29
I should have known.
I mean, look at your track record, Susan!
Our car—which is a generous term, honestly—hits another massive pothole and Adam shoots me another death glare.
What a morning.
It started lovely, breakfast and mimosas on a veranda overlooking the ocean on one side, and seemingly untamed jungle on the other. Jungle we became very familiar with when we had to trudge through it to get to our pick up location.
Let’s walk, I said.
We’ve had a beautiful few days in the Caribbean full of sleeping, swimming, eating, talking, and, well, orgasming. Still no actual sex yet but even so, I’ve been feeling almost high. It turns out Adam does like to run his mouth…just not to talk.
And as I expected, he’s good with his hands, too. Not just sexual touches either. He’s affectionate all the time, his hand never leaves my person. He even joins me in the shower now, soaping me up, massaging my shoulders and rinsing my hair for me.
And he smiles.
At me.
Regularly.
It’s been amazing.
I was thinking tonight might be the night I tell him I’m ready.
I put on tight sporty clothes and decided not to wear a heavy duty sports bra. I figured letting the girls fly free all day might get him worked up.
I was feeling pretty confident a couple hours ago.
Now, I’m not so sure.
First it was the walking.
It’ll be good exercise, I said.
It’ll be scenic, I said.
Oh, it was scenic in a million-degree-heat-and-bugs-the-size-of-your-head kind of way.
Then, the steps.
The map showed the pick up spot as close, and it was. It was also down an entire mountainside. Which we had to traverse via a stone staircase from the Paleolithic age.
Which gave Adam massive blisters because I insisted he could wear flip flops rather than tennis shoes with socks. Because it was a short walk. He gets hot. I thought he’d be cooler.
He’s not cool.
He’s pretty much a nuclear power plant about to blow beside me.
“I sent you the itinerary!” I whisper yell in my defense. “I added a note! It said the waterfall was very remote but worth the drive.”
“This is not a drive, it’s a death sentence!” He whisper-yells back at me.
He might be right. The very old, very happy guy driving has no sense of self preservation. He swerves in front of semi trucks, goes off roading, and spends as much time in oncoming traffic lanes as he does on the correct side of the road. Also very liberal with his horn. I have the start of a headache and I bet Adam does too.
Finally, he slows his Grand Prix race down as we turn a corner.
Because we’re in a herd of goats.
I sigh, “See? We’ll be fine. It’s not much far—oh, no!”
The smell.
“Oh, hell no!” Adam mutters as he pulls his shirt over his nose.
“Adam.” This is not good. “Adam!” I was feeling woozy before but this smell…I can’t…”Adam! I can’t. I knew we shouldn’t have gotten more mimosas!” I cry.
“We’re on vacation!” He cries back.
“Well, they’re coming back to haunt me! Right now!” I pull on my door handle.
“No, no, other side. Stuck. Stuck! Other side.” The driver says.
I turn to Adam and start shoving.
“Okay, just hold it. You got this. I’m getting out, I’m getting out!” He struggles with his own door.
“Hurryyyy!” I’m going to puke on his feet.
He busts the door open and I shove him and his exposed toes out of my way to vomit.
And I shoved harder than he was expecting. In a muddy street where his feet had no purchase because he’s wearing those damn flip flops and he falls. Sitting down square on his butt next to the car. With a squish.
“Susan.” He fumes, eyes shut. “Am I sitting in goat shit right now?”
“I…I didn’t throw up on your toes?” I offer.
“Damn it! How does it smell so bad?!”
“Yup, not done!” I turn away for another round of heaving, as if he won’t be able to hear, see and smell what I’m doing if my back is turned. I hear him hoist himself up and then his hand is on my back. I take a minute to gather myself, confirm I’m done, then I turn back to him.
“Okay now?” He asks, studying me closely.
“Ugh, Adam! The smell! You can’t get back in the car like that!”
His concern for me vanishes. “Well, what do you want me to do, sight see in my boxers?”
“I don’t know!”
“This is just GREAT!” He yells at the sky. I try to breathe, try to not cry or throw up again. But breathing just means more of the smell. “Let’s call it. Let’s just walk to that little gas station there and I’ll get a towel and we’ll go back to the hotel. With a different driver. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Once we clear the goats, it’s a short walk to the station. Adam is oozing frustration beside me. I’m disappointed that we don’t get to see the romantic cave waterfalls. But I’m mostly just annoyed that one of my adventures failed again, spectacularly. I mean vomit, blisters and goat manure? Does it get any worse?
Adam gets us some waters and finds a towel inside. He also calls the island taxi service for a different car. They say it’ll only be a few minutes. He sucks his water down while I sip mine.
Then, I can’t help it.
I feel like the happy honeymoon has been a bubble, a fluke.
This is our real life.
This is us.
Me attempting to plan something for us, failing. Hoping for more for us, from him and getting disappointed. Him being grumpy and angry.
My eyes start to water.
Don’t sniff, don’t sniff, don’t sniff.
I sniff.
“Hey.” Adam says. But I don’t look. “Hey, Travel Spice.” I hear the smirk in his voice. I roll my eyes. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be. And no one else I’d rather be with.” That just makes me sniff again and shake my head in disbelief. “Serious.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be with Shep and Tug and all them? You could’ve taken friends on this trip if we’d called it off.”
“Susan.” I finally lock eyes with him. His eyes are a lighter, fiercer amber color in the bright sun. “Remember what you said. You were right, you’re my best friend.” He gestures down to himself. “Manure and blisters and I’m pretty sure tap water that they put in these bottles. And I…I’m happy.”
“Happy. Really.” I deadpan at him.
“Yes, really. I thought we were crushing this honeymoon thing?” I shrug and he looks genuinely disappointed. “You’re not having fun?”
“I am but…that’s not real, right? This,” I gesture between us, “Poop and bickering, this is the real us.”
“No. Don’t let one bad morning ruin our whole trip. You’re having fun with me, admit it.” I roll my eyes again and start to smile. “We’re good. Together.” He adds, but it’s tentative. Like he’s asking me.
I nod.
But I’m still so worried. “And what happens when we get home?”
He lifts a shoulder, “What do you want to happen?”
“I guess…this? Us. Together.”
“And?” He nudges me.
I decide to be honest. I look him in the eyes. “And everything else, the house, maybe a dog. Kids, we both have successful careers, grow the businesses, all of it. I want it all. With you.”
“Then let’s do it.” He says simply.
“Yeah?” I sniff again but I can’t help but smile wide. Huge, actually.
“Yeah.” He looks at my lips but wisely decides to kiss my forehead instead. Then he clears his throat. “C’mon. I saw there’s a tennis tournament back at the resort. What we need to redeem this day is to smoke some old geezers.”
I laugh. “What if it’s all young fit couples?”
“Then we’ll smoke them too.”
“That does sound fun.”
“Damn right. We’re a good team.”
And we are.
We win the entire tournament.
Adam is that guy the whole afternoon. Obnoxious and loud and so happy I’m not even embarrassed about it. The resort gives us two tiny tennis trophies and he hugs them to his chest when he kisses me in triumph.
We head back to our room to clean up for dinner. I insist on showering alone because I’m smelly and may or may not still have vomit in my ponytail. After I shower, he does, then we both get dressed. I brought a few thin, flowy sundresses for the evenings and I can tell Adam likes them.
He goes into the restroom to grab his watch and when he comes back out, he catches me setting up our trophies proudly on the dresser.
He smiles, walking to me slowly, eyes starting at my toes and studying all the way up to my face. “My wife, such a killer.”
Aaaand that’s it.
It’s not just the my wife —but like, wow that was hot!—it’s the pride in his voice. The want in his eyes.
I have to have sex with this man.
Right now.
“Let’s skip dinner.” I say.
He frowns, “Are you feeling okay?”
I whip my dress up over my head quickly. “I’m great.” He raises a hungry eyebrow. “I’m happy and sure.”
He gulps. “Sure?”
“Sure.” I say as I run my hands over his bulging chest. I get a thrill every time I feel his muscles flex under my touch. I push up on my toes to kiss him and he takes over immediately. He picks me up and lays me gently on the bed, but I sit up to help him get his clothes off. I’m rushed and frantic but he slows me down with his hands and then with his mouth.
He’s gentle and watchful and sweet. I thought I’d be afraid, but I’m not. I trust him to take care of me and he does. He takes his time teasing me, just barely opening me up. I know he’s huge and it will probably hurt, but at this point I’m going to die if he doesn’t give me all of him. Right now.
“Sure?” He asks one last time.
“Yes. Please.”
Then he gives me what I want.
Hard, but slow. Deep breaths turn into deeper moans. We become one unit, moving together, finding what we both like, what we both need.
Even as he speeds up, he studies my face. He’s careful. Thoughtful.
Loving. That’s what it feels like.
I do love him. And I’m in love with him.
Even if he doesn’t actually love me back, he cares. He will care and he will try and he will work at it. At being married. At being my partner.
And I think that’s enough.