Inappropriate Pirates, Modern Love

The process of rolling a joint had always been soothing, even before smoking it. So he took his time to crumbling a good-sized bud into fine pieces on the small end table beside the bed, creasing the oversized paper in just the right spot, sprinkling the crushed pot evenly along the crease. Once he had it neatly rolled, he licked the gummed edge, sealing it, twisting both ends to keep any stray crumbs from escaping. He snagged his lighter and stepped out onto the balcony, inhaling the fresh, salt air. He leaned on the sturdy metal railing, noticing a couple on standup paddle-boards maneuvering just outside the light surf. It had been wrought by a local artisan, incorporating blackened steel manatees, wavy seaweed and local long-necked birds. Herons? Egrets? Cranes? He could never keep them straight.

He lit one end of the fat joint and sucked in slowly, watching the red glowing cherry spread down the white paper evenly. His lungs filled and he felt an almost instant warm relaxation, an easing of muscles and psyche both. Then a small but distinct cough interrupted him, coming from below.

He tensed, startled, the hand with the joint disappearing behind his back like a kid caught shoplifting candy. He looked down.

A outdoor chaise lounge was out on the small deck beside the pool. Stretched out on it was a woman, or girl. It was hard to tell where the line was drawn. She looked like a magazine ad, huge sunglasses hiding her eyes while a tiny slip of a bikini hid almost nothing else. Long legs, perfectly smooth with only a hint of tan. Tiny, almost flat chest, at least in her current supine position, under twin little triangles of bright blue fabric. Her midsection was also flat, but rippled with lean muscles.

As his open-mouth, stunned, and silent gawking continued for a second or more, she gave him the smallest of smiles, only the very corner of her lips curling upward. One slim hand rose and long fingers offered him a slow, waggle. A casual, relaxed, but somehow sophisticated wave. Along with the earlier cough, it seemed to silently say 'Hello, dope smoker. You're not alone here.'

He heard a voice, a man's, below. It echoed, as though coming from inside, through the open glass door.

"Okay, babe. I'm off. Wish me luck, not that I need it. This is gonna be our first real serious-money sponsor, I'm feeling it today."

"Luck." Her voice was smooth, silky, but distant. "Do what you do."

The man laughed, short and sharp and humorless. "That I will. I always do."

Rob heard the rumble of the heavy glass sliding door start to close below him. It reminded him of replacing those rollers on his last visit. He'd never been reimbursed for those parts, either, he recalled. No big deal, but typical.

"Wait!" Bikini girl raised her head, her ab muscles crinkling into sculpted six-pack rows that commanded Rob's attention as much as Josie Kirkwood's clinging, wet swimsuit and hard little nipples ever had when he had been a hormone-driven teen. "Leave it open. I like the smell of salt air better than that air conditioning."

"You got it. Okay. I am outa here. And don't stay there too long. You'll bake in that sun, my fair-skinned beauty." The male voice faded.

Rob saw a hint of distaste cross her face, or at least crinkle one side of her petite nose. Anything else was lost behind the huge sunglasses. "I'm not baked."

She brought pinched finger and thumb to her pursed lips, mimicking puffing at a joint.

Even with her eyes hidden, Rob felt her looking up at him as he eavesdropped on the conversation. He pushed himself away the railing, embarrassed at being caught. Still, slipping inside through his own upstairs slider, he heard one final word from her. "Yet."

He pushed the glass door closed, nervous now after the brief, unexpected encounter. His own fault: he knew there was a car parked outside and vacationing tenants below. He'd just smoke inside, air the place out later, and be more careful the rest of the time he was here.

"What the...?" A deep thrum caught his attention, so low it was barely audible. The walls and floor seemed to almost vibrate with the sound, or cause it. It stopped, then repeated.

Thrum. Florida didn't have earthquakes that he knew of and sinkholes had never been a problem in this area. Motion through the glass door caught his eye.

A hand appeared, grabbing the curved metal neck of a bird, then another, seizing the top rail. Thrum.

A head popped into view, blond hair swinging loose behind it. The top hand became an elbow, crooking over the railing casually, securely holding a long, lithe bikini-clad figure suspended in the air above the concrete deck below. With no sunglasses covering them, brilliant, piercing blue eyes found him.

Even more unnerved than before, Rob shoved the door open again.

"Excuse me..." He began, trying to take back at least some control over the odd situation, those eyes and and the wide, confident smile making it difficult.

"Permission to board, Cap'n?"

His jaw dropped. His mind whirled far more than could be blamed on his single, deep hit of the pot. "J...Janabeth?"

This was the awkward, gangly, fearless little pirate girl?

She laughed, a sweet, genuine sound. It seemed a contrast to the stoic quality of her recent conversation with the unseen man. "Nobody calls me that. Jana works. Or JB. That's what you always called me."

She still hung by that crooked elbow, studying his face, seeming to enjoy his shock. "Well?"

"Uh...well what?" His mechanically oriented mind could almost see his own mental gears continue to slip, refusing to mesh back into calm, rational thought.

Her head tilted to one side, shimmering hair swinging out with the motion. "May an old shipmate board yer vessel, Cap'n?"

"Oh. Sure. Of course." At least this was familiar, remembered territory. It helped his off-kilter thoughts find their sea legs. "Permission granted, me matey. Happily."

She burst into sudden, smooth motion, long bare legs kicking wide, up, over the rail in a graceful vault. Another, softer thrum vibrated up from the balcony's floor as she landed.

Standing in front of him, face beaming, a slight flush of red blushing her face and body, he tried desperately not to stare. His face almost hurt he was grinning so wide. He must look like an idiot.

And she looked...perfect. Like a fantasy come true; his fantasy. Her mother's basic shape, but taller, almost his own 6'2". And more leanly muscled, with clearly cut defining her upper arms, shoulders and the abs that had distracted him a moment ago.

Unlike her mother's simple, flattering one-piece swimsuits, this minimalist bikini showed much more skin. As she stood now, he was forced to correct his earlier impression of a flat chest. The breasts under the small top weren't large, but still rounded, showing curved sides outside the thin blue fabric.

As with her mother, he could see a tiny hint of small nipples, couldn't stop from picturing them hardened, obvious, water soaking her suit and glistening on her skin.

Then lean, strong arms were around him, slim, sculpted body clinging close. Softer-than-silk hair covered his face, almost ticklish, a fortunate distraction from the nearly naked form pressed suddenly against him. His own arms hesitated before wrapping around her. The hand on her lower back felt a slickness of sweat on almost impossibly smooth skin.

"Mmmm." Her content murmur vibrated against his ear. She inhaled, her chest rising, pushing closer, breasts firm and obvious, and held the breath before a long, slow exhale. When she eased back, studying his face, her brows were furrowed, thoughtful, close to worry.

He realized he had been holding his own breath, half in shock, half in concern that he would be caught inhaling again, not pot this time, but trying to catch the scent of her silken hair and the sweat-sweet soft skin by her ear.

"I hope this isn't inappropriate," She began. "But you smell really good. You always smelled good, even when we were kids."

'When we were kids.' It reminded him that they were both very much adults now. He'd be 30, early next year. He dropped his hands to his sides, off her slim waist, away from her too-tempting, too attractive figure. The guy downstairs had called her 'Babe.' She was in a relationship, and just happy to see a playmate from her childhood.

"No. Uh. Thanks. Sorry." He was babbling. "I just drove all night to get here, I must stink."

Jana...JB giggled. It cut off quickly, sounding self-conscious. "If this is you stinky, don't shower on my account."

Her eyes widened, as though she caught herself now, regretted saying that. "Yeah. Well. Speaking of stink, I think there might be a joint of some skunky smelling weed around here. Care to share, Cap'n Rob?

Again, her head tilted to one side in thought. "Wait. Captain Rob? Does that mean you are the Dread Pirate Robert?"

He laughed now, the changes in subject easing his own dread at this gorgeous girl's close proximity. "If you're referring to the classic story of The Princess Bride..."

"I am indeed." She confirmed.

"Then that would be the Dread Pirate Roberts. With an 'S' at the end."

"Oh yeah. That's right. Good call. And he was kind of a goody two shoes, so I doubt he would be tempting fair maidens with mind-altering herbs and such."

"And fair you are, maiden. That fair skin of yours looks like it's turning red. Would you like to come in, out of the sun?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Lead the way, good sir."

He turned, stepping to the side, beckoning her in with a grand sweep of his arm. "After you, m'lady."

"M'lady. Hmm. A captain and a gentleman both, plus he smells good. A girl could get spoiled."

"Be careful. It could be an act and he's really a smoker of the devil weed." He kept up the banter, trying to ignore the thrill that tingled through him when she mentioned his smell again.

"Now you're getting a girl's hopes up."

He relit the joint, offered it to her, then withdrew the hand. "Wait a minute. Just how old are you, sailor girl?"

"22, Cap'n. As of this past summer."

"Okay. Old enough for this."

She took the joint from him when he offered it a second time, their fingers barely brushing. It was passed back and forth a few times until JB held up a hand. "That's enough for me. Now I really am baked. Feels good."

Rob took a final hit, snuffed out the glowing cherry on the side of the stainless steel sink. They had barely smoked half of it. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, both of them grinning, awkward.

"Would you like a shirt or something?" He had tried his best to keep his eyes from lingering on the young beauty in front of him, especially as her nipples reacted to the air conditioned environment, cooler than outside in the sun.

"Why? You don't like what you see?" Her face showed sudden recognition. "Oh wait. You still suffering from that drooling affliction?"

Rob had no idea what she meant, the pot slowing his thoughts. "Affliction? What?"

"I was little, but I seem to recall you drooling every time my mom went for a swim."

He grimaced. "I was that obvious?"

"Oh yeah you were. I'm surprised you didn't carry a towel around to wipe you're chin."

"Well, she was pretty." He felt himself getting defensive as she teased him.

"Pretty? Hell! She was - still is - a fucking fox."

"Young lady! Language. Please." He tried to sound stern.

Her grin was growing more mischievous. "What? We're adults here. But for you I'll try again, with language more genteel. 'She was - and is - quite the sexually active fox.' Better?"

Rob coughed in surprise, struck speechless.

A peal of sweet laughter escaped her. "Gotcha, didn't I?"

He shook his head, wheezing in a breath. He fanned a hand in front of his face, feeling suddenly hot. "Yeah. You got me alright."

Her face changed again, growing pensive. With a squeal, sounding more like the gangly pirate girl he remembered than she had yet today, she threw herself on him in another tight hug. Lips brushed against his neck. "You have no idea how much I've missed your mom, your family. And especially you."

Rob felt moisture under his ear before he heard a sob, her body shaking in his arms. He patted her back, over the knot holding her bikini top on. The other hand stroked her head, her soft, silky hair. "Hey, beautiful girl. It's okay. Everything's okay."

The sobbing grew louder. Ragged breaths felt hot, damp, smearing tears over his neck. He rocked her slowly, side to side, concerned and confused by the outburst.

"It's okay." He repeated.

"No!" She almost yelled it, the pain behind the single word clear. "No it's not okay. It's not."

The last was barely a whisper. The despair he heard in it was heartbreaking.

Rob loosened his hold on her, sliding hands down her arms, easing her back away from him. "Hey, sweet sweet girl."

A final shudder passed through her as she struggled to calm herself.

"What's going on? What's not okay?"

She shook her head, keeping it down, hiding her face.

"Are you in trouble?"

She shook it again, finally meeting his concerned eyes. Cheeks and jaw were shining, wet with tears.

"No. Not me." A hoarse whisper. "It's Mom. She...she makes bad decisions. About men.

Her lips screwed tight, her eyes squeezing shut, fresh tears welled in the corners of both. "I don't want to end up like her."

Eyes popped open. "Shit. That sounds so bad. I love my mom. She's done the best she...oh, just, shit!"

She backed away from him, heel of one palm rubbing away the tears. She blew out a deep breath through pursed lips, inhaled slowly through her nose. It looked like a conscious practice, a centering or relaxing technique she's used before. Another breath. Out through the mouth, in through the nose.

Rob was ashamed at how much effort it took to avoid staring at her nipples on each each inhale. The hard little points that had pressed at his chest as she sobbed, so distinct he could still feel them, almost, now.

"Okay. I'm alright. That's some good pot." She managed a small smile, the bright blue of her eyes already chasing away the red that rimmed them.

"Can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure, of course." He pointed at the hall bath before realizing it was a wreck. "Use the one in the bedroom."

He pointed the other way. She stopped, leaning on the doorframe. "Thanks, Cap'n. Hey, wait a minute. Are you trying to get me in your bedroom?"

Then she was gone, her laugh trilling behind her.

Rob's thoughts whirled, though he knew it wasn't - mostly - from the pot. Neither was JB's sudden outburst, he was sure. Not entirely.

The sound of water running in the bathroom reminded him that his own mouth felt suddenly very dry. This cotton-mouth feeling was definitely blamable on the weed. He headed for the kitchen, filled two glasses with water.

Flashing images, impressions of JB, stunning even with her face smeared with grief, chased each other through his fuddled head.

The feel of her incredible, athletic body snugged tight against him.

Running water, splashed on her face, running down and soaking her throat, chest, thin blue top.

A drenched Josie from his hormone-driven teen past, climbing slowly up the pool ladder in soaked maillot glory, but now topped with her daughter's beautiful face, radiant hair swinging behind her, somehow still dry and glowing in the Florida sun.

That same hair, enveloping his face in its silken scent while she buried her nose against his neck, wet, warm kisses tracking from his throat, along his jaw, to nibble at his ear.

Her pealing laugh, bittersweet after the tears, teasing him about getting her in his bedroom.

A final image blended his first view of her on the chaise lounge below, complete with oversized sunglasses, with her instead stretched out on his bed, slim, strong arms reaching for him replacing the single raised hand and it's waving, waggling fingers.

The water running in the bath shut off with a metallic squeak. A single short off-key toot of JB blowing that cute little nose reminded him again of her grieving outburst, left him guilty over his lustful thoughts.

He waited, the door opening and her small cough, clearing her throat, sounded loud in the uncomfortable silence.

"I hope you don't mind." She rounded into view, wrapped in the white terry cloth of a robe, his robe, a threadbare old favorite. "You offered a shirt earlier. My suit got wet and I got cold."

"No. Of course." Was he saying 'of course' a lot today? He was sure he was babbling more than normal in this young woman's unexpected presence.

She joined him in the open kitchen, hugging him again but from the side, more reserved, her head leaning against his shoulder. Her hair was damp, unlike the hybrid mother-daughter vision rising from the pool. "Thanks for letting me, you know, let loose."

"No problem. You're safe here to...whatever you need." Babbler!

"God, you're a sweet man!" Her right hand found his left, lifting it. "So let's talk about that man. Catch me up on your life instead of dwelling on my family drama. I don't see any signs of a ring on this finger. No ring and no indentation from a old relationship gone south."

"Nope. No rings. No marriage or anything like that." His other arm was trapped between them. It gave him leave from having to decide to slip it around the slim waist now wrapped in his old robe. Nothing stopped his thoughts from imaging her naked under it now though, her swimsuit twin tiny tangles of wet fabric hanging from the shower curtain rod. Down boy!

"Come on. More details." Long fingers entwined with his own. "A handsome captain must have lots of nibbles on his line, even if he hasn't found a keeper, set the hook, and reeled her in."

He coughed another surprised laugh at her impromptu metaphor, keeping with the nautical theme. She shifted a little closer, her head now more resting on his chest, snugged under his jaw, rather than just leaning against his shoulder. His next breath caught the scent of her now-damp hair. The intoxication he felt was definitely not from the joint. This girl was charming, enticing, and - he was sure - unintentionally seductive. She just felt comfortable, at ease with him, doubtless because of their innocent childhood connection. Nothing else.

He had to answer. Thoughts of Jennifer instantly cooled the warmth JB's familiar closeness had brought. "I just started...seeing someone recently. We were going to take our first trip this week, skiing. In Vermont."

"Ooh. Snow-bound romance, huh? Rustic cabin? Logs burning in the stone fireplace?" She sounded amused, enthused, but he thought he felt a tension behind it, her close presence withdrawing a bit.

"Good guess. I'm impressed. Yes, there was a cabin in the plans, with a wood-stove. But romance? I'm..."

"Yes. Do go on. What are you?"

"There was - is - something missing. Like we're both just checking off each others boxes of what ought to work, what's expected. I don't think either one of us believes there's anything really there."

She didn't respond immediately, merely adjusting her fingers in his. Then, softly, "That's sad. 'Checking off boxes.' You're an interesting man, Captain."

She lifted his hand, offering one knuckle a feather-light kiss. It was a touching gesture, one more typically delivered to a lady by a gentleman rather than the other way around. "Very interesting."

Bright blue eyes came up to his own. Then she was on her toes, her lips finding his for a soft, unexpected instant before they were gone. He must have tensed and she pulled away, dropping his hand, head down. "Sorry. Sorry. That was totally inappropriate. It won't happen again."

Rob felt a tightening in his chest. Disappointment and more. On some level, he desperately, deeply could not deny that he very much wanted that to happen again.