Chapter 19
Juniper
Breakfast at the café downstairs means we must talk quietly about anything to do with murder or the sex-drenched parties, or so I thought.
A small crowd is passing when Mr. Loxland angles back his chair on the sidewalk and says, loudly, “Your thoughts? Will it be one hundred or two hundred percent come in this pool, by the time we get there?”
Chewing a mouthful of food, I combust on the spot, cough, and struggle not to inhale the rest of my blueberry danish.
“No.” Tomás barely cracks a smile, only vaguely eyeing the people passing behind him by tilting back his head. He pushes a glass of water at me, and I waver between that and coffee. Wisely, I decide on water to wash away the flakes of pastry that are halfway up the back of my nose.
“Here.” Loxland offers me a tissue, and I blow my nose, think about throwing it back at him, but place it in the pocket of my white shorts. “Those? They’re all fraternity members.”
“Figures.”
These shorts and three little summer dresses and the gossamer red bikini have come from the so-called Rough Tides swimwear shop beside the café.
The bikini has gross diamante decorations plastered over the top of it as well as the front triangle of the G-string.
The strap-on pegging equipment and various bondage gear I found in the back room of the shop, that was… curious.
The CNC Fraternity must come here frequently, or Dragon Island has a lot of other kinky visitors at this time of year.
I drink more water while eyeing the remains of the pastry. A flock of cockatoos wheels in and descends onto the power cables across the road, lining up as if to check us over before stealing our food. I heard they like pizza. “Is a danish pastry bad for them?”
“Those birds?” Tomás shifts his chair around this time to look. “Don’t they eat seed?”
“I’ve seen them stealing takeaway pizza.”
Mr. Loxland’s phone dings, and he squints at it before tucking it in his shorts. “My man is on that travel info problem. Might be a day or two before we get answers.”
I’m still staring at my danish with the coughed-up bits on it when he tilts his plate over mine and scrapes half of his bacon and smashed avo on sourdough onto my plate.
“Oh. Wow. Looks delicious. You sure?”
“We need to fatten you up for the swimming.”
Tomás drawls, “If you’re drowning underwater from too much breakfast, I’ll give you a snorkel to suck on.”
“Whatever do you…” I sigh, heavily. His cock. “That’s too small to get any air through.” I mock kick him under the table, and my toe connects with his knee. “Worst dad joke ever?”
“What is a dad joke? Also, you’ll have a red ass later. My knee is injured.”
Mr. Loxland groans. “A very bad dad joke. Keep the threats for the party.”
I smirk. I have one of them defending me.
“I don’t know.” He looks around the café. “I could bend her over here and—”
“Shhh!” I collapse my face into my hands. “Is this like good cop, bad cop, only with Doms?”
I look up to see they’re both watching.
“Sound like an idea, Tomás?” Mr. Loxland takes a bite from his breakfast.
“Bad Dom is better.” He leans across the table and picks up a piece of bacon from my plate, offers it to me. The muscles on his arm bulge and the scar on his mouth curves upward. His eyes are, probably, gleaming. “Have a bite, poquito.”
There’s no other offer from him, no reason apart from that it’s breakfast, but I can see the thought in his gaze. Sitting here only looks innocent and normal.
“Poquito?”
“Means little woman who bites off dicks.” He deadpans that. I’d google it if I had my phone.
I take a bite, chew it then swallow, and he feeds me more. My toes are curling up at the sexual undercurrent from this intimate gesture.
“You two.” Mr. Loxland shakes his head. “Why is this giving me a hard-on?”
“Because we’re imagining something else in her mouth?”
It hits me a second later, that other word he used, and I feel myself going red, and I’m going to burst if I don’t say something.
I snort, and, laughing into my hand, I exclaim, “Your snorkels?” More food sprays.
Then I sit there with both hands covering my face, tears running down my cheeks, while I laugh uncontrollably for what seems forever.
I peek through my fingers to see two very stern expressions which only triggers more laughter. Half the café seems to be looking.
“Ten demerits?” Mr. Loxland says.
“Fifty,” Tomás adds, ever the man of few words.
“Oh dear.” I wipe away the tears. “Sorry?”
I just gave them so many excuses to do things to me, which is becoming a habit. I’m getting the hang of living life while also remembering the sadness. It all comes and goes, in hills and valleys, and it’s normal and what everyone must do. I can do this.
I draw a deep, deep breath.
I can.
Zasha
“Are we ready to go? We are. Good. I will see you there. Make sure Karsten knows his role. He says Tomás is a good man, yes? Da. Da. As long as we can get in. We will see what to do, once we know more. Enough. We talk later.”