The Trade(51)

My conversation with Natalie about living on an island floats to the forefront of my mind. If we lived here, this is what we’d be doing, enjoying bingo under the cheap strung lights that surround the covered patio. And we’d fucking love it as much as the people here.

We are three games deep, our dinners have been consumed, and we’re waiting on our dessert. After losing once again, Jason gave up and pulled Dottie onto the dance floor where he’s been rubbing up against the local crowd with poor Dottie looking stiff as a board, only moving because Jason is literally shaking her hips for her.

Knox and Emory left after one game because Emory wasn’t feeling well, which of course concerned Knox greatly. He went into ultra-protective mode, wanting to pick her up and carry her out to a taxi, but she swatted his hands away and demanded to walk herself. We checked in about five minutes ago, and she’s doing better now she’s in the air-conditioned room, and after having some electrolytes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s face pale as quickly as Knox’s did when Emory held her stomach and said she wasn’t feeling well. If I were in his position, I’d react the same exact way.

Which leaves us at the table with Milly and Carson who are on the opposite end, speaking quietly to each other, not even paying attention to the game.

Turning to Natalie, I say, “Have you noticed that we do these group things and end up being the only ones doing them?”

“Yup.” She marks B-9 off on her board and then looks up. “But I guess it’s better than being back at home, staring at your wall.”

“Is that how you spend your time? Staring at your wall?”

She smirks. “For at least two hours a day.”

“I-29,” the bingo caller announces while “Last Dance” by Donna Summer plays in the background. It’s the beginning where it feels like you’re walking through a meadow, gently running your fingers through the tall grass. But I can feel the buildup coming, and there’s no doubt in my mind that Jason is going to get his grove on with this song as well.

The music pauses and then, the beat picks up and Natalie starts to shimmy at me and bobbing her head. “God, Donna Summer really nailed this one.”

I nod to the dance floor. “Go cut a rug.”

“Oh . . . nice try.” She gives me a get real look. “I’m not about to go dance with a bunch of people when I can easily dance in my seat and still beat you at bingo. You’re just trying to get the competition out of your way. I see right through you, Cory Potter.”

“You are a highly suspicious person.”

“You have to be with a brother like mine. He always tried to gain the upper hand in whatever we did. I had to be on my toes. Is that how it was with your brothers?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Milly, on the other hand. She was a hellion. Maybe it’s a little sister thing.”

“Oh, for sure it is. I always put Jason in his place whenever I can. Same with you and Milly?”

“Yeah, she was the devil when it came to this bucket game we used to play after being in the cages. When picking up the balls, we took turns tossing them in from distances. She always won. Every fucking time.” I shake my head in humor. “I swear she practiced in her room by herself. It was insane the kind of shots she would make.”

Natalie glances toward Milly and Carson. “She looks so innocent and sweet. I’m guessing that’s not entirely true.”

“Sweet, yes. Innocent, no way in hell.”

“Figured as much.” Natalie points over to Jason and asks, “Do you have moves like him? Look at his pelvis go. That’s really impressive.”

“You like a fast pelvis?” I ask before I can stop myself, realizing how odd a question it is.

But it doesn’t seem to affect Natalie, because she gives me a smooth once-over and then says, “Pelvis action matters. It’s not always about the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean.” She elbows me playfully and asks, “What do you side more on? Size or motion.”

I’m in the midst of taking a drink of beer when she asks, causing me to snort, which sends beer up the back of my throat and straight to my nose.

I cough.

I hack.

She pats me on the back and asks if I’m okay.

Jesus fuck, where did that come from?

Her voice full of humor, she says, “From your reaction, I’m going to say neither.”

That makes me cough even more.

“Excuse me?”

She shrugs casually and places one of her chips on N-56 once it’s called. “You seem so straight-laced.”

“So?” I wipe my mouth with a napkin, tempted to blow my nose to get any beer remnants out of it.

“So . . .” she drawls, “straight-laced makes me believe you’re . . . you know . . . missionary all the time, like Ansel. Nothing wrong with that. But just from your reaction, you know—”

I hold my hand up, stopping her. She can’t be fucking serious. I am anything but straight-laced. Yeah, she might have caught me off guard with her question, because I honestly wasn’t expecting that, but that doesn’t mean I’m a vanilla fuck.

I lean forward so she can hear me over the music. Talking directly into her ear, I say, “Firstly, you caught me off guard by your question, and that’s why I choked on my beer. Secondly, I’m nothing like Ansel, in many ways, including only fucking missionary.” From the corner of my eye, I see her chest rise and fall more rapidly. “And lastly, with me, the size of the boat is extraordinary, and the motion is mind-blowing. Don’t underestimate the nice guy because this ‘nice guy’ could toss you around the bedroom easily.”