Chapter Twelve
Jenna
Sunset is less than an hour away and it feels like its magic is already close.
My body and my hands are moving without me controlling them.
I’m not thinking, just doing. It’s nice to be out of my head and into my.
.. heart? No, that’s not it. That’s not what’s guiding me to step into the shower, wash the sun cream off my skin and shave more of my body than I have in years.
It’s not my heart that prompts me to moisturise every inch of my skin, from head to toe, and then pull on the best underwear I brought with me.
It’s not my heart that chooses a floaty denim summer dress and sprays an intoxicating amount of perfume on my neck, between my breasts and on my wrists, which I then rub together.
It’s not my heart that has me smiling at my reflection in the mirror as I apply my make-up and brush my hair.
It’s not my heart, it’s my pussy.
I’m horny and my pussy is in charge, which feels glorious. We have always made a great team.
Because, yes, I'm going. I'm going to meet Marty at sunset.
Bumping into Marty this morning at the gym has done little to douse the flames of desire I feel for him. And perhaps more pleasingly, the way he was with me – playful, eager, as flirtatious as last night – makes me think that he will show up tonight.
So I’m horny, and very possibly onto a sure thing. A sure holiday fling. God, it’s been years since I had a holiday fling and suddenly, I want it so very badly. So badly that I’m rushing to fill my bag with the things I need until a familiar lurch in my stomach stops me in my tracks.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say to myself as I run to the bathroom.
Because I’m not just horny and possibly onto a sure thing.
I’m also very nervous. And when I have any kind of jitters, I have nervous poos.
It’s not my finest attribute, but nobody’s perfect.
At least it’s happening now, I think as I go do what I need to do, all the while chuckling at myself.
Once I’m sure my stomach is going to behave, I grab my bag and leave.
When I get to the bar, I allow myself to feel a slight pang of disappointment that Marty is not already there, waiting for me in that same position at the bar when he ordered me a drink and gave me an indecent thumbs-up.
But then I lift my eyes to the horizon and see there is still time before the sunset.
With my confidence level somewhat intact, I rush to get one of the few available tables left and then try to get a staff member’s attention.
When I do, I don’t order a drink for Marty, just in case.
It is one thing to be sitting in a bar and possibly looking like you’re waiting for someone when they don’t show up.
It’s quite another to be in a bar, waiting for someone with two drinks on your table and one is untouched, confirming your sad reality.
But still, I order a virgin raspberry mojito for myself because I don’t like the idea of drinking alcohol if Marty isn’t going to. Also, if tonight is going to go where I hope it goes, I want to be sober; I want to feel it all.
It would be a lie to say that I haven’t spent most of the day imagining the things Marty and I could do together.
It would also be an untruth if I said the urge to touch myself hadn’t dominated most of my thoughts since I saw him in the gym, the defined muscles of his torso on show and his tight buttocks frighteningly biteable in his cycling shorts.
But I resisted temptation and am paying the price now as I feel the heat throb between my legs.
Thirsty from all these thoughts, I bring my drink up to my mouth and suck on the straw, hard.
“Hi, Jenna.” A man's voice says next to me. It's not an Irish accent.
“Hi, Lionel.” My brother's colleague is standing awkwardly in front of me.
“Your brother wants me to buy you a drink,” he says. “But of course, I'm not going to buy it. I'll get it on the staff tab. And I probably won't have one myself as I'm working until midnight and alcohol always makes me so sleepy, but he wants me to keep you company while you... while you...”
“Wait for the man who's probably stood me up?”
“He didn’t... I...” Lionel’s brow furrows in far too many places.
“Oh, Lionel, I’m sorry. Sit down.” I tap the chair next to me.
Lionel sits next to me, and I take a moment to look at his face. He’s a handsome Black man with soft features – a rounded nose, big dark eyes, a full-lipped mouth that breaks into the brightest smiles – and I wonder not for the first time if my brother finds him attractive. He should.
“Why are you sorry?” He frowns.
“I’m being rude to you,” I say.
“I don’t think so,” he replies. “If I was being stood up, I’d be rude to everybody.” His eyes open wide. “Not that you’re being stood up.”
I manage to laugh a little then, if only to reassure him. “It’s possible I am, and if so, I will need you and my brother to help me avoid him at all costs for the following four days.”
“You can depend on us.” He nods and gives me one of his radiant grins.
“How do you like working with my brother, Lionel?” I ask, hoping we can talk about something that takes my mind further away from how every passing moment that brings the sun lower in the sky really does suggest that Marty isn’t coming.
He drops eye contact with me then and I can’t help but read between the lines when he speaks. “I like it a lot. I’ve learnt so much from him already, and it’s only been six weeks.”
“He can be a bit of a ball-buster though, am I right?”
Lionel squints at me before he laughs too. “He’s firm and direct. I appreciate that.”
“I’m sure he appreciates you too,” I say.
“You think?” His eyes open again and his lips part, waiting for validation. Oh, Lionel, I’m on to you.
Discovering this blossoming bud of attraction Lionel possibly has for my brother has me feeling things that are unexpectedly soothing for my current predicament.
So, Marty and I are not to be, but who knows what lies ahead in my future?
If I felt attraction like this to Marty, who says I can’t feel it again for someone else?
It’s a scrappy crumb of comfort, but a comfort all the same.
“You know what, Lionel,” I say slowly. “I greatly appreciate you keeping me company, but I think I just want to watch the sunset by myself.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yes, it's a beautiful night,” I say. And I'm feeling brave, I want to add. I feel stupid, yes – for getting my hopes up, for feeling almost convinced he would show - but I also feel brave. Brave enough to be okay if he doesn’t. Brave enough to sit here alone and watch the sunset, which isn’t as colourful or as dramatic as last night, but is just as captivating, maybe more so because the colours are more subtle, a neat ombre blend of pinks and golds, forcing me to look closer for changes, making me pay attention and be more mindful.
Glancing out at the beach area ahead, I see a couple have stolen our idea from last night and are reclining on sun loungers staring at the sunset.
I feel strangely possessive, but still, I smile at them.
The sun is minutes away from diving into the sea, and while part of me is ready to watch it alone, I know I will do so reminiscing about how that was Marty and I last night.
I have to get used to this. I have to get used to being alone. Alone. Not lonely, alone.
Lionel says goodbye and as he walks away, I allow myself one last look around the rear of the bar, scanning faces and searching bodies. But he’s not there. Marty’s not coming.
“It’s okay,” I promise myself, my ears needing to hear the words as much as my mouth needs to say them. “It’s going to be okay.”