cuts off the conversation, and I decide to drop it. Plus, with how Carmella stuffs her mouth, I don’t want her to choke trying to explain something emotional with huge bites of taco filling her cheeks.
“What”s this?” Carmella gestures to the two metal funnels, each held in a bracket and fixed over the top of an empty plate.
Dragging my funnel to me, I say, “This is the reason I brought you here, of all places. This is us living in the year twenty-ninety.” Opening the red tortilla warmer, I slide one of the soft round corn shells under the funnel. Grabbing one of the overly stuffed beef tacos from my plate, I take a bite over the contraption and watch as goodies fall out the other end. The taco mix slides down the funnel and ends up on the fresh tortilla. “Ta-da! All your taco goodies stay in a taco.”
Carmella eyes me while shaking her head. “I can’t tell if this is brilliant or ridiculous.”
“It’s brilliant; now stop sassing me and eat.”
We dig in, and eventually, I change the conversation to better topics. Movies first, which is short-lived as she has barely seen anything made in the past decade. Mentally, I take notes to get my girl some movies.
We talk about music, and I’m intrigued that Carmella has a narrow taste for indie alternative, which tracks with how moody she is. Introducing her to some of my favorite tunes is a priority. We talk about bands, interesting facts about rock stars, famous suicides, and overdoses. It’s nice, a little dark, but really nice. I can’t remember the last time I shared a meal and conversation where I wasn’t immediately planning to get my date into my bed. Although, truth is, I’m still planning it.
Getting my caramel drop into bed is a long con, a challenge, but I’m feeling up to it. She’s too suspicious and stubborn. We are being friendly now, sharing a laugh. Building trust. But it’s tentative and fragile. Trying to cash in all the way now would be a disaster.
If she’s as smart as I think, she will remember that I’m always selling myself; if she isn’t, then I guess I will be fucking her sooner rather than later. I wear my most charming smile, and she breaks into a grin as she recounts the evening she almost gave herself alcohol poisoning at a bonfire. Chuckling, I can’t deny that it’s not manipulation every single time. I am enjoying the company.
“Let”s take a walk down on the beach,” I say.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
After paying for the meal, we head to the front door. “Wait!” she says, heading back to the table.
I see her tear off a piece of the gray paper tablecloth and jog back to me. “I almost forgot this.”
“Let me see it.” I reach for the rolled-up picture and pluck it from her fingers. Lowering my voice, I whisper in her ear, “Go put the tip money back on the table or I’m going to spank you.”
She at least has the decency to look chastised, then alarmed, before scowling up at me and stomping back to replace the cash she swiped. Little petty thief.
It”s my turn to shake my head as Carmella glares, cuts me off at the door, and then heads to the beach with me trailing behind her. Laughter bubbles up in me. I kick off my shoes, and the cooling sand is rough against my feet. I glance around for a place to keep the picture dry and balance it on top of my brown loafers before rolling up my pants and walking down to the surf.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in the smell of salty minerals as the damp air rushes over me. Water laps at my feet, and the roar of the waves crashes over all other thoughts in my mind. People think the sound of the ocean is tranquil. Personally, I’ve always found it loud. Blessedly loud. Enough to block out all the other bullshit that rattles around my mind and give me a chance to exist in peace.
A presence close to me draws my attention. Carmella has abandoned her shoes and stands next to me in the water. Most of the beachgoers have left, and aside from a few people way down the line, we are alone under the darkening purple and navy sky.
I slip a fifty from my money clip and hold it up for her to see. “Do you want to earn that tip you tried to swipe from the table?”
She eyes the folded piece of paper like it’s going to sprout fangs and attack her. “Maybe. What do you want me to do for it?”
A relaxed smile curls my lips. “Strip down to your underwear and play in the water. I want some pictures.”
“Hell no, I remember the last time you wanted to take some pictures.” She used air quotes around the word pictures, and I burst out laughing.
Turning my attention back to the ocean, I tell her, “I love the beach. It’s my favorite place in the entire world. I come here at least twice a week. One day, if you are still around, I’ll show you my favorite secret spot.”
“What’s so great about this spot?”
“If I told you that, then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”
Carmella hmphs, unimpressed, as she folds her arms over her chest.
My eyes trace the line of the ocean as my hands rest in my pockets. “You remind me of the beach. That’s the first thing I thought about when I saw you yesterday. Your dark-blue eyes are like a storm over the ocean, and your hair matches the color of wet sand. With your golden skin, I couldn’t help but think here is the prettiest summer girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
When I glance over at her, she doesn’t say anything, but a light blush covers her cheeks. I give her an appreciative slow, long look down her body, which takes her blush to an all-out flush as she avoids my gaze, even as a smile curls her mouth. She bites her bottom lip and glances back at me hesitantly.
“It’s just such a fucking shame that my perfect summer girl is such a loud burglar, obvious thief, and now... Now, she’s just a chicken shit who will swipe money off a table but won’t take it from my hand when it’s offered.”
Her mouth drops open as she sputters, “I’m not a chickenshit.”
I extend the fifty back to her. “Prove it. You don’t have anything you need to buy at the store tonight?” Not that I would let her. Carmella is going to need every cent if she plans on moving on or starting over.
Sighing, she looks around. The beach has darkened into night, and the few lingering people have drifted toward the city lights. The fifty is yanked from my hand and she points at me. “No touching, pictures only.”
Holding my hand up in surrender, I promise. Pictures only. Excitement courses through my veins as I watch her peel off the tight jeans, exposing a pair of blue panties with lace trim. My dick hardens in my pants at the sight of the flimsy piece of fabric, and my fingers twitch with the desire to slip along her slit and delve into her hot, wet pussy. Not much between you and me, caramel drop. And there will be less and less every day.
Taking out my phone, I switch to night mode and begin snapping pictures. The photos are a little dark, with only the residual lighting from the boardwalk creeping down on the beach, but I don’t care.
She pauses her strip. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“My tank top has a built-in bra.”
“So.”
“So, if I leave it on, it will get wet. If I take it off, I’ll be topless.”
I grin. “Better take it off since we’re going to get groceries after this.”
“Better pay me more money.”
Eh, fair enough. “Shit, okay, just take it off.”
I keep snapping pictures as the expanse of her slim stomach comes into view, and I nearly groan when she pulls it over her tits. They bounce back against her body once free. Her nipples tighten in the evening air. Now, that’s what I’m talking about.
She glances around nervously, cupping her chest.
“Don’t worry. No one is going to see you but me.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“I’ve literally been trying to keep you away from my tits since we’ve met, and here I am naked, so I can go buy a fucking toothbrush. It”s either laugh or scream.”
A dirty, biting aggression creeps along my arousal. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to buy you all the toothbrushes you need.”
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” She stares up at the sky. “Okay, let”s just get this over with.”
She steps into the surf, and I record her walking into the water. She trails her fingertips across the surface of the dark water as the misty air pushes back her curls. She is lovely in the twilight as she glances over her shoulder and gives me a shy smile. I nearly groan out loud.
Carmella”s voice holds an edge of hysteria. “I’ve only ever been skinny dipping once, and I don’t know what you mean by play in the water.” She dips down to where her shoulders and head are uncovered.
“Come back up here. I want you to pose.”
She frowns at me. “I don’t know how to pose.”
“C’mon, Carmella, work with me. Think sexy time.”
Her laugh is strained, and I’m struck by the sound. I don’t think she has had a carefree laugh once since I met her. Such a serious woman.
She walks back up to the shore, and I switch on the flash, snapping shot after shot. We won’t be able to do this for much longer with the flash going off. Carmella kneels in the surf and looks every bit like the cover model of Sports Illustrated Magazine: Swimsuit Edition. My erection presses against my pants and demands attention. I ignore it, but arousal dominates my mind at the sight of her wet panties glued to soft pussy lips.
“Lie on your back with your head toward the shore,” I say.
Stepping into the water, I stand in front of her. Looking past the screen at the naked women lying beneath me, I palm my cock through my pants. “Spread your legs for me, caramel drop.”
She gasps a little at my words, and flushes crimson, throwing an arm over her face. Her legs fall apart, and the material of her panties suctions perfectly to her cunt. My mouth dries as I fantasize about dropping down and crawling between her legs to taste her and the salty water. But I know it’s out of the question.
“Fuck, you make my cock so hard,” I growl out as I snap more pictures of her glorious body. “I want to jerk off to you like you are right now. What do you think about that?”
She bites her bottom lip and shrugs. Her tits are so perfect. I taunt her, wanting more of a reaction than a shrug. “Where is my brave, little sassy shit that wasn’t scared when I had a gun on her? Huh? Where is that ballsy woman? I think that Carmella would like to know how much I want to fuck her.”
Her arm flops away as she glares at me for a moment. “Uh, different circumstances, asshole.”
I laugh as I rub my dick over my pants. “There she is. Now, pull your panties aside and show me your pussy.”
I watch as she slides her hand down her body, deliberately seductive, her thumb brushing against her pebbled nipple. Flicking it, she moans.
“Oh, shit yeah, like that. Good girl.” I pant.
“Do you like that?” she asks.
“Fuck yes, you take my breath away.” She damn near has me panting as my cock strains for more friction. My eyes flick to hers before I glance back down and follow her hand’s descent past her breasts. Sliding her fingers down her wet stomach, she spreads her legs wider and trails her finger along her wet slit before hooking the material and pulling it to the side. “Like that, Luke?”
My dick jumps at the sight of her damp curls and nestled clit. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Touch yourself for me, baby.” I turn on the video, unzip my fly, and start to pull out my cock.
She cackles. “Oh, no. We’re done. You wanted me sassy, and now you got it.”
My head snaps up like her words are like a bucket of ice water. “What!”
Carmella is up off the ground and headed into the water to rinse off the sand before I can untangle my hand from my pants. “Wait.”
“No,” she says. “You paid for pictures. You got pictures. You’re a businessman, Luke. Do business. It”s simple.”
I’m speechless. She left me holding my cock in my hand. That little seduction act at the end was just the cherry on top before she took the whole sundae away. That’s ruthless. I’m impressed.
She strides past me, giving me a curt nod and a tight smile as she goes to pick up her clothes and get dressed.
Fucking hell. Well, at least I got pictures. Dark pictures.
Zipping up my pants, I stomp back up the beach to my shoes and scoop up the drawing.
Unrolling the paper, I see a giant red crab with a mustache, my mustache, come into view. In its claw is a pinched lit cigarette and a line of smoke trailing upwards. Above its head float some ridiculously suggestive eyebrows, and in the background is my sweet cherry-red ride. A text bubble made to look like smoke rolling out of the crab’s mouth reads, “Hey, baby, you ever ride a smoked crab?”
I’m offended.
Holding up the grotesque, sleazy caricature of me, I pivot in the sand and glare at her accusatively. “Is this supposed to be me?”
Carmella grins.
“My eyebrows are not that suggestive.”
She loses it and doubles over, laughing. It”s the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from her. “I don’t know. I think it’s an accurate representation. When you flirt, your eyebrows get wiggly.” As she says this, she gives me an arm wave like my eyebrows are on some stupid ass roller coaster.
Making a disgusted noise, I roll up the picture and pop her on the head with it. “They do not.”
Carmella chuckles. “I would know better than you. Those caterpillars were dancing all over your face a few minutes ago. What was that little lesson you taught me today...? ‘Always be selling yourself, Carmella.’” She mimics me. “And you bought in, Luke; now pay up.” She holds out her hand for her money.
My mouth works to form words, but nothing comes out. This is harassment.
Reaching into my pocket, I slap another fifty into her outstretched palm.
I stew as we walk back to the car. I don’t know if I should date her or leave her ass here.
Carmella cuts in front of me once we reach the steps that take you from the beach to the boardwalk. She blocks my path as she stands on the step above me, giving me hard eyes. “For the record, while I might not be the quietest burglar or the sneakiest thief, there’s one thing I’m pretty certain I am good at.”
Okay, I’ll bite.
Tipping my face up, I ask, “Oh, and what’s that?”
She leans down, and her lips hover a bit too close to mine. “Bothering you. And tonight is the last time you say an inch, but take a mile with me.”
With that, she turns and sashays up the steps as I stare at her ass.
Touché, Carmella. Touché.