Chapter 6 #2
“What? You don’t like my shirt?” He wore khaki cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and flip flops. He thought he looked pretty damn good.
Some of the other women agreed, even those peering into the room from the hallway. One of them said, “Be still my heart.”
Britta rolled her eyes. Then she let out a whooshy exhale of surrender and rose to her feet. “I give my free consent. You may take me to the feast, this one time, but you must promise not to touch me.”
Are you kidding me? “Sure, baby, sure.”
“Let me help you put some make-up on, hon,” her swim partner, Terri, offered.
“She’s fine the way she is,” Zach said.
He took Britta’s hand and led her from the room, her three roommates gawking after them.
Avoiding the front stairs, they went down the back way and around the building to the front.
When they got to the car, he noticed Cage and JAM laughing wildly at something his son had said.
There was a female MP leaning against the car, laughing, too.
“Hey, Georgine,” he called out.
Georgine shook her head at him, as if he was pushing the bounds of what she could overlook.
He winked his thank you.
Britta snorted. “Yet another of your women?”
Opening the passenger door, he indicated that Britta should get in.
She balked. “What is this?”
“A Firebird.”
She dug in her heels even more. “You expect me to put myself inside a fiery bird and fly away? You really are barmy.”
“We won’t be flying. In the sky anyway.” He grinned.
“And do not try to seduce me with your charm, either. I am uncharmable today.”
He grinned some more and put a hand on her upper arm to guide her in.
“Unhand me, troll.” She slapped his arm.
“We don’t have time for this.” He picked her up, placed her on the seat and buckled her in, all before she had a chance to whack him a good one.
Resigned, Britta turned and greeted JAM and Cage, then said, “And who is this princeling sitting on his very own throne?”
Zach buckled himself in and turned as well. Actually, Sammy did look like some kind of self-important royalty on a booster seat throne, staring down at all his underlings.
Cage quickly put a hand over Sammy’s mouth before he could tell Britta what he thought of his “throne.”
“That’s my son Sammy,” Zach told Britta.
Sammy, whose mouth was now free, corrected him, “Samir Abdul Hassim Arsallah.”
“You forgot the Floyd in there, big boy.” To Britta, he explained, “His last name is Floyd, same as mine.”
“He looks just like you,” Britta observed.
“Huh? He has different hair color,” he pointed out.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s the spitting image of you. Pretty.”
So many people called him Pretty Boy, he no longer considered it a compliment. But he kinda liked Britta thinking he was pretty. Sammy, on the other hand, could be heard sputtering his outrage in the back seat. The last thing he wanted was to look like his father. Or pretty.
“Where are you taking me?” Britta asked as he pulled out.
“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“That’s what you said that time when you showed me tongue kissing.”
He laughed, and heard laughter behind him, too, and one “Yeech!”
“Well, not as good a surprise as that.” He turned to smile at her before returning his attention to the road.
“Dolt!” she muttered.
Britta had to be terrified over this first ride in a car, but she never showed it as they cruised out of the base and toward the Coronado Bay Bridge. Her knuckles were white where she held onto her knees, but brave girl that she was, she never let out a peep.
The Bay Bridge had a high arch in the middle to allow for ocean-going vessels to pass through. When a tugboat let loose with a loud foghorn under then, Britta jumped as far as her seat belt would allow and muttered what must be a Norse curse, something about Thor’s bloody toenails.
Out of the relative quiet, Sammy said, “Scaredy cat!” As if he hadn’t practically peed his pants the first time he’d heard it. Then Sammy remarked to Britta’s back, “You sure are big.”
Uh-oh!
Britta turned slightly to look back at Sammy.
“Are those boobs for real?”
A stunned silence met his question. Where did the kid learn this stuff? Well, some of it came from the mercenaries that had lived in the rebel camps in Afghanistan. But some of it had to come from TV or Zach’s buddies or, okay, himself. He had to be more careful.
Even Cage and JAM had no smart remark to make, or none they were about to speak aloud, and Britta probably didn’t even know what he meant.
She soon proved him wrong.
“Dost know what they do with boylings in my country who misbehave?”
Sammy raised his chin defiantly.
“We boil them in oil.”
Sammy’s chin dropped, and for once, he didn’t have a quick comeback.
“I think you should apologize, Sammy,” Zach said into the rearview mirror.
After a moment, to Zach’s surprise, Sammy murmured, “Sorry.”
Zach turned on the radio. He wouldn’t be able to carry on much of a conversation with Britta, but then she wouldn’t be able to hear Sammy’s crude remarks.
Britta remained quiet on the half hour ride while he pointed out various landmarks. And the country music station told her all about cheating hearts, low-down men and redneck women.
Soon they pulled into the driveway of Mac and Madrene’s modest oceanfront cottage. There were a half dozen other cars around, indicating the party was already in full swing.
He got out, then walked around to help Britta who was struggling with her seat belt, complaining about being a prisoner. Since it was a two-door, the guys had to wait till they were out first to emerge.
“What does that say?” Britta asked, pointing to a banner that had been draped across the bay window in front. She seemed to have no trouble understanding the spoken language here, but apparently could not read. Yet.
He smiled and squeezed her to his side. “Welcome, Britta.”
“Well, ’tis past time you offered me welcome to your country. And keep your tempting fingers to yourself.”
He kept his tempting fingers right where they were, pressing against the bare warm skin of her exposed waist, and smiled. “Not me, honey. That’s what the banner says. Welcome, Britta.”
“Huh?”
Just then, Sammy came up to him, having been released from his car seat by one of the guys. Adjusting the matching Polo for Kids shorts outfit Zach’s mother had bought for him, complete with its very own mini golf shirt, Sammy said, “I look like a dork.”
“A cute dork,” Cage remarked.
“Bite me!” Sammy replied. “Everyone’s gonna laugh at me.”
“No, they’re not,” JAM said. “They’re gonna pinch your cheeks and tell you what a handsome little fella you are.”
The guys were not helping at all, which was probably their intent.
Sammy snarled and narrowed his eyes.
Zach recognized the crafty gleam in the kid’s eyes which presaged his bolting to parts unknown, like the proverbial roadrunner. Quickly, he grabbed him by the belt of his shorts with his free hand, then wrapped the same arm around his waist, lifting him off the ground.
Thus it was that when he emerged at the back of the house, he had Britta tucked against his one side, and Sammy tucked on the other side, his little sandals two feet off the ground, his little butt in the air, his arms and legs flailing wildly.
“SURPRISE!” the crowd yelled. And they looked as surprised at the picture the three of them must make as Britta was at the dozen or so people waiting for them.
There were people in the crowd Britta knew but hadn’t seen for years. They’d gathered to welcome her to...California. A surprise!
Britta claimed to be okay with where she’d landed in Coronado, but she had to be feeling lost. Zach’s heart ached for her. This party had been the only thing he could think of to help her.
“Smile, you two,” he told his two human appendages.
Under her breath, Britta said, “I am going to kill you.”
“Kin I help?” Sammy asked.