Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage (30 page)

Peaches leaned over to me. “You sure you don’t want one? It won’t kill you.”

“I’m fine with just water,” I replied.

“Okay then.” She smiled at me, took a long sip of her beer. “You’re such a goodie goodie, Jimmy.”

“I just don’t see the point.”

“In what?”

“In getting drunk. I don’t like the idea of not being in control of myself.”

“Who said anything about getting drunk? One beer won’t do nothing but … I don’t know … relax you a bit.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Really? I’ve seen you relaxed, and you don’t look it now. Remember the first night we met?”

I smiled. “How could I forget. I don’t remember being relaxed though. I was so scared my grandma was gonna come down the stairs and see me smoking that joint. I swear it took a good week before the bookstore smelled like books again.”

“So you were a little paranoid. It all turned out for the best, right?”

“Well, other than society collapsing. Sure.”

“I mean … you don’t regret it, do you? Spending those few hours with me, cheering me up after I had such a lousy night.”

“No, I don’t regret it. I’m glad we met. And I’m happy we’ve managed to stick together.”

“Are we … together?”

“We share a bed, and it doesn’t feel awkward anymore.”

“It never felt awkward for me.” She guzzled the last few inches of her beer and then kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

While Peaches was gone, I listened in on the rest of the group’s conversation, mostly involving the route tomorrow. Brian led the talk, while Cathy sat beside him, rocking Olivia, smiling big and bright. Her spirit had returned with the return of her husband. Just seeing her infectious glow made all the pain Charlie had dished out more than worth it. It also made me feel ashamed. To think we’d tried to talk her out of even looking for Brian. In this new world, hope and optimism was the currency that kept everything going. If there was no chance things could get better, what was the use in living? Cathy showed me—showed us all—why it was important never to give up. By degrees, I could feel the weight of Diego’s suicide grow lighter.

Peaches returned a minute later with three beers.

“You must be thirsty,” I said.

“One of these is for you.”

She handed me a beer.

“And the other two…?”

“These are for me,” she replied. “Hey, I never said I had a problem getting drunk.”

I put the beer to my nose, smelled it. It had an interesting scent. The taste, however, was less interesting. I couldn’t hide my displeasure as I swallowed.

Peaches watched me, and then took a sip of her beer. She made no funny face. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s … beer.”

“You look like you’ve never had one before.”

“I have. But it was a long time ago.” She stared at me, waiting for further explanation. “My grandpa gave me a sip once when I was little. It tastes the same as I remembered.”

“After four or five, you don’t even really taste it anymore.”

“I can’t imagine drinking five of these.” I glanced down between the chairs. There was three empty bottles already, and Peaches was working on polishing off a fourth. “I hope you can keep all of that down. You know we have to sleep in the same bed tonight.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”

Hmm.

Okay. That must be the beer talking.

I’d let that one slide without comment.

Later, after the sun went down and the party dissolved, I found out what she really meant.

The house was silent. Everyone was in their respective rooms. Except Ted, who was riding the couch downstairs. Olivia was in the crib, asleep. Jax at the foot of the crib, almost asleep.

All doors were shut.

All candles snuffed out.

It was sleep time. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

I was in bed, looking up at the useless ceiling fan, sheet pulled up to my neck. The window was open, but the hot air outside did nothing to cool the hot air inside. It was mid-eighties in the house, if I had to guess. Still, I slept with the sheet on top of me—kept myself covered—because I didn’t want Peaches to see me with just my tighty whities on. She was in the connecting bathroom, changing into her pajamas.

Only.

When she came out, she wasn’t wearing her pajamas. She had on only her bra and panties. I had watched her pick them out at the store.

I quickly looked away, shut my eyes, and pretended to be asleep. I felt her crawl into the bed next to me, slide under the sheet we shared, and then lay still.

After a moment, I opened my eyes and glanced over at her.

And what did I see?

Her lying on her side, head on the pillow, gazing over at me like I was a piece of meat.

That’s right.

I was a piece of meat. And she was hungry.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You tired?”

Tired?

I was. A little. But that was ten seconds ago. Ever since I saw her come out of the bathroom, I was wide awake.

“Aren’t you?”

Perfect. Answer a question with a question.

Good deflection.

“No,” she answered. She scooted closer to me until her legs touched mine. “I have plenty of energy.”

Apparently not a good enough deflection.

My whole body tensed up. I looked into her eyes—her
hungry
eyes—and said, “You had a lot to drink. I’m surprised you’re not already passed out.”

She smiled. “Do you wish I was?”

“Not really.”

She leaned in close and kissed me on the lips. Then she whispered in my ear, “Did you want to take advantage of me?” Suddenly I felt her hand on my thigh gradually moving up my leg and over my underwear, where she stopped and began caressing little Jimmy.

How was I to respond?

Every muscle in my body tightened. One in particular. It quickly grew in size as she continued to massage it, up and down, while planting kisses all over my neck and face. Finally, she reached her hand up and pulled my underwear down. Then she began stroking me like I’d never been stroked before.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Stupidly.

She withdrew her hand. Stopped kissing me. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I don’t know.”

Not satisfied with my answer, she began again. Rubbing me. All five and a half solid inches.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “Don’t you want to touch me?”

It took me more than a few seconds for the question to register in my brain. She was doing wondrous things with her hand, I tell you, wondrous things. I was totally zoned out. She had me lost in her spell. She had me at
hello
.

There was no use in fighting it.

“I know you’re a virgin,” she said. “I can tell.”

There was no use in denying it.

All I could say was, “Okay.”

“You don’t have to be afraid. I don’t have any expectations.”

All I could say was, “Okay.”

“If you don’t want to do it … if you’re not ready … just say so, and I’ll back off.”

Her hand sure didn’t back off. Up and down. Up and down. Softly. Gently.

“I just don’t think this is the right time,” I muttered.

“I understand,” she said. “You’re nervous. That’s natural.”

“Well, it’s just weird ya know. Olivia is in the room. And Jax.”

She smiled. “Is that it?”

Partially. I was scared. This was all so new to me, and it had come on so sudden.
She
had come on so sudden, like a wild animal in heat.

“Are you upset?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You might be right. I’m a little drunk. And I’ve been known to get loud. How about I just give you head?”

I kept staring into her eyes. Speechless.

This was like something I had dreamed about every night for years and years. I was with a woman in bed, and she wanted me. She wanted to please me. This was what it must have felt like to be Brad Pitt.

She didn’t wait for me to respond. Not that I had a response to give. She sat up on her knees and looked down at me—her black thong panties staring me right in the face. Then she removed her bra. Without restraints, her giant breasts hung free, her nipples large and pink.

“I want you to touch me,” she said, and then led one of my hands up to her breasts.

I squeezed softly, tried to mimic the approach she’d used on me. Her skin felt so smooth on my fingertips. Her nipples got hard as I ran my hand over them, around them. While I was focused on the upstairs, she slid down her thong, exposing the rest of herself to me. I had never felt so excited. My heart beat heavily inside my chest. My penis throbbed.

She moved my hand down to her vagina, allowed me to explore. She began to breathe hard, moan softly. My fingers instantly became wet.

“You’re doing good,” she said. “Just keep doing that.”

Then she settled back on to the mattress, her head now near my crouch, one leg up so I could continue to run my hand against her. Run my fingers inside her. A moment later, she put her mouth on me, twisting up and down, sucking hard. I felt all the tension in my body begin to slowly fade away.

I put my head back. Closed my eyes.

It would all be over soon.

I could feel it building—feel it
coming
. And still she kept going. She never pulled back. Even as I finished, her mouth never left me.

She was a pro.

And I was officially in love.

“You feeling any better?” Robinson asked.

The question was directed at Peaches. We were down in the cabin of the boat. I was scrunched up on a sofa. She sat at a desk, slouched over, her head in her hands.

“Not really,” she replied, not looking up.

Robinson turned to me, nudged my leg. “How ‘bout you big guy?”

Big guy? What was I ten years old?

I grumbled and rolled over on my stomach.

Robinson got the idea and climbed back up to the main deck without further prodding.

Tony’s forty-foot cruiser was nice. Spacious. Clean. There was a twenty-inch flat screen TV. A DVD player. A powerful stereo system. But unfortunately, I wouldn’t get to enjoy any of these things. The motion of the water, as we cruised along at around twenty knots, had my stomach tied up in about a hundred knots. We weren’t in the Gulf of Mexico for more than an hour before I was hugging the toilet, saying hello again to my breakfast.

Peaches, on the other hand, wasn’t bothered as much by the motion of the boat. She was paying the price for drinking too much the previous night. Her head hurt. She felt fatigued. She had stayed up late. We had
both
stayed up late. After our little play session, we had talked (my idea), while cuddling (her idea). It had felt so nice at the time, getting to know each other better on so many different levels. But when the crack of dawn came and we were forced to get up, our bodies rebelled. And thus, we’d spend most of the first leg of the trip down below, miserable, confessing our sins to the porcelain God.

At some point, I fell asleep.

When I woke, the boat was no longer moving. The engines were off. I followed Peaches up to the main deck. Aamod was standing outside the boat, helping Naima safely climb out on to the dock. Robinson and Bowser waited their turn.

“Good afternoon,” Robinson said. “I was about to come wake you two up.”

“I’m awake,” I mumbled in tired English, though I’m sure I didn’t look awake. I could barely keep my eyes open, as the bright midday sun blinded me.

Peaches and I carefully climbed off the boat.

“Where are we?” Peaches asked.

“We’re at a marina in Panama City.”

“Why?”

“We need to refuel.”

I guess that explained the gas pump in front of me.

I shielded my eyes, glanced around. The dock was as wide as a highway. There had to be fifty to a hundred boats big and small parked in berths.

“How did she do?” Peaches asked.

Cathy stood nearby, holding Olivia. “Oh, fine. She slept most of the way. Must have been the rocking of the boat.”

“Has she eaten?”

“Yeah, I just fed her not long ago.”

Aamod and Naima wandered off down the dock to stretch their legs.

“Where is Ted and Brian?” I asked.

“They went inside the station,” Robinson replied. “The power is out on the pumps, but Brian’s sure this place has a generator. Now we wait and see if him and Ted can figure out how to turn it on.”

“And what if they can’t?”

“Then we go someplace else. There’s a bunch of other marinas in the area.”

We headed down the dock toward the mainland. Jax tagged along, exploring, looking for something new and interesting to pee on. At the end of the dock were a number of buildings. Restaurants. Supply shops. Additional dry storage for boats. To the right was a boat ramp, beyond it a small picnic area. In the distance was a parking lot with dozens of trucks.

We entered the building closest to the dock, a small convenience store. I wanted to tell Aamod to get behind the counter and get to work. It would have gotten a laugh or two. But then I remembered Aamod had the sense of humor of a medieval executioner, and I wanted to live to see another day.

Ted and Brian were in the back of the store working on the generator. Robinson went to check on their progress. The rest of us browsed the store, which contained a little bit of everything. Food. Drinks. Boat parts. Fishing poles. Bait and tackle. Sunglasses. And all manner of tourist items, including clothing and hats.