Operation Foreplay (18 page)

“There weren’t many cowboys in Georgia. And besides, what’s wrong with a cowboy? I thoughts chicks totally dug cowboys? I mean, I don’t have the hat or boots or anything but if you’re into that kind of thing I’m sure I could find—”

“Stop right there buddy.” I held up my hands.

“Buddy?”

“Yeah,
buddy
. Let’s get something straight. You’re here
pretending
to be my boyfriend so my mom gets off my back and if you think there’s going to be any hanky-panky this week—”

“Who says I
want
hanky-panky with you? That’s awfully presumptuous. I barely even know you.” He stared straight ahead and turned up the music, a small dimple forming at the corner of his mouth.

“You’d be lucky to hanky-panky with me.” I thought about it. He and I really didn’t know each other at all.

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“Interesting. I mean, your being Irish and all I figured you’d be looking for a little lady luck.”

“Nah. She’s bat-shit crazy. I’d rather make things happen for myself.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

“Nope. But then again, slow and steady wins the race.”

“Who are you in a race with?”

“Myself. I work hard. I play hard. When I want something, I go after it. I don’t always get it, but I try to make sure the effort is memorable.”

“Memorable?”

“Educational.”

“Educational?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say as a question?”

“No.” I looked out the window. “So what are you after now?”

“You.”

“Me?” I whipped my head around and shifted in my seat.

“Is that a problem?” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you want from me?”

He stared straight ahead and I chewed on a fingernail.

He finally answered, “I just want to know you better.”

I thought for a minute and decided to ask one of the questions I wanted to know the answer to. “Why did you and your girlfriend break up?”

“Pulling out the big guns, huh?” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. I figured he knew I was looking when he pulled his sunglasses off the top of his head and shoved them on his face. “Didn’t work out.”

“That’s not vague at all.” I played with the strap of my favorite navy blue sundress.

“Yeah, well.” He changed the radio station from country favorites to eighties hair bands. “Honestly, there’s not much to tell other than that. We grew apart. Wanted different things. I don’t know. I mean, am I sad about it? Yeah kind of, but not how I thought I would be. She’s a great girl, just not great for me nor I for her.”

“That sounds very grown-up.”

He shrugged, “Grown-ups do grown-up things.”

And the second question that was burning in my brain? “Why’d you cancel the interview with Zac?”

“Didn’t really want to work for a guy like that.” I noticed his knuckles whiten as he gripped the steering wheel.

“A guy like what?” I almost bit my tongue as I asked. I knew the answer. It was written all over his face.

“He’s a douche.”

“He’s not a douche. He’s just—”

“Sorry. A douche
bag
. What the hell do you see in that guy anyway? Is it because he’s loaded?” He sounded annoyed, angry even.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. “
That
is insulting.” For the first time in my life, I actually was ashamed of myself. Sure, Gabe the Fart Machine grossed me out, but I hadn’t felt ashamed. Just resigned to the fact that a girl can’t always expect a guy to make her come.

“Oh, right. I forgot. It’s because he’s great in the sack
and
he’s loaded.”

“For your information”—I shifted in my seat so my back was against the door and I was looking straight at him—“I don’t
see
anything in Zachary Waterman. Not anymore anyway. I made a mistake. That’s it. End of story. Is he loaded? Yeah. Could he fuck like a champ? Every fucking day. But neither of those things mean anything. Sex doesn’t always have to
mean
something. And if you knew me, you’d know that.”

“Well, I don’t know you.” He looked out the window and muttered, “And it drives me nuts.”

“And why would it drive you nuts?” The sharp retort had me cringing.

“I don’t know, Melody. Like I said, I want to know you. I want to see what it is you’re hiding behind all that snark. You wear a mask, Mel. And you aren’t fooling me. God, you are so blind.”

“Blind to what exactly?”

“Me. Everyone around you. Blind to how fucking great you are. Blind to the fact that I have been trying to get to know you, figure you out. I want to figure out why you keep telling yourself you don’t want a relationship when I kinda think you do. I want to know how you take your coffee in the morning. I want to know where your favorite vacation spot is.” He paused and blew out a breath. “I want to know what it feels like to kiss you.”

I looked down at my hands. “I don’t know what to say about that.”

“Then don’t say anything.” He turned up the radio again. “Don’t say anything at all.”

With an hour to go, the rest of the drive was full of awkward silence. And eighties power ballads. I’m surprised I didn’t burst into tears.

*  *  *

We arrived at my parents’ Second Avenue condo in North Wildwood by three in the afternoon. The breeze was light and warm. A perfect afternoon at the beach.

Jared parked his pickup across the street from the building. “Leave the bags. I’ll get them later.”

“We’re talking now?”

“Gotta start the charade sometime.” He sighed and opened the door.

“Let’s go look at the beach first.” I jumped out, wondering if I’d made a mistake in asking him to pretend for me.

We walked down the ramp to the beach and walked toward the water. I closed my eyes and let the sea air hit me. Just like my grandma used to do, I lifted my hand and rubbed my fingers together.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“My grandma would always stick her hand out the window and do this whenever we came down here. When we were close enough, she would say she could feel the salt in the air. That’s how she knew her vacation had started.”

He leaned his elbows on the railing and dropped his head. “I like that.”

“Me, too.”

We spent a few more minutes watching the waves break along the shoreline before heading to the condo.

We hadn’t always stayed in the condo. For years we stayed on the other side of the boardwalk in the Towers. I loved driving into Wildwood and seeing the large beach ball in front of the conference center, the view from the Towers, the pool, the easy walk to the hotel next door to get banana pancakes in the morning. I think Grandma was sad when we first stayed in North Wildwood. She missed the long walk from the boardwalk to the water, dragging coolers and chairs and towels, listening to the conductor remind us, “Watch the tram car, please.”

As a kid, I always loved the lights and sounds of the boardwalk at night. But the older I got, the more I wanted to just relax without having sand kicked in my face, without funnel cake being shoved down my throat. I was twenty when my parents finally stopped renting and finally purchased the condo. They just started living there full time last summer, after Dad retired.

Still, every summer since I can remember, Wildwood was my home.

“Mom? Dad?”

As usual, my parents were sitting out on the deck, Mom reading a book in the lounge chair and Dad with his binoculars and three fingers of scotch that he’d nurse until dinner. I was a near replica of my mother, but whereas she was stick thin, I had curves. We both had naturally brown hair, though I dyed mine blond. My eyes were my dad’s: big, hazel, and evenly spaced—a trait my mother thought was worth noting.

“Melly!” My dad pulled me into a huge bear hug. “I saw you looking out at the water. Thought about calling out to you but it looked like you and he were sharing a moment.” His laugh echoed, even in open space.

“Dad, we weren’t
sharing a moment
.”

“Felt like a moment to me.” Jared piped up and stretched out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jared. Nice to meet you, Mr. Ashford.”

“Please, call me Bill. Handshake schmandshake! We hug around here.” My dad pulled him in and clapped him on the back as my mom kissed me before turning to Jared.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Truth be told, Melody hasn’t told us much about you—”

“Mom—” I rolled my eyes.

“Hush now, Melody. You must be thirsty.” My mom linked her arm in his as she steered him toward the kitchen. “So, Jared. How did you and my Melody meet?”

“I’m Sarah’s brother. Moved here from Georgia not too long ago. Melody and I just kind of hit it off, I guess you’d say.”

My mom poured Jared her summer drink that my dad affectionately called the Too Fruity—a mixture of lime and coconut rums, pineapple juice, cranberry juice, and a healthy squeeze of fresh lime.

“Here you go, dear. Where are your bags?”

Jared took a healthy sip of the drink and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Ashford. In the car. I was going to get them later.”

“You can call me Nora. And don’t be silly. You’ve driven a long way. Melody and Bill can get them.”

My mom gave me
the look
that told me I was traipsing downstairs and dragging the bags up to the third floor. “Sure, Mom.”

“You two can have your room. I’ve redecorated. Wait till you see!” She nearly shoved Jared onto the back deck.

“Come on, Melly. Let’s get those bags.”

After we schlepped the bags upstairs, I dragged my large suitcase down the hall, following my dad. I stopped in the doorway and stared at the freshly made queen-size bed in the middle of my room.

“Dad? Where are the twin beds?”

“Oh, we got rid of them. Isn’t a bigger bed more comfortable?”

“Where is Jared going to sleep?”

“Well, I assume your mother has him staying here with you. Is that not okay?” He looked alarmed and placed his hands on my arms. “You know, you can say no. It’s your body. You should never let a man have his way with you—”

“Oh my God, Dad. Stop. It’s fine.” The conversation took me back to eighth grade, when I was getting ready for my first boy-girl dance and Dad thought it would be a good idea to have “the talk” with me. I’m surprised I wasn’t scared off penises for the rest of my life.

“As a man I can say that men have only one thing on their minds. I remember when I met your mother—”

“Dad! I am almost thirty years old. I think I know a little more than I did when I was a kid.”

“What’s all the yelling?” My mom rushed in. “Do you like the room?” She ran her hand over the brightly colored comforter, looking at me expectantly.

“It’s great, Mom.” I almost smiled.

Jared peeked around the doorway and said, “Nice bed.”

I looked at him, mortified, hoping the innuendo that dripped from his words were lost on my parents. “It’s fine, Mom. Thanks.”

“Well, you’re a little too old to be sleeping in a twin bed with princess sheets. I just figured you’d like something more grown-up. And now that you have a man in your life, I thought—”

“Princess sheets?” Jared mouthed the words silently.

“It’s fine, Mom. Really.” I hugged her as I gave Jared the finger.

“Good. Come on. I have some shrimp cocktail for everyone. It’s a special day, we can start happy hour early.”

“Be right there. I’m going to unpack so I don’t have to do it later.”

“I’ll help her.” Jared’s offer made my mom’s smile unnaturally wide and unsettling. I felt like I was Alice and she was the Cheshire Cat.

“You two take your time. We’ll be out here getting the snacks ready.” She winked at me and smiled at Jared before walking out of the room.

“Still like your wine, Melly?”

“Yep. Thanks, Dad.”

He closed the door behind him and Jared fell onto the bed.

“Comfy.”

“
You
are sleeping on the floor!” I ripped the pillow out of his hands.

“What would your mom think if you made me sleep on the floor? I mean, you are my girlfriend, right?”

He was right. At least partially. Partially being only for the week, only in front of my parents.

“Fine. You sleep over there. I’ll sleep here.” I dramatically slammed the pillow in the middle of the bed, highlighting our sleeping arrangements. “No funny business.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He sat on the bed, having finished his unpacking in a matter of minutes, and watched as I unpacked my bag, shoving items haphazardly into drawers.

“You’re going to wrinkle your clothes.” He pulled a hanger out of the closet, picked a dress from the top of the pile, and hung it up.