Part 8 (1/2)
”What?”
Oh, son of a b.i.t.c.h. Did I really say that? So much for waiting to tell anyone about the baby. The plan was to try for a while without saying anything. I know I would've told Mel, but I didn't plan on sharing it with my brother. What if he tells my mom? The last thing I need is the mother hen offering her opinion on everything I do until I get pregnant. It's going to get even worse when I really do have a bun in the oven. She's gonna hover like a lion ready to pounce. I just know it. ”Don't you dare tell mom or I'll kill you.”
”So are you really trying? You want to get prego?” His cheerful voice is music to my ears. He'll be a great uncle. If he's home.
”Well, kinda. We want to have a baby, but we also know that it probably won't happen right away. We'll just try and keep our fingers crossed.”
”Good for you. Congrats.” Mel's voice is faint in the background. ”It's my sister. She wants to get pregnant.” I hear a squealing oh my G.o.d oh my G.o.d. ”Can you believe that? I can't imagine being a dad right now. Look at this place, it's not exactly baby proofed. I don't mind being an uncle though. I can always give the kid back.”
”Ha ha,” I tell him. ”You'll make a great dad someday.”
”Someday is the key word. Just not anytime soon,” he says.
”Give me the phone,” I hear Mel say. ”Stop. Give me the phone.” She laughs hysterically and there are some slapping sounds.
”What are you doing?”
”She's abusing me, sister. She's slapping me.”
Mel calls out, ”He's tickling me, Shel. He may not live to see tomorrow.”
”Foreplay,” I say, wondering if I'm talking to myself since they're still playing around.
”I gotta go, sis.”
I guess I don't need to wonder anymore.
Chapter 9
When Ty asks me if I want to see Alcatraz today, I jump at the chance. I've been to San Francisco many times but have never made the trip out to the island. The clouds and fog have always gotten in the way, keeping me from visiting the creepy tourist attraction. But today, the coast is clear, the sun is s.h.i.+ning and I'm only here for a few more days, so why the h.e.l.l not.
The entire ride over on the boat, I can't help thinking of Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage in The Rock. I know others must be imagining Al Capone or George ”Machine Gun” Kelly locked up in the small cells on the island, but, not me. The entire film plays through my mind as we cruise through the choppy waters. The bay looks dark and scary and I wonder how in the h.e.l.l any prisoner could possibly jump in that freezing water and think they could swim all the way to the sh.o.r.e. Maybe they did some serious training or weightlifting in the slammer and considered themselves the next to win the Iron Man triathlon or something. I doubt it though. The big lump of earth out there doesn't look like it could've been geared toward keeping the inmates in the most tip top shape. Instead, it looks eerie, and damp.
We take the guided audio tour, and pa.s.s through the prison with old school headphones covering our ears.
”What the h.e.l.l?” I tell Ty, after listening to interviews of raspy-voiced inmates as I scan every detail of the cement block otherwise known as a penitentiary. I rub my ear in irritation. I'm not some high school kid who wants to walk around like a DJ with these suckers plastered to my head. ”What happened to the little old lady docents? What the heck kinda tour is this?”
Ty stares me down with a smirk. ”Mel, this isn't the frickin' MOCA. We're visiting a prison. You should just feel lucky the cell doors don't have functioning locks or I'd accidentally throw your a.s.s in one of them.”
”Trying to get rid of me, huh? What, did you see some hoochie mama you'd rather take home?”
”Yeah, I did. That one right there.” He gestures to a flashy woman who didn't get the memo that leggings are meant to be worn underneath something else. Especially cheap, worn brands. I really shouldn't be able to see that she has pink check boy shorts on. If I could manage to get any closer, I could tell you the brand too, her pants are that that transparent. Nasty a.s.s. I'd expect to see this at work, not that it's any better, but not from a grown a.s.s woman. transparent. Nasty a.s.s. I'd expect to see this at work, not that it's any better, but not from a grown a.s.s woman.
”Oh, honey. If you want that, by all means, go get her. You don't have to lock me in a cell. I'll gladly let you go if that's your taste.”
He tosses his arm around me and rests his forearm on my shoulder. ”I wouldn't even know where to start.” He shudders. ”I guess I'll just keep you for now.”
”I see how it is. Keep me for now, until something better comes along. You know I can kick box, right? I could knock you on your a.s.s with one of my Rambo kicks in half a second if you p.i.s.s me off, so you better watch it, big guy.”
A big belly laugh roars from Ty.
”I wasn't trying to be funny,” I tell him as I turn to him with a finger to his chest. ”Wanna try me?”
He grasps my tiny wrist in his big hand and rests it on his shoulder. ”Yeah, I wanna try you ... in every way possible.”
Whew. Is it getting hot in here? His hungry stare pierces my body straight to the center of my lady love. ”I'd say let's get a room, but the metal bed frames and the bars kind of kill it.”
He flashes me one of his trademark grins and it hits me just as hard as his stare. When is the next ferry off this f.u.c.king island? I need this man. I want this man. Now.
When we've finished walking around the poky, Ty's phone is loaded with comedic photos of yours truly. There is one of me behind bars reaching out to him with a psychotic facial expression crying out for help. Another one shows me flipping pages of a magazine while I sit on a dingy porcelain commode. If there had been seat covers, I would've pulled down my pants and let him get a shot of me with them gathered at my ankles. Now, that would've been some funny s.h.i.+t.
My all-time favorite pose is of me kneeling down in the recreation yard, my hands holding rolled up brochures, waving them in the air. My face is pained and desperate as I yell, ”Don't drop the bombs!” The brochures really don't look like the flares in The Rock, and I can't really pull off Nick Cage very well, but hey, I tried. And the laughs I got from the other tourists were worth getting my pants dusty in the knees. I'd say it was worth the humiliation, but this is me we're talking about. Like I'd be embarra.s.sed about making an a.s.s out of myself.
”You and my sis are movie wh.o.r.es,” Ty says while sliding his finger across his phone, glancing at my photo shoot at the clink.
”You mean to tell me you've never reenacted one of your favorite movies in the big house?”
He shakes his head with a chuckle. ”No, can't say that I have.”
With a little tug on his belt, his eyes lower to mine and I murmur, ”Well, I'm sure there are plenty of films we can bring to life when we get back to your place.”
Before we head to Ghirardelli Square this afternoon, I make Ty promise to go for a run with me. If I don't want to feel guilty about consuming another 3,500 calories of hot fudge, vanilla ice cream, and chocolate fudge brownies, I need to get my a.s.s in gear.
We're on our second mile when Ty slows to a crawl. ”What's wrong?” I ask. ”Daddy long legs can't keep up with these little wheels?” I pat my thighs.
”Babe, you know I can keep up with you. I think I've more than proved I can in the last two weeks. In fact, I think you've burned enough calories rolling around in my sheets to eat five sundaes and about thirty truffles.” Now, he's stopped, and is panting with his hands on his hips, sweat dripping down the side of his face. His damp skin is glistening in the early morning sun. Jeezus. This man exudes uber amounts of s.e.x appeal, making me want to drag my tongue down his neck, lapping up the salty moisture and following the trail down to his hard abs and beyond. ”Thinking about chocolate already?”
”Thinking about dipping you in chocolate and taking my time licking you clean,” I confess, my girl parts squeezing with desire.
He looks at me blankly for a second before shock registers on his face. ”Well, that has to burn some calories too. I say we stop at the store on the way home and pick up some chocolate syrup. I wouldn't want to deny you one of your fantasies. I mean ... who am I to get in the way of your imagination?”
Two cans of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup later, I'm in Ty's shower with hot water running down my body.
”I had no idea chocolate could be so sticky,” he says as he steps inside with me.