were open. Music was playing; it was the music I had faintly heard when I was down the beach. I had thought it was the Tiki Hut place. A couple of people slipped outside. A handsome but rugged man walked up to me with a smile. He had tanned skin, sexy whiskey-colored eyes, and plump lips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I smiled back and dropped my bag behind the chair on the deck, trying desperately to stay upright.
“You a friend of France’s?”
I nodded, “I am.”
“I’m Willy.” He put a huge hand out.
I took it and let him shake us both, “Nice to meet you. I’m J.D.”
He nodded, “Sexy. I love girls with names like that. My first love was a girl named A.J., she was hot.”
I laughed. He pointed back at the house, “You want a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
He hurried inside and grabbed a drink from the counter. It looked like a slushy drink. He carried it outside. France's eyes followed him out of the house to the deck. They met mine. He frowned, tilted his head and then pointed at me, shouting, “You real?”
I laughed, “What?”
“You really here?”
Willy handed me my drink, “It’s frozen margs from the Tiki Hut. They made them for us.” He didn’t notice France coming out of the house. He stepped in front of Willy and lifted me up into his arms, “You came? How did you find it?”
I pointed down the beach, “An old man with a dog named Jack.”
“Brian. Yeah, he’s my neighbor.” He looked back at Willy, “Dude, this one is off limits.”
My jaw dropped, “Actually, this one can say for herself and since he bought me my first drink, I am obligated to drink it with him.” I winked at Willy.
He stepped back, “It was nice meeting you, J.D.”
I gave France a look, “What was that?”
He put me down, “You drunk?”
I nodded, “I am.” I sipped the margarita and smiled, “This is good.”
His dark eyes filled with worry, “Baby, you okay?”
I shook my head, “I can’t talk about it right now.”
I watched his jaw set. He took my hand and pulled me inside to the kitchen. He passed me a sandwich from a tray, “How did you end up here?”
I swallowed a huge bite, “My heart or my pride broke and I went into survival mode, and all I could think of was finding you.”
He looked hurt, “Go lay down upstairs. I’ll be up in a bit, okay?”
I nodded, “Okay.” I passed him my marg and pointed to the deck, “I need my clothes. There, in a bag behind a deck chair.”
He waved me off, “I’ll get them. Just go lay down.”
I walked up the stairs, but like a kid who wanted to be part of the party after bedtime, I stayed at the top of the stairs and watched them have fun.
Seeing Mike France in action was amazing. He was funny and loud, always laughing and having fun. He made a series of filthy, revenge-sex thoughts rattle their way through my addled brain. His shirt was open, revealing a tight body with a tiny smattering of dark chest hair. He was tall, hugely tall. I’d never considered myself short; I was average, 5’6, but he was tall and thick. I had always liked that about him. He made me feel safe, always. His dark hair was shaggy, like he was from Greenwich Village. The playoff beard was the part I hated the most, and yet, I imagined how it would feel on certain parts of my body.
I leaned against the railing and listened to the laughing and joking. The guys all looked the same, hockey players and managers. The girls didn’t look like spouses, more like puck fucks. Mini skirts and bathing suit tops, bleach blonde hair, and tanned skin. I was like a sore thumb, even in my freedom dress. It bummed me out that he was having a party like that, even though that’s just who he was.
He was a player.
Willy spotted me and came up the stairs. He smiled and passed me another marg, “Sent upstairs early?”
I shook my head, “No. This just isn’t my scene and he knows it.”
He smiled, “It’s not a wife party, that’s for sure.”
“You married?”
He shook his head, “We don’t work the kind of job that is conducive to having a wife and kids.”
“That’s pretty true.”
“I don’t want to get a divorce. My parents had one when I was eleven and it was hard. I never want to put my kids through that. So I want