The Fuck It List Ch. 04

It ended all wrong.

Michael didn't really realize how badly he felt until he saw that he was only ten miles from Miami. He'd driven on autopilot with his eyes glazed over. For miles and miles, his hands and feet had made all of the decisions. He had felt strange and he'd only pulled over for gas and coffee once that he could remember and then suddenly there were signs that announced he was rolling through Fort Lauderdale.

It hadn't been a decision to come here, Miami wasn't on the list, he'd approached I95 and had the choice to go north or south. Something chose for him because all the roads in his mind led back to Katie.

It all started with the phone. Her mother had called an hour or two after they'd woken from their post-coitus bliss, just before Michael was about to kiss Katie for the first time. It seemed wrong that he could still taste her orgasm in his mouth, he could taste her ass, he could only inhale her scent, and yet, here they were and never kissed.

Pauline always had shitty timing.

Once Katie came back into the bedroom, things had been awkward. Michael had hurriedly jumped in the shower and regrettably washed it all down the drain. The memory might be etched into him forever but all of the lube and all of the cum and all of her scent and her sweetness, gone. Katie had seemed to be in a hurry as well. Maybe she was ashamed, maybe she had just realized that she'd given something to her Uncle Mike that she was going to regret, maybe forever. As he had lingered in the kitchen, his bag packed and ready to go, he had asked, "Do you have my cell phone number? You know, in case you need something. I'm not at home much these days."

Katie had tucked her blonde tresses into a white baseball cap and a ponytail streamed down her back. In cutoff shorts and an AC/DC tee shirt, it didn't come close to how beautiful she'd been, naked in the bed. She had been so open and perfect but no matter what she wore, she was just fucking gorgeous. She gave him half a smile and almost whispered, "Must be nice." Katie quickly saved his number on her cell phone. She never gave him hers though.

Michael had shaken his head the whole way to Miami, so stupid, how could he have let her go like that? He had no idea what any of it meant. Here he'd been rolling through the list; check this and check that. Sure, what the fuck, he'd had plenty of fun. He'd feasted on the good fortune of the Grim Reaper's little reprieve. He'd run into so many lovely, gracious young women and they'd given him a lifetime of memories in just a couple of short weeks.

Yet, here he was, still didn't know shit about women.

Did she have a good time? He was still scratching his head over that one when he pulled into the long driveway at the front of the W Hotel. He'd never stayed here before. Michael had only come to Miami for work once or twice and had no urge to say goodbye or to get to know her better, but he wasn't sure what came next. How much longer did the road trip to nowhere go on? Since he was already here, he might as well soak up the sun.

A young man wearing a green polo shirt and black pants approached Michael with his hand out for the care keys. His accent had a Latin flair when he asked, "Do you know how long you'll be staying with us, sir?"

"Honestly, I don't even know if they have a room," Michael sighed and handed over the keys to the Audi. "I'm not sure," he hesitated, which seemed to be the answer to almost everything. "Can you keep it close for now and I'll call when I figure it out?"

The man at the front desk had an easy way about him as if time had stopped here in the quiet hum in the lobby. He had bleached teeth and a bronze god tan. His smile was polite and his manners were polished and everything about him suggested that he'd seen it all. He was the king here in this steel and glass tower, this temple to the sun. "Would you like a suite, Mr. Fleming?" The manager asked after a quick flick of Michael's American Express card.

What he really wanted was to call and hear her voice and her laugh and imagine her breasts moving in the skin-tight tee shirt. "Sure, why not?" Michael shrugged, there was no reason to save money. He might as well splurge while there was still time.

The room glittered in the light and Michael couldn't help but wonder if this would be what heaven was like. The white marble floors twinkled and the hot Miami sun streamed through the windows that occupied the whole wall and flooded the space with sunlight. The ocean gleamed right outside, sometimes green, sometimes blue. It was an incredible view but it just reminded him of a certain mermaid and the warmth in her eyes as she watched her godfather come to her open arms.

He nodded as the bellhop opened his creased, brown hand for a tip after he'd placed Michael's carry-on bag in the closet. Michael pressed the crisp ten-dollar bill and let out a slow, sad sigh from his belly.

Tired? Maybe.

All that mindless driving might have caught up to him but the road had just been the line that ran up the back of her calves and the velvet valley behind each knee. The sun had just been the glint of her crazy, blonde tumble of hair. Now the spectacular room was just a bed that was missing her warm body.

The question was really, cancer or heartache? Michael scoffed at the question as he stepped into the white and green marble shower. The steam billowed and hid his reflection, which he was sure if he could see his face, that would just confirm it all. You're too goddamn old for this, he chided himself as the piping hot water streamed down his back. It was a fluke, a coincidence whose odds were greater than the lottery or lightning striking twice. Something that even he couldn't calculate.

For once he'd been in the right place at the right time and although that didn't make up for the death sentence he'd been given, Michael felt it was something to treasure. Katie Kit Kat in all of her delight. Katie, glorious in the light, every inch a woman, a study in the voluptuous. Yet she was still virginal and tender and so new. Her eyes were innocent and there had been something in her face, something about the way she'd looked at him that made it pure. Wholesome.

And that, Michael admitted to himself as a bubbly trail of soap eased down his belly, is what made it perfect and sad and sweet all at once. More than any of the girls that he'd happily come across lately, Katie had this shiny newness about her. Something untouched and perfect and she had given herself over. He wondered if she could tell that it was his first time as well.

First and last and it all melted into one long flash of skin and sighs and her pulsing clit and her rosebud mouth and he hoped that when Katie heard that he'd passed that she remembered his face between her thighs and the shudder that gripped her body.

That would be the best.

***

The third Hemingway Special went down just as easy as the first two, like water. He sat at the counter of Cafe La Trova and Michael realized he needed to eat something before the rum hit him like tidal wave. He just wanted the warm blur that he could sink into. The one that made Katie Kit Kat appear to be just a daydream.

"Empanadas?" The bartender asked with a smirk that suggested no one ever told her no.

"What do you suggest?" his words tripped over each other. Michael could hear the slur, like the sentence was just one, long complicated word and he longed for simplicity.

"Well, you must try the roast calabaza," she told him. Her accent rolled and hit each syllable with a preciseness that accentuated his sloppiness. "And the risotto croquetas," she let out a little moan and Michael noticed her throat as she tossed her head back. It sounded like ecstasy and made him think of her naked.

Michael smiled lazily and nodded, "Anything else?" He wondered in a voice that wanted to peek around the corner and ogle her as she lay back on the bed. What was happening to him? He was like an animal. He had turned into a nonstop, perpetual dirty old man.

The dark haired waitress paused and looked him in the eye. It had turned sexual as her mouth opened just a little and there was a little drop of moisture twinkling there on the center of her bottom lip. Michael thought he might growl involuntarily and hopefully she'd blame the strong drink. "Seared foie gras," she lingered over the words, thoughtfully, setting the pace like she was talking dirty. She would make him wait. "You need to fatten up," she winked at him and waltzed away. She disappeared into the crowd and the salsa music and the scent of pork and onions and spicy heat that came from the people as much as the kitchen.

Before Michael had even begun to get his bearings, the siren in an apron returned. She was enveloped in steam and carried a wooden tray. It was dark with age and heat and was lined with steaming plates of food. "You're going to need this," she had brought him a white, linen napkin wrapped around silverware, "And against my better judgment," she added with a giggle, "something to wash it down." It was the fourth drink and he quickly chugged the remainder of the third. "Just remember that it's more fun when you remember what happened," the waitress tossed her words of wisdom at him and left him with the glorious food.

The foie gras burst on his tongue in a fatty, decadent explosion. The risotto was earthy and dense and had a crispy bite on the backend. The food was decadent and almost sinful nd Michael sighed as the heft of it began to settle in his belly. It felt good, a counterweight to the alcohol. The salsa music orchestrated the rhythm of everything here, even his body. Michael's pulse, even the pace at which he chewed, it all seemed to sync up with the music. It was a sensual song and the beat was having its way with him. This was the tempo of grinding hips and bare legs, the melody of long tendrils of hair, and a bare, damp neck that needed to be bitten.

Katie, he thought, as he swallowed hard; she would have loved this place. She would have loved the spectacle of people, a throng of men and women, thrown together with not quite enough clothes. A little too much heat and a lot too much alcohol made the air in the restaurant seem ready to burst with pheromones and humidity. It was an almost too obvious sensuality. It was perfect for the mermaid girl who had taken his heart in her small hands with a whirl of blonde hair and a flash of sea green eyes.

Shit, this was why he'd hidden for so long, wasn't it? The rest of the drink went down easy, watered down now, it was mostly melted ice. It did nothing to ease the anxious place in the center of his chest, this uneasiness that couldn't stop wondering if she were looking at her phone right now. Was she somewhere, just about to call?

Okay, how about now?

Fuck, he'd never done this at the right time. He should be time traveling, back to when he was her age. Back when he'd been barely legal himself. Back when he had nothing but time and had his heart on his sleeve and was open for anything. It seemed much more precarious to do this now, at the end, when it meant everything.

"Can we buy you another drink?" someone asked. It was a smoky voice, a voice that still smoked sometimes because it enjoyed the rush. Michael turned just enough to see the red-stained, voluptuous lips that belonged to the voice. Lips that were made for blowing smoke rings, maybe kisses as well.

"I'm sorry?" Michael leaned in to hear her again. Yes, he'd heard the question but he didn't have an answer yet.

She giggled and tossed her inky curls back, out of the way but one tendril stayed behind to caress her tan, naked neck. She looked back over her shoulder, coquettishly, at the dark-haired man who had one hand possessively around her waist. She wanted to make sure that he was watching, this was deliberate. This was a game and somehow, without saying a word, Michael knew the rules and watched the pieces move about the board in slow motion. He'd imagined this before. He'd never thought it would come to this that night when he'd scribbled so many words in a notebook.

Checkmate.

"Can we buy you another drink?" She asked again. She was close enough now for her dark hair to almost touch his face as her small, pert breasts almost touched his shoulder. There was her scent, the spicy heat of her invaded his nostrils like one more delicious course that he just had to try. He needed to fatten up, right?

Then again, there was a man who was part of this "we" that she referred to. For a split second, Michael thought that it would be a dangerous delight to brush the back of his hand across her stony, little nipples that were so goddamn obvious in the dress. Right here at the bar. Let him watch, nice and easy. "I actually just sobered up," the Michael that would never touch a woman in front of her husband spoke for him. Better not get into trouble, the old Michael seemed to warn.

"Well, maybe alcohol isn't your thing?" She gestured with her head, down to her hand where a fat joint rested on her crimson talons. "Come out back with us," she told him with a sly grin that said never, not once, had any man not taken her up on this invitation. She was so cocky and Michael felt the stir of it between his legs.

Michael wasn't going to be the first to turn her down. He rose to his feet and realized that somehow, the music was now somewhere far away. The hiss of steaming food and the scent of wine, the throng of bodies, the heat was even farther away as Michael watched the black-haired beauty nod at the bartender.

She'd done this before, he thought as he followed carefully. The had, the two of them and Michael was mesmerized by the sight of her slender hips in the skin-tight, red dress. It fit her like a second skin that ached to be peeled back. There was the hypnotic click of her black sandals across the stone floor as she led him to another world, somewhere for just the three of them.

Ménage a Trois, he didn't even think he had spelled it correctly on the list, let alone come close to doing it. This was darker than the two girls with caramel skin. Even with the voodoo and the magic, this was somehow much more savage. Two men? Michael could feel his pulse, suddenly much closer to the surface, much louder, like he could taste it.

The entrance to the patio at the back of the restaurant was half hidden by a palm tree. Back here was cool, damp shade and thick foliage that kept them away from prying eyes. The woman stopped and turned her head, looked him up and down with heat in her melted, chocolate-brown eyes, and laid one finger over her lips as if this place were a secret. As if he were the first.

It didn't matter if that was just part of the game too because it worked. Michael's dick rolled in the boxers and decided that whether or not Michael was heartbroken, it wouldn't hurt to take a look. "Come, sit," the dark-haired woman patted a place on the bench right next to her and her bangles jingled on her slender, tan wrist. "I'm Isabella," she told him with a flutter of black lashes that could have been a wink. "Izzy," she added with a shrug as he might as well know.

Michael felt the weight of the man beside him as they sat down simultaneously. It was heady, all this closeness and his pulse drummed in his throat from fear and desire and it felt like he was walking just a little too close to the edge. "Michael," he offered, eyes riveted on Izzy and her hair and her long nails and the line between her pert, perfect breasts that shone with the humidity.

She lit the joint and took a deep drag. She held her breath as she made the last introduction. "Just like my husband, Miguel."

Same name, no less. Husband no less, Michael nodded as he took the lit cigarette and filled his lungs with the rich, aromatic smoke. What did one say to the husband in this situation, Michael wondered as he choked back the cough that shivered down his back. He was drowning, lost in the sea of smoke and the need for something that he'd never given a name to and then there was that ache in his lungs as he tried not to exhale.

Miguel said it for him, "Isabella is too hot for one man to handle, don't you think?" His accent was thick and his voice was deep and every. word sounded exotic. Michael sputtered as the smoke left him in a sudden, violent cough.

They all laughed at him and his virgin lungs. Virgin everything, really, Michael nodded in agreement as he passed the joint to the man behind him. Their fingers lingered longer than he meant to touch and Michael's face was hot as he tried to take his hand away. It was just all the liquor and now the weed, it was making him fumble, the whole world had slowed down except for his pulse.

No, that wasn't true, Michael realized as he drew his hand back slowly. That was just a lie that the staccato pitter patter of his heart laughed at. He couldn't contradict this drumroll that he felt might just beat right out of his chest, this catch in his throat, this sensation that went down into his belly and pulled everything into a tight knot. Two men.

What would happen?

"Isabella spied you at the bar as soon as we came in," Miguel's melodious voice continued, "And she can't be talked out of something, once she has the urge." Her husband said urge with all of the power that the would implied. "Say that you'll go with us to this party tonight," Miguel added as if there was no other answer but yes.

He passed his wife the joint. Izzy held it between two slender fingers and drew the paper up to her shining lips as she looked Michael in the eye. This is the face she'd make, he knew it now. He could feel it and it made him all hot and sweaty under his clothes. It was the hungry face that she'd make when she unzipped him and reached in to grasp his cock with her greedy hands. Right in front of Miguel. "Yes, you have to come," did she linger over the word come, or was it just his imagination? It was all beginning to become a little technicolor around the edges, something like the nightmare acid trips that he'd seen in movies.

Michael felt her blow the smoke into his mouth before he realized what she was doing. After his face had been washed in the rich marijuana redolence, he opened his mouth and drank it down. He took in her breath in a gulp and it filled up his body with something that was much more than smoke. It was her perfume and her curls and the earthy smell of her wet pussy and her glittering eyes and her nakedness that beamed through the space. It didn't matter that she was dressed, she would always seem naked and raw like this. It was almost pornographic just to stare.

Just as the word, "Yes," began to emerge from his helpless mouth, Michael felt Miguel move closer. He was behind him and the muscles in the man's chest pressed against Michael's back. There was the unmistakable heat that emanated from between his legs, the presence of him touching Michael.

The yes became just a sigh, but it was clearly an acquiescence. There was no denying it, as mesmerizing as Isabella was, Michael was powerfully drawn to her husband's flame just as surely as anything else that had ever called to him.

The black-haired woman laughed and her bangles jingled on her arms as she placed her forearms on Michael's shoulders. He wondered for a moment if she would leave the jewelry on when they fucked. He thought that they would play a tune as she grabbed him harder for more. "Let's go to the car then, Michael," she purred before her tongue darted out to taste his bottom lip. It wasn't a kiss as much as she was savoring his flavor. There was something predatory about it as if she would just as soon eat him after mating. He wasn't sure if he should tell her that it was a little frightening until he felt the bite on the back of his neck. Miguel's teeth, pointy and hard, nibbled right into the soft, vulnerable place just under his hairline. Instantly, Michael felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention as if every inch of his body needed to warn him.