Chapter Twenty-Three
There was no amount of scrolling through Terrence Williams’s Instagram and YouTube videos capturing “great swells, man” that could have prepared Addie and Kizzy for the perfect specimen that walked off the Fire Island ferry. A vision in flip-flops, jeans, and a paper-thin tee that revealed a veiled view of his abs.
“That must be him. Is that him?” Addison enthusiastically asked Ben.
“The one with the surfboard? You must be psychic,” Ben grunted. His attitude made them lay it on even thicker, bugging him for sport.
Terrence approached and smiled, causing his dark brown eyes to crinkle at the sides. Addison and Kizzy both went weak at the knees. Not as a metaphor. They both had to steady themselves while simultaneously resisting poking the other to death in that oh my God, do you see this man? kind of way. Ben stood aside like a tree, or a pole, or something that has always been there but you had never really noticed, until he stepped in, giving both women a get it together look.
Ben introduced himself with an outstretched arm, which Terrence ignored, coming right in for the bro hug. Kizzy stepped in line after Ben, and he hugged her as well, which made Addison laugh out loud with no regard for this poor, gorgeous guy. She imagined he was used to it.
He had a duffel bag and his surfboard. The two women pulled both in Gicky’s wagon behind the two men, whispering ridiculous things to each other and staring at Terrence’s butt. Two intelligent, grown-ass women transformed into surf groupies on the set of Beach Blanket Bingo in less than the time it took to hang ten.
After settling in, Terrence asked the women to point him to the beach and, of course, they jumped at the chance to show him personally. They were really just goofing around with all the attention they were giving him, partially to annoy Ben, partially to keep things light for Kizzy, who was trying her best to circumvent the disaster waiting for her at home. Rome had been searching for her for days now and was no closer to finding her than when she had stormed out of the Mark Hotel. He had left Addison near a dozen more messages, all of which she ignored. Still, it was only a matter of time.
It was a green flag day—good for swimming but not so good for surfing—and Terrence was quick to drop his chair in the sand and dive in. Kizzy whipped off her now favorite caftan and followed while Addison stared longingly from the sand.
“What’s with her?” Terrence asked as he and Kizzy bobbed up and down over the mild waves before the break. “Can’t she swim?’
“She can swim,” Kizzy shouted. “But she’s not a fan of waves. Of any kind actually.”
“I can fix that,” Terrence declared, heading back to shore as Ben and Shep were making their way toward the chairs. The sand was scorching, and they each plopped down on one to save their feet just as Terrence approached Addison.
“I’m teaching you to swim,” he said, offering her his hand.
“I swim,” Addison protested. “In a pool, or a lake. Waves are too unpredictable for me.”
“That’s because you never learned how to ride them—c’mon, these are ankle busters at best.” He reached his hand out again, and she let him pull her up.
“It’s far better than stepping in that swampy muck at the bottom of a lake!”
She certainly didn’t agree but followed him anyway.
Ben crossed his arms over his chest as he watched them descend to the shore. He calmed down after a minute, when it was quite obvious that Addison would not make it past the first break. Five false starts later, Terrence lifted her up in his arms and carried her in. Ben seemed as if he might explode with jealously. Shep looked him over before declaring, “Hold on, son. I said to be nice to her, not to sleep with her. You’re gonna have to change the name of your house from Love Shack to Heartbreak Hotel.”
Ben laughed—hard.
“It’s not funny, son. You’re a little loose with the goods. I worry you’re gonna get the clap.”
“For your information, I am not sleeping with Addison. In fact, I’m pretty sure that until yesterday, she may have hated me. And not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t slept with anyone all summer.”
“Listen up, Hot Lips. She will definitely hate you if she becomes another notch on your ‘Make a Widower Happy’ card. She will sell that house to the highest bidder before you can say chlamydia.”
“Oh my God, Shep, I don’t have chlamydia. And look who’s talking. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slipping out the back of Ruth Ingram’s house early mornings.”
“You know I hate sleeping alone.”
Addison and Terrence were bobbing up and over the waves, her hands visibly wrapped around his neck, her legs, no doubt, wrapped around his waist. Ben’s face reddened at that realization, and he stood to flee the scene.
“This is ridiculous. He’s supposed to be surfing, not babysitting Addison. Tell him to come by when he’s done doing whatever this is.”
Shep looked at him knowingly. Ben mumbled “Shut up” under his breath as he hightailed it back over the hot sand.
Addison soon emerged from the water, her wet skin catching the rays of the sun. Clearly proud of herself, she squinted, watching Ben walk back up the stairs, dousing the gleam in her eyes. She wrapped herself in a towel and plopped down next to Shep.
“Good job,” he offered, patting her on the back.
With the fear removed, the sea water felt invigorating. Even now, with its remnants glistening on her skin, she relished in the aftereffects. She planned on going in again for sure and wanted to tell Ben how much she loved it—but alas…
“Where did he run off to?” she asked Shep.
Shep shrugged, sighed, and changed the subject.
“Have you found my painting from Gicky yet?”
“Not yet. But I’m planning on doing a major purge next week. I’m sure I’ll find it then.”
That afternoon, Terrence and Ben took off to the east, where the waves were said to be gnarly (OK, not really gnarly—but at least bigger). They ended up having dinner on the east end of the island with a couple of surfers that Terrence had met in Baja a few years back.
Disappointed by the late return of the Big Kahuna, Addison and Kizzy went to bed early, each reading another one of Ben Morse’s books. Sunburnt and seaworn, they both dozed off after a chapter or two and remained asleep till about 2:00 a.m., when Kizzy awoke to a noise in the kitchen.
“Do you hear that? There’s someone in the kitchen,” she whispered, nudging her friend awake.
“I’m sure it’s just Terrence. Go back to sleep.”
“You should go out there, Addison. Be the girl in this port!”
Addison seemed to contemplate it.
“C’mon, you must want more of his hands wrapped around you like in the ocean this morning!” Kizzy insisted.
But she didn’t. In fact, her mind ran to Ben at the suggestion of it.
“You go,” Addison responded.
“I couldn’t,” Kizzy countered.
“I think you can. I think Terrence is your one-hit wonder! Rip off the Band-Aid.”
As if on cue, there was a light knock on the door. They both jumped two feet in the air and landed, laughing. Kizzy prudishly pulled up the blanket while Addison barely squeaked out, “Come in.”
“I heard chatting in here so thought it was OK to knock—I can’t figure out your toaster oven.”
“Kizzy will help you,” Addison declared, physically pushing her out the bedroom door.
“What are you making?” Kizzy asked, while futzing around with the knobs on what may have been the oldest working toaster oven in existence.
“Pizza bagels—they were in the freezer—I hope it’s OK.”
“God knows how old they are, but it’s fine.”
Kizzy twisted the timeworn dials and pressed buttons until the red oven light went on.
“Voilà!” she exclaimed, before standing there awkwardly, not knowing whether to leave or stay. She looked into Terrence’s red eyes, contemplated his choice of 2:00 a.m. snack, and came right out and asked.
“Are you stoned?”
“Maybe a little.”
He pulled a bright yellow vape out of his pocket. It had been years since Kizzy had smoked pot.
“Want a hit?”
“It’s been so long—years.”
“You know it’s legal now?”
“Yes, I heard that,” she laughed. “That’s not the reason. The last time I smoked, my husband made me crazy paranoid.” She remembered the awful night, fighting with Rome about his flirty behavior with a woman they bumped into at the Smith restaurant.
“It turned out that I wasn’t paranoid after all. My husband was having an affair. I only left him a week ago.”
“Oooh, I’m sorry. That stinks. But good that you can partake again—right?”
He handed her the vape.
“Why not?” she acquiesced.
A few hits later and she too was staring down the timer on the pizza bagels.
“What’s your husband’s name?”
“Rome.”
“Rome is an odd name.”
“Yes, and he took it literally,” she answered, laughing.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Kizzy?”
Kizzy nodded and held her breath.
“How long were you with your husband?”
“Seventeen years.”
“Wow. Was it always bad?”
“No, of course not. Before the last couple of years, I would have said it was always good.”
“How old were you when you met?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen! Were you a virgin?”
“Is that the personal question?”
“Well, fifteen?”
“Yes, we both were. That was his excuse for cheating—the first time at least. When we were getting back together, my shrink asked if I would feel better getting even—you know, having an affair of my own.”
“Did you?” He smiled like a teenager, in contrast to the speckling of gray hair sprouting from his temples.
“I didn’t.” At least that’s what she tried to say—the words got caught in her throat and came out garbled. Terrence noticed.
“So, if I were to kiss you, I would be the first person other than your bad Rome-ance,” he joked, adding, “Since you were fifteen?”
Kizzy laughed. She loved a good Rome pun, but had never heard that one before. Terrence laughed too.
“Yes, and before that, I only kissed Charlie Schwartz and Bobby Sweeney. And Charlie wore a retainer.”
“He didn’t take it out?”
“I guess he didn’t know.”
“Poor guy.”
They were still standing a few inches apart, but now the space felt electrified. Kizzy tried to control herself from rocking forward—she was drawn to him. She silently willed him to kiss her, but after what seemed like an eternity, she couldn’t wait any longer. She leaned in and gently brushed her lips against his. That was all he needed. He kissed her back, at first gently and then passionately.
The toaster oven dinged.
“Are you still hungry?” Kizzy asks.
“I am,” he said, turning off the oven and leading her by the hand out the back door to the guesthouse. He shut the door behind them and whispered in her ear, “Are you still hungry?”
“Ravenous,” she answered, wondering who this willing seductress was.
Terrence took off his shirt, and Kizzy ran her fingers over his abs. He smiled at her and took her face in his hands, kissing her softly on the lips before running his fingers down her torso and lifting her tank top over her head. He wrapped his hands beneath her bottom, scooped her up, and lifted her with ease onto the bed. Starting with her ear, he kissed and nibbled, sending a long-forgotten yearning down her body. She was happy she had vaped a little. She wasn’t feeling stoned really, more so just relaxed. If it weren’t for the pot, she would probably tense up her whole body.
Ever since Rome’s affair, Kizzy couldn’t help but question herself in the bedroom. If it was taking a long time, she would be completely insecure, wondering if it was the same with the other woman. If Rome didn’t seem interested, she would wonder if there was someone else again. If his eyes were closed, she imagined him imagining the other woman instead of her. Her mind was always running in bad directions. It wasn’t conducive to having an orgasm, that was for sure.
Somehow, this stranger who was feasting on her skin one quivering inch at a time had her feeling things she hadn’t in years—both desirous and desired. She held her breath, anticipating where his mouth would go next. You would think she would feel more self-conscious with a stranger, but she didn’t—she felt hot. And that felt good. She broke away for a second, not one to wham bam thank you, ma’am, even with all of this talk about one-night stands.
“You know I have to leave first thing tomorrow morning, right?” she mentioned breathlessly.
“It’s all good.” He placed his finger on her lips. “Don’t think of anything else but how your body feels right now.”
He pulled her forward so that her legs dangled off the front of the bed, and slid down to the floor between them.
Just relax, Kizzy, she coaxed herself, focusing her eyes on a cloud-shaped water spot on the ceiling like she did when trying to balance at yoga. She should tell Addison about that, she thought, gazing at the spot intently until Terrence buried his face between her legs, his tongue circling and darting and teasing until a wave of ecstasy rolled over her so intensely that she couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed his head in her hands and directed him to climb back onto the bed and inside of her.
They lay on top of the covers afterward, sweaty and satisfied. Kizzy fell asleep contemplating whether she should stay in his bed or go back inside. As she dozed off, she heard Terrence whisper in her ear, “That man of yours is a fool.”