You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask off that ol' Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim." --Jim Croce
“Cuanto cuesta?” His Spanish was rusty. He’d spent sophomore year sneaking smokes during that period, so he was at a loss. The vendor eyeballed him with a smile that revealed how ripe a sucker she thought he was. His wallet was burning a hole in his pocket.
“Esto, senor?”
“Si.”
“Diez. No menos.”
“Tengo cinco. Puedo dar cinco para esto.” He held up the black fringed shawl and fingered a tiny flaw in the fabric that actually gave it character. She rolled her lips, then moistened them with a sip of lemonade in a sweating, red plastic cup. The ice cubes jangled as she thunked it back down.
“Es muy bonita, senor! No puedo permitir que lo tienes, eh? Ocho?” She was getting warmer. He shook his head. He was enjoying himself.
They bartered back and forth in a jumble of clipped English and half-formed phrases in Spanish until she carefully folded the shawl in brittle wrapping paper and stuffed it into a shopping bag. He handed her a twenty. She gave him a sour look.
“Tienes cambio?”
“Excusame?”
“Cambio.” She picked up the small “take one, leave one” penny tray by her cash box.
Ah. Change. Logan dug back into his billfold and peered inside, finally fishing out a five and two singles. She was just as annoyed with his choice of currency, but he had to go convert more of his pin money to pesos before he met Scott. He gladly took back his ten and thanked her for the purchase. He decided to skip perusing the rest of the trinkets at the risk of annoying her after talking her down so low.
Logan left the stand and strolled through the crowded fresh air market. Various smells mingled and assailed his senses; he succumbed to the safest offering he saw and bought a huge cup of fruit salad marinated in lemon juice and chile. It wouldn’t even take the edge off his appetite, but he wanted something to wet his whistle before he met Summers.
He’d bet good money Slim was already red as a lobster. They’d brought along SPF 50, and his cheeks were already well done beneath the rims of his Oakleys by the time they reached their hotel from Mexico City. But what did he expect? Spending the other fifty weeks of the year in a city where winters usually ran twenty below made a man get ahead of himself. Logan wasn’t in the mood for another white Christmas in Boston, especially when he’d have ended up spending it alone. Fuck it.
His feet fell victim to the blaring music, his steps falling into time with the banda playing across the plaza. Logan didn’t dance. Ever. But he tried with no success not to walk to the beats. He caught his reflection in a car window as it cut him off at the intersection.
Logan was going native.
His hair was tousled and held auburn glints from the sun, setting off his rich, dark tan. His guayabera shirt held sweat rings and triangles from the humidity, and his lightweight linen pants were rolled up several inches above his ankles. Guarache sandals shod his feet; his heels were cracked and dry. Logan couldn’t resist the daily luxury of the white sand sifting between his toes at the beach.
His stance was relaxed and open, to an extent. Logan was still mindful of pickpockets, hooking his thumb into his pants pocket and walking with the shopping bag handles looped around his wrist, shielding his wallet. Some habits never died.
The air conditioning chilled him, making his perspiration drop by several degrees and goosebumps break out on his skin when he entered the restaurant. Green talavera tiles covered the floor and the walls of the lobby. He nodded to the cashier out front, who assured him that he could seat himself anywhere.
Slim beat him to the punch. No surprise, there. Scott was everyone’s yes man. Always on time, never broke a promise, and he hated to disappoint anyone. Ever.
He grinned at him as he entered the patio, glad it was only cooled by shade. Scott was sweating as much as he was and smelled faintly of Coppertone. He was darkly tanned but as Logan guessed, his cheeks were already slightly ruddy. He’d already overdone it. Now he was overdone.
“You have the spare key card already, right?”
“Yeah.” Logan beckoned to the waiter, who barely looked old enough to drive. “What’s up?”
“I’m gonna be out late tonight.” Logan twisted his lips.
“Is that right.”
“Don’t wait up.”
“Dog.”
“One helluva lucky dog, too.”
“Name?”
“Carol. That’s what she told me it was, anyway.”
“Just make sure ya don’t wake up without yer wallet and passport.” They were interrupted by their server again, but this time it was a short and slightly rotund woman in dark red lipstick and snug black top, wearing her dark hair full and blown out. She set down Logan and Scott’s drinks, handed them a basket of freshly fried tortilla chips, and ambled off. Scott raised an eyebrow at Logan’s sweating bottle of Corona.
“What’d you get?” Logan handed over the sack. Scott pawed through it, peering inside. “Nice. Who’s it for?”
“My boss’ secretary. She made a big fuss over how she ain’t goin’ anywhere for Christmas this year except for visitin’ her in-laws. So I picked up a tidbit.”
“Looks like a girlfriend gift.”
“Nah. No strings attached.” And no headaches involved.
“She’ll probably like it.”
“Already got all the little crap I was lookin’ for. Few shot glasses, few post cards. Tee shirt for my kid sister.”
“Nice.” Scott downed half of his orange Jarritos, smothering a burp. He’d grown addicted to the sodas since they flew into the airport.
They weren’t hungry enough for anything on the main menu and eventually shared an appetizer of chicken flautas cut into medallions and served with sour cream and fresh guacamole.
The next hour found them perusing the beach one more time and taking a final dip. Logan cleaved his way toward the deep waves and flipped over onto his back. He floated wherever the water took him. It was a rare indulgence.
They returned to the hotel worn out, sandy and smelling like the surf. They took turns with the shower and dug into their traveling kits for shaving cream and hair gel. Logan didn’t even know what his plans were yet, but their motel wasn’t remarkable enough to tempt him to stay inside. The Pay-per-View choices were slim.
He slipped into lightweight linen slacks and another guayabera shirt, beige this time, and shoved his feet into his broken-in brown loafers. Scott chuckled as he scrunched a handful of gel into his unruly waves. Logan scowled at him in the mirror, then made the same face at himself as he tried to smooth his cowlick.
It didn’t help. He sighed, then forked his fingers through it, letting his hair fall wherever it felt like. There. Good enough.
“Going through a lot of trouble for a guy with no plans.”
“I’ve got plans. All they involve is goin’ out.”
“I’ll inform the local authorities.”
“Don’t wait up,” Logan tossed back, repeating Scott’s earlier injunction. Scott sighed as the door slammed behind him.
Logan was a grown-up, and he didn’t need Scott holding his hand when he crossed the street.
But he worried anyway. He’d grown so hard.
*
The cantina was packed to the rafters. The music throbbed and drifted into the street. From what Logan could tell, the crowd was all-ages, so he wouldn’t be out of place. Good enough.
The drink menu was full of trendy crap and sweet shots that didn’t appeal to him. He was craving something with a bite. There were some tempting tequilas lined up behind the bar. Logan still wasn’t hungry for a big meal; the heat was killing his appetite despite the fantastic choices on every corner.
It was about an hour til dusk, but it was already happy hour. The tourists were easy to distinguish from the locals by the sunburns and clothes that didn’t quite fit the season. Logan finally settled on his usual Jack Daniels, neat.
He moved to the patio again, this one lined with potted palms. He found one of the only solitary tables left. Something in his face and the set of his shoulders kept him alone, and he was thankful for it. For the moment.
Then again…
“This seat taken?” A voice straight out of a dirty phone call line interrupted his next sip. The Jack Daniels hovered millimeters shy of his lips. He traced its source, taking the long way up.
His eyes jerked slightly, slowly, taking her in one piece at a time.
Red. Garish, stark red. She wore it unapologetically, standing out from the “I look slimmer in this” black and white cotton that were the staples of every other woman in the room.
You could hardly call it a dress. All he could see were shoulders, the deep swell of her breasts and a glimpse of her taut belly once he got past her legs, and even that took him a while. They were a mile long, toned, tapered, and made for wrapping around a man’s waist.
She smiled indolently. Decadently. Like she had a secret.
“It is now.”
“I came out here to hear myself think,” she admitted as she began to pull up the chair. He knew courtesy required that he rise to do it for her, but she gave him a better view of her chest in the skimpy halter of her dress as she bent forward and sat down.
For five seconds, he could be discourteous. Why the fuck not?
“Ya here on a vacation?” Of course she was. He hated, HATED small talk, but he wanted to keep here there, instead of watching her traipse back to the bar, or worse, to the dance floor.
“What do you think?” Her reply mimicked his thoughts, but she was still smiling.
“Where ya from?”
“Here and there. I’m working on a contract in New York after New Year’s. First of the year sucks for new business.”
“No shit,” he agreed, not thinking to curb his language. She didn’t appear to mind.
“What’s your line of business?”
“Sales. You?”
“More power to you.” Her smile was different now. Admiring, but also self-deprecating. “Underwriter.”
“Nice.’ He noticed her drink glass that she’d set down on the table when she arrived. Nearly empty. “Drink?”
“Only if we can get it at the bar.”
“Why? Got a great table right here.” And it was. The view of the beach was spectacular.
“So we don’t have to wait a dog’s age to get another drink.” Fair enough. This time he rose first, rounding the table and offering her his hand.
Her fingers felt cool and soft, but she released him quickly. She felt the brief press of his palm at her lower back, beckoning her to precede him to the bar. Thankfully there was a second one set up outside. They could watch the sunset.
Anticipation and arousal mingled in his gut. Her perfume was heady and sharp with notes of ginger and sandalwood. It teased him when a breeze whipped her hair, sweeping it off her shoulders and revealing the long line of her neck.
Her hair was a blazing, startling white, a stark contrast to her skin, which was a deep cinnamon. He enjoyed watching the sway of her hips as she walked. He wasn’t the only one. She stood out easily, nearly parting the crowd as they passed. His knuckles itched at the calls of “Ay, mami!” as she leaned against the counter and caught the barkeep’s attention.
She ordered their drinks, asking for another of what they were already having. His body was already drawn to hers; he flanked her side, close enough for her hair to tickle him and cling to his shirt in the breeze.
“What’s your name?”
“Ya can call me Logan.”
“You can call me Tory.”
“That yer real name?” He had to be sure. He needed something to offer the cops in case she ripped him off, he supposed.
“I answer to Tory,” she shrugged. Her smile rose a notch. She toyed with the ice cubes in her glass, swirling them with her finger.
‘
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.” She eyed him over the rim as she took a sip. “How long are you here?”
“Another two days.”
“Back to the real world,” she mourned. He chuckled at her mock pout.
“If it were my world, this would be the real world. It’s gonna be hard ta tear myself away and hop back on a plane.”
“I think I want to come visit your world for a while, then.” They spoke in low tones to better hear themselves over the din of music and laughter.
“I’ll make ya a reservation, darlin’.” She was studying him, drinking him in. He felt naked under her gaze. “What?”
“You can make a wish.”
“Come again?” She smiled decadently, feeling he made it too easy, practically walking right into it. Is that an offer? Or a promise? He arched his brow and his own smile deepened half a notch.
He got the joke.
“Your little pendant.” Her fingertips were cool as they graze his flesh. Every cell in his body awoke sharply, aware of her closeness and light touch.
She fiddled idly with the sturdy gold chain, making it rasp his skin as she fed it around his neck. She watched his throat with great concentration as she fixed him. “When it’s on backwards, you make a wish.”
“Really? Hm,” he shrugged. She peered down at the small St. Christopher medal pursed between her finger and thumb. “Yer a woman of insight,” he challenged. “Tell me what I should wish for.”
“That’s not how it works,” she said.
“Tell me.” His fingertips traced an indolent path down the length of her hand until he ringed her wrist in his grasp. She shivered. His skin radiated heat, even before she touched him.
“You have to keep your wish to yourself or it won’t come true.” Her tone mocked him. “Like a wishbone. Or birthday candles.” She gently unfolded his fingers and turned his wrist face-up. She reached for a salt shaker and bowed her lips to his pulse. Her pink tongue flicked out to taste the taut vein before she sprinkled a few grains on it, seasoning him.
He grew hard. The sight of her tongue and its soft lapping at his skin was enough.
Was it his birthday?
“Eyelashes,” she mused, signaling the barkeep for another by raising her empty shot glass. “You let someone else blow away a loose one, if you have one.” The barkeep thunked down a full glass; it reflected the sunlight and the garish colors of the lounge’s décor. Moisture oozed down its sides as she ran her fingers over the rim. “Some girls like spinning an apple off its stem. One turn for each letter of the alphabet.”
“Some girls.” Absently he reached for a tiny wedge of lime from a tray shaped like a palm tree. “Not you?”
“Not my kind of wish.” She held up the shot, saluting him.
Logan never broke their gaze as he tucked the lime wedge between his teeth.
This time she bobbed her head and lapped up the salt, flattening her tongue for a thorough taste. She felt his body stiffen and tossed back the shot, savoring the burn. She only let go of his wrist long enough to fist her hand in the collar of his beach shirt. She brought the sharp sting of tequila to him, exchanging it for the tart morsel between his lips.
Beads of pulp punctured and exploded across his tongue as her even white teeth grazed his lower lip, slightly sunburned from his swim. She teased him, wresting the prize from him and sucking on him like he was an appetizer.
She was milking him.
Her tongue nimbly swept the wedge of lime from the recess of his mouth. “Mmmm. Mmnh.”
“Mmmph,” he replied on a low rumble. She reluctantly let him go, allowing him enough oxygen to come back to his senses.
So help me… She was holding the lime between her fingers, diligently draining its juice. She tossed the used-up tidbit onto her cocktail napkin.
“Thirsty?”
“I was.” She dipped into her canvas hobo bag and pulled out a twenty. His hand stopped her sliding it across the bar as the waitress approached. Logan fished out a couple of crumpled tens from his pocket and settled their tabs.
“Are ya finished?”
“Here,” she said, nodding to their surroundings. “But there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m hungry.”
*
They made it to another open market and Logan purchased a plate of soft tacos for them to share. They ate with their fingers, licking them clean of the spicy green tomatillo sauce.
“Where do you live, Logan?”
“Boston.”
“You’re headed back to snow.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Bet mine’s colder than yours.”
“Not on yer life!”
“Manhattan,” she announced.
“Is it so cold ya can’t inhale the air without wearin’ a muffler around half yer face?”
“Worse. It’s so cold you can’t talk without your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.”
“Pansy,” he teased. She poked him in the ribs.
“Look who’s talking. You’re here in the sweltering heat, like me.”
“Can ya blame me? Look at this place.” They were already walking back down the street toward the beach.
“I don’t want to leave,” she admitted. “Ever.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“It’s nice.”
“Mmm-hm.”
“I mean all this, but having someone to share it with.”
“Ya didn’t travel with anyone?”
“Nope. Just me, and all the voices in my head along for the trip.”
They reached the shore. Their shoes dangled from their fingers as they strolled across the sand. Their shoulders bumped until he took her hand in his.
He was so easy to be with. She rationalized that this was why she’d abandoned common sense and any control of her impulses.
She’d needed to get away from her life. A diversion. A time-out. She needed time to just “be.”
Whether he knew it or not, Logan fit the bill.
“Logan.” He let her gently tug him to a halt. She tossed her shoes onto the sand and reached for his face, cupping his jaw. His lips met hers halfway just as he crushed her to him.
His hands were firm around her waist, gripping them as she kissed him senseless. They exchanged breath and heat and want. Her arms twined around his neck, and she moaned with need when his hands roamed and slid down to her hips, grinding her against him. He was already erect and straining toward her softness through his linen pants.
They were out in the open and wearing too many clothes. Logan planned to remedy both problems in one shot.
“C’mon.”
They only scrambled back into their shoes when they reached the beach parking lot. He stole one more long, hungry kiss before they headed back into the street.
“Where are you staying?”
“La Playa resort on Mercado Street.”
“Mine’s three streets down,” he argued.
“Drive,” she ordered as they piled into his rental car. He was checking his mirrors and pulling into traffic as she turned off his radio, too keyed up to want the distraction of music. Traffic stopped at the second intersection; he cursed under his breath. Tory giggled. Her hand stroking his knee, squeezing it, consoled him slightly but made him more impatient to reach their destination.
“Ya don’t wanna do that right now,” he grated out.
“Oh, but I do.” Her hand was sliding south, her pinky nearly flicking the bulge rising between his legs.
“Jesus.” Traffic stopped again. He took advantage of it and lunged across the console, fisting his hand in her hair and kissing her roughly, sucking her lower lip. Tory purred in approval; he tasted hot and his lips were firm and demanding.
A car honked impatiently behind them. He broke away and drove. Her hand covered his over the gearshift. He wanted her to stroke him instead.
They attempted to walk calmly through the front lobby. Again, several sets of eyes followed her, but this time his hand at her waist was slightly possessive. They entered the elevator and waited breathlessly for the doors to shut.
He fell upon her, pressing her back into the corner as their hands groped and kneaded and tugged.
“Damn it, this is nuts!”
“Don’t stop. Please, just don’t stop.”
“Not on yer life. Taste so damned good, darlin’. I wanna eat ya up.” The chime dinged, and they came up for air long enough to make their exit. They reached his door, and Logan fumbled for his key card. His hands were shaking. She pressed her breasts against his back and teased his neck with her lips.
“Hurry.”
“Just gimme a sec…aw, God!” Her arms enfolded his waist and she stroked his taut abdomen, nipping at his ear. His knees practically buckled. He found the card and punched it into the slot, yanking it out. They fell inside, and he couldn’t wait. Not one second.
Logan kicked the door shut and extinguished the lights; the sunset provided a backdrop for the silhouette of their bodies as they came together. Their lips fused hungrily and they felt feverish as their fingers tore at each other’s clothes. He was impatient with the fastening of her dress; she reached up one-handed and he heard a snap. It pooled in a red puddle around her ankles, leaving her bare and lush except for a tiny, black pair of bikinis.
She was about to kick off her shoes. “Uh-uh. Leave ‘em on.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Hell, no. Leave ‘em on.” She was so sexy she made him hurt. She worked open three of his buttons before he yanked his shirt off over his head. Her hands played over the melody of solid muscles on his chest, raking her nails gently through the crisp layer of dark hair.
“I don’t care. Whatever you want. I want you.” Their hands fumbled and awkwardly for his buckle until she wrested his away and jerked it open, kissing him at his look of amused surprise. “Now. I don’t care how. Gimme!”
“Shit!” He nearly tripped over his pants, now down his knees. The air conditioning made his nipples pebble. Hers were already pouting and ripe, begging to be tasted. He embraced her, devouring her mouth. Her world felt tipped on its ear as he lifted her, arms locked around her waist, barreling them both against the wall.
“Logan-mmmph!” He hooked his hands behind her knees, hoisting her up and wrapping those long, tempting legs around his waist. She felt herself dip slightly as he jerked down his boxers. Logan’s mouth trailed hotly over her face as she clung to him for support, pressing her cheek against his pulse.
“Just tell me yer ready, darlin’. Please.” His cock slapped her thigh as it bobbed free. She ground herself against it instinctively; her pearl throbbed as it rubbed against him, testing his hardness.
“Now,” she hissed.
He didn’t bother taking off her underpants. Logan tugged aside the crotch, dipped his fingers inside and plumbed her. She was wet, and enticingly hot. Her walls squeezed his fingers and promised ecstasy if he could only get inside…
He rubbed the head of his cock against her dewy flesh, slicking himself with it before he pressed himself inside.
“Jesus,” he prayed again. His second thrust sheathed him completely within her depths. Her eyes went wide, uncomprehending that he could make her feel that way, so full and stretched and exposed.
He needed to fuck. His brain screamed at him to move, to possess her however he could. He needed to hear her cry his name and drain him. He wanted to smell her scent on his flesh when he woke up. But he didn’t want to wake up from this. It was the best dream he’d ever had.
“Ride me,” she rasped in his ear. She bit his neck. His hips bucked in response, and he obeyed her command.
They watched each other’s faces straining with need and desire as he rutted inside her. The wall was unyielding at her back but she didn’t care. Her heels bounced against his ass as he thrust in and out of her sweetness. She clutched handfuls of his gloriously thick, soft hair and possessed his mouth.
Before she could protest, he turned them, still engaged at the hip, and carried her to the bed. They tumbled down and were buffeted apart only long enough for her to back her way up the mattress, giving him room. She welcomed him back, and he entered her once more, this time harder and more easily with the new position.
The headboard banged against the wall as he slammed into her, creating friction and heat in her loins. Heat spread over her, making her breasts jiggle and tingle all the way down to the tips. He paused only long enough for his mouth latch onto one, groaning around her flesh. She tasted so good, like sun-warmed fruit. His tongue swiveled around it, enflaming her.
“Oh, God, Logan, please! Oh, God,” she prayed. They continued like that as the sky turned watercolor shades of orange and pink outside.
He needed to see her.
Logan reared back and grasped her legs, prying them farther apart. He pulled her ankles up so that her legs formed a wide ‘V’ while he kneeled upright, giving him a perfect vantage point to look his fill.
Her fingers dug into his thighs. He was banging into her harder, faster, deeper; the sight of her face straining with pleasure, chanting curses and his garbled name sped him toward completion.
“Tory!” he huffed. “Aw, God, Tory! So fuckin’ good, ya feel too good, yer gonna…make me-“ His words were cut off as he fell over the edge. His hips spasmed and she felt the swell and cramp of his dick as he erupted inside her.
Those final, fast jerks sent her hurtling after him. She gasped and sobbed his name over and over as her climax shook her.
He released her legs. They felt slightly cramped as she let them splay open, and he collapsed against her, spent. Her arms drifted around him, embracing him as though they’d done this before.
“Sorry,” he mumbled into her throat.
“Why?”
“That was faster than I wanted. I couldn’t wait.”
“You don’t hear me complaining?”
“I wanted ta touch ya and take my time with ya.”
“You can do that now.” He leaned up on his elbows and watched her. Tory’s smile was content and replete when she caressed his jaw.
“Might take ya up on that.” Her toes ran down the length of calf, once she kicked off her shoes.
And he did. They spent the rest of the night cuddling and touching between bouts of making love and dropping off to sleep.
*
He tasted a remnant of whisky and salsa on his tongue when he woke up. He was slightly stiff from sleeping in odd positions, and he groaned at the brisk click of the door.
“Wakey, wakey, sport,” Scott crowed cheerfully. He made a face at the tangled covers and scattered clothes. “Wow. Rough night?”
“Mmmmph.”
“Rough night,” Scott declared.
Tory.
Logan bolted awake. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” He jerked himself up and bunched the covers over his lower half, searching the room. “Where is she?” Logan hoped she was decent.
“Who?”
“I had company.” He didn’t hear the shower running or smell shampoo.
“’Had’ company is right. Looks like she skeddadled.” Logan squinted at the floor.
Only his clothes and shoes. No purse or high heels. He rubbed his face, then grimaced at his throbbing temples. That would teach him to mix.
“Shit.”
