Stop babbling, moron!
Eventually, she hung up. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, a direct result of my mutant rambling. I must have sounded like a complete idiot. I really had to get my fucking act together before I saw her later, or I was going to have another really bad case of word vomit.
I stood up, then realized my dick was rock hard. Huh, interesting. I headed for the shower and whacked off. Twice.
I mean, I knew it was dumb, having a shower before I went surfing, but I just wanted to look good for her, like I’d made an effort. Hell, I even took a couple of minutes to shave. I didn’t usually shave more than once or twice a week, but this was a special occasion.
It was a freakin’ long five hours of school, before Mitch swung by in the van to pick me up.
“Hey, Seb. You ready man?”
I nodded and tried to smile normally, as he stared at me.
“You okay?” he said, frowning slightly.
Ches’s dad was cool. I wished I had a dad like him, not the sack of shit I was saddled with. But sometimes, I didn’t want Mitch to see everything; the man was too damned observant.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied.
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it either.
I climbed into the back of the van, crashing down next to Fido, and Ches nudged my shoulder.
“’Sup, man? You look kinda sick, like you’re jonesin’ for a hit or something. You’re acting like a fucking lunatic.”
I blew out a long breath of air, and tried to calm the fuck down.
Ches threw me another look and Fido just looked stoned. I mean, he wasn’t—Mitch wouldn’t put up with that shit—it was just the way Fido looked.
A few minutes later we stopped and I held my breath, thinking we’d arrived at Caroline’s place. But it was Mitch’s buddy, Bill, who climbed into the front of the van. He was such an asshole; I could never figure out why he and Mitch were friends. He was always ragging on me, just because my dad was an officer. It was pretty fucking irritating.
Then Mitch spoke, and I couldn’t help thinking it was as much for Bill’s benefit as anyone else’s.
“Listen, guys, Mrs. Wilson is going to be joining us this afternoon, so I want the language kept clean. She’s a lady and an officer’s wife, so cut the crap. You hearin’ me back there?”
“Yes, sir!” called out Ches, laughing.
Fido mumbled something, and then Bill, the asshole, said, “I hear she’s hot. Too good for that fucker, Wilson.”
I felt my hands clench into fists.
“Cool it, Bill,” said Mitch calmly, but his voice also said he wouldn’t take any shit either.
When we got to Caroline’s, I couldn’t help acting like a fucking preschooler, leaping out of the van and helping her carry her stuff.
“Hi, Caroline!”
“Hello, Sebastian. Could you help me with this: I brought some sandwiches for you and your friends.”
“Wow, thanks!”
She’d made a load of sandwiches. God I loved that woman!
The thought stopped me in my tracks. Wait, what? Sweaty palms—check. Accelerated heart rate—check. Insane fucking jealousy when any other man looked at her—check. Aching fucking rock hard boner—check. Was that love? I pushed the thought away.
I realized she was waiting for me to introduce her.
“Um, this is Mitch, um, Staff Sergeant Peters.”
“Mrs. Wilson, pleased to meet you.”
I winced when he used her married name.
“Oh, call me Caroline, please,” she said with a smile. “You’re doing me the favor. I really appreciate you letting me tag along on your surf safari.”
“No problem, Caroline. It’ll make these beach bums mind their manners. Right, boys! This is my son, Chester; and those two yahoos in the back are his friends Seb and Fido; and this here is Bill Fenenko.”
“Hey, Caroline,” said Bill.
As he helped her climb into the van, I saw that he was checking her out, his eyes glued to her ass. I wanted to reach over the seats and punch his windpipe through his spine.
Instead, I threw myself into the back of the van, and clutched my knees to my chest, trying to control my breathing.
“What’s your damage, man?” whispered Ches.
I shook my head, too angry to speak.
I could hear that Caroline was speaking and I strained my ears, trying to hear her over the noise of the van’s engine. She was asking about the rash vests piled up on the front seat.
“They’re to stop the wetsuits rubbing around the neck and under the arms when you’re paddling out,” explained Mitch. “We won’t need them today: the water at this time of year is around 63 degrees.”
She shivered and laughed to herself, then turned around, snapping a quick photo of us sitting in the back of the van. I couldn’t help smiling at her; I didn’t notice until too late that Ches and Fido were making faces and flipping the bird. Fucking losers!