20. Hildy
Hildy
THREE DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
TAMNIèS, France—“That’s the joust?” Hildy meant the question rhetorically, but it didn’t stop Walter from getting his two cents in. “You were expecting horses?”
He was still following her. Either that or he also felt the need to hit something, and the damp thwacks and raucous cheering would have drawn him in that direction with or without her.
She charged onward toward the large rectangular inflatable with a rope draped across the middle.
If she’d thought about it, Hildy would have realized this was going to be an unconventional joust. You couldn’t hand actual weapons to a bunch of wedding guests.
The obvious solution was to have one barely dressed person ride their partner’s shoulders while wielding a fearsome pool noodle.
She watched with no small amount of awe as one of the bridesmaids bludgeoned another again and again, barely pausing between blows.
“Keep it below the shoulders,” a guy in a black-and-white striped jersey said into a megaphone. “No head shots. That’s a penalty for the green team.”
The bloodthirsty bridesmaid holding the green pool noodle looked like she was ready to throw down. While she was yelling at the umpire, the pink team struck, knocking the opposing pair’s noodle into the water.
Hildy and Walter were close enough now to join in the applause.
“Does that mean they win?” Hildy asked the man standing next to her.
“Not until the bottom half goes down.”
“I like this game,” she told Walter. She was envisioning the two of them ducking and weaving as they wielded their pool noodles. Walter was stronger, but he’d be handicapped by his fear of beating on a woman. She was pretty sure she could take him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How am I looking at you?”
Walter thought about it for a second. “Like you’re going to grind my bones to make your bread.”
“To the victor go the spoils.”
“What?”
“Trash talk. I’m getting my head in the game.”
He looked from the pool to Hildy, eyes lingering on her face. “You’re going to play?”
“Why? Are you questioning my skills?”
“At pool noodle jousting?”
She ignored the sarcasm. “Five dollars says you go down first.”
“Wow. Big talk for somebody who’s afraid to get her hair wet.”
Rude of him to know her weaknesses. “I guess we’ll find out which one of us has the killer instinct.”
“I’m not dueling you, Hildy.”
“Bawk bawk,” she clucked, flapping her arms.
Walter rolled his eyes. “Very mature. It’s the bride and groom’s turn anyway.”
Sure enough, Fiona and Robbie were standing in front of the referee, beaming with excitement.
“Let’s hear it for the future Mr. and Mrs.,” the referee barked. “Do we have a challenger? Anyone?” he prompted, when no one stepped forward.
“Come on, guys!” Robbie sent a hopeful smile at the milling crowd. “We’ll go easy on you.”
Fiona beckoned to one of her bridesmaids, who mimed drinking something.
It must be mimosa time. Hildy’s heart squeezed at the forlorn look on Fiona’s face.
People assumed brides were the center of attention, with everyone dancing attendance on them.
In reality, there was often an invisible wall separating the leading lady from the rest of the wedding party, because even if they were all doing the same activities, no one else was on the same journey.
However it looked from the outside, getting married was not a group activity.
The groomsmen seemed to have the same idea as the bridesmaids, waving Robbie off with talk of lunch. Fiona’s fiancé looked hopefully at one of his uncles, who had to be at least sixty.
“Change of plans.” Hildy grabbed Walter by the wrist, lifting his arm as high as she could reach. “We’ll play,” she called, hopping a little to sell it.
“What are you doing?” Walter gritted out.
“Look at those poor babies,” she said through her smile. “It’s like they’re getting picked last for kickball. At their own wedding! We have to help them.”
“Are you sure that’s…” He trailed off mid-thought as Hildy shrugged her arms free of her cover-up.
“It’s a brilliant idea,” she finished for him, shimmying the dress down her legs until she could step out of it. Her bathing suit was not exactly sporty, but it wasn’t a G-string either. Not that Walter could tell, with his eyes locked on the grass.
“Your turn.” She clapped her hands like a coach, two quick get moving slaps. “Unless you’re planning to wear your shirt in the pool?”
“It might be better.” His fingers twisted the hem. “For you to hold on to.”
“I need both arms to whack people.” She was a little concerned by his limited grasp of battle tactics. “Your job is to hold on to me. And not fall over.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Something was obviously weighing on him, so it was time for one of her legendary pep talks. “Listen. It’s like kickboxing, only in the water and with more props. Plus the piggyback element. And I could really use the workout. Bottom line, it’ll make Fiona and Robbie happy, so suck it up.”
He gave a slow nod, falling in beside her as she walked over to the referee’s chair.
It would have been cooler if there was one of those movie sequences where everyone geared up and checked their weapons like they were going to war, but a pool noodle was a pool noodle.
It didn’t make cool sound effects. Hildy let Fiona choose first, and was only mildly surprised when she took the neon green one.
“Robbie’s favorite color,” Fiona explained.
“That works out, because Walter loves pink.” Hildy grabbed the other noodle, tapping it against Fiona’s in a quick salute, one warrior to another.
“No hits to the face,” the ref reminded them.
“Everything else is fair game though, right?” Hildy asked.
“Glad you’re on my team,” Walter murmured behind her.
She turned to stick her tongue out at him, but that plan flew out the window when she registered his shirtlessness.
There was no time to process the discovery now, so she took a mental snapshot of his naked torso for future contemplation.
Maybe she could paste it on a dartboard, with the bull’s-eye in that delicious valley between his pecs.
“I guess we should do it in the pool,” Walter said.
Hildy blinked at him.
“You getting on my shoulders,” he clarified, red-faced.
“That’s what I thought you meant,” she lied, waving at him to go first.
Sighing like he was about to walk the plank, Walter climbed the short flight of steps and lowered himself into the water on the other side. Hildy started to ask if it was cold, then realized that would sound weak. Also, she could just check his nipples.
That was a yes, then.
She had a brief out-of-body experience during the …
mounting, for lack of a better word. Walter hunched down, Hildy attempted to climb onto his back with dignity and poise, there was some slipping and sliding involving her inner thigh and parts of his face, as well as boob-to-back contact (but who was counting?), and then finally she was sitting on him.
His shoulders. She was sitting on his shoulders, with her legs dangling down his chest.
“Is this okay?” Walter asked, taking a tentative hold of her shins as he straightened from a crouch.
She wiggled her hips, worried she might slip backward and take them both down. “I’m not humping the back of your head, FYI.”
“I appreciate the clarification.”
“We just need a nice, tight fit,” Hildy continued, as if overexplaining would make it less awkward. “Meaning your grip.”
“That’s exactly where my mind went.”
“Walter.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to have to hold on a lot harder than that.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Too late. The words floated into Hildy’s head, sharpening her resolve. “I can take it.”
He slid his hands a little higher, abandoning the knees after a brief clench. When his palms finally settled on her upper thighs, he huffed as if she’d just kicked over his sandcastle.
“Are you wearing sunscreen?” He sounded judgy, as if he couldn’t believe she’d made such a rookie mistake. Poor Walter, tortured by her naked quads.
“I’m sorry for caring about skin cancer.”
“It’s slippery.”
“Squeeze harder.” Hildy ignored the corresponding clench in her stomach muscles when his fingers flexed.
When Fiona and Robbie lined up on the opposite end of the pool, Hildy sent Walter a silent cue that it was time to move.
“Did you just steer me with your thighs or are you trying to strangle me?”
“Be glad I don’t have a whip. Assume the position, Seabiscuit.” She made clip-clop sounds with her tongue.
While the referee reminded them of the rules, Hildy took practice swings with her pink pool noodle. The poke, the slash, sideways sweep, the thumper—
“It’s much more intimidating when you give them a name,” Walter said, cluing Hildy in that her monologue had gone audible. He let go of her right thigh long enough to give her an encouraging pat.
The crowd gasped as Hildy wobbled, weight shifting to one side.
She slid halfway down Walter’s arm before he managed to arrest her momentum with a firm shove in the other direction.
The only problem was that she was now draped horizontally across his face and neck, clinging to his opposite shoulder while he anchored her ass with the crook of his elbow.
It probably looked like a figure skating lift gone horribly wrong.
He laughed, and Hildy felt the heat of it from her stomach down. She couldn’t even writhe away for fear of dunking herself before the match even started.
“You guys okay over there?” Robbie yelled.
Hildy raised her thumb.
“The joust starts on my whistle,” the ref announced.
“Let’s do this.” Hildy reached down to pat Walter’s stomach. Under other circumstances, she would have asked about his core workout. “As soon as you turn me around.”