Free Just a Number (Downtown #1) by Fifi Flowers Page B

They had to be high on something more than just life.
    While we waited, we unwrapped our lunch. The main event—shitty sandwiches—assaulted our palates. Some island specialty gone wrong? Pulled pork cooked with overly sweetened pineapple, topped with melted Swiss cheese and placed on sweet buns. Not a favorite pairing. All items separate were good; together, not so much. Luckily, the island brand ale and chips were good. The tropical fruit, that accompanied our lunch, had a little funky fish taste to it, but once rinsed off with beer, it was edible.
    At least my excursion date was delightful and the surroundings were spectacular. While the churning water around the vessel was too muddled to see anything, off in the distance, the lush-green coastline, with small stretches of sandy beach and lava rock, was beautiful. The sun was intense, but a gentle breeze swirled around, cooling our skin. Willow and I sat together on the front of the catamaran. While I reclined, she put her head in my lap. I stroked her ponytail, occasionally wrapping it around my hand. I wished we had the boat all to ourselves, thinking about how I held her in place the night before and drove into her warmth. No such luck, I settled for fucking her mouth with mine.
    Once the partiers were aboard, eating their lunch, we moved on to a more remote and protected cove. Further proof that our fellow snorkelers were stoned on something, they devoured the sandwiches and praised the taste. No. No. No. Willow nor I could be convinced the food was good. Even the guides, with their own sacks, obviously containing different food than ours, looked puzzled. Whoever was doing their catered lunch boxes needed a few cuisine lessons. Or better yet, the scuba company should hire a new food vendor altogether. I was sure to express my opinion on a comment card that had accompanied our trip packet when I booked the excursion: A = for adventure. F+ = for food. And, I was being nice.
    Despite the array of culinary non-delights, the new location was perfect. The water was calm. Crystal clear. A large reef to one side and a nice swimming area on the other, where we saw sea turtles moving through the water. A white, sandy beach framed by cliffs, palm trees, and lush greenery spanned the inlet. Above the shoreline, a few private villas were perched. The remoteness looked inviting for playtime with Willow. Perhaps I could take her behind a grove of palm trees and ravage her, I thought, when we dropped anchor.
    Slathered with sunscreen, we rubbed into each other’s sun-kissed skin, we were almost ready to float around the inviting area. Once outfitted with fins, masks, and snorkels, Willow and I flipped backwards off the side of the boat into the turquoise water. Swimming around, we saw coral and plant life moving with the current, a variety of colorful tropical fish, sea stars attached to the reef, sea urchins on coral, and eels, peeking out rocks. The underwater views that greeted us were stunning. What a magnificent habitat.
    Swimming around the bay, Willow’s neon-yellow bikini attracted schools of fish. They had no interest in my basic navy blue trunks. She was like a human lure. It freaked her out, at first, as they circled her and closely skimmed her body. Lucky little fish. I absolutely loved it. Not to mention it was a good excuse to look at her curvy body. I couldn’t wait to get her alone.
    Wrapping up the day’s voyage, our guides declared it was happy hour and plied us with pitchers of Mai Tais, pretzels, and macadamia nuts. Good thing we had both used a driver to bring us to the boat dock and had one to deliver us back to the resort.
    Snuggled up in the backseat, we made out like a couple of frisky teenagers. At the hotel, we snuck back to her room, like we were trying to avoid punishment for breaking our curfew. We laughed the whole way, until we were safely hidden away behind closed doors. Away from prying eyes, our clothes were quickly removed, and the real fun I