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Chapter
One
Lacy
Caldwell secured her long, tawny hair into a loose side braid, pulled her
goggles over her bright green eyes, then tugged on the iridescent teal mermaid
tail that had, like it or not, become an appendage she’d gotten oddly attached
to over the past year. Since last January, Lacy had been supplementing her
income to pay for grad school by working as a mermaid at a cheesy roadside tiki
bar in the small town of Verity Beach in North Carolina’s Outer Banks.
At
first she simply took the job because it was a job to be had. She’d never
aspired to be a freak attraction to tourists looking for a good laugh while
getting drunk over too many beers. But then she surprised herself by finding
out she kinda loved both the job and the quirky group of people who she worked
alongside at the Mermaid’s Purse, too.
This
included 87-year old Edna Dingleheimer, who’d been pounding out customers’
favorite tunes on the electric keyboard four nights a week since the year John Kennedy
was assassinated. Despite her one-of-a-kind appearance (bleached-blond beehive
hairdo, Coke bottle-thick eyeglasses, knuckles knobbed with arthritis, dressed
in a grass skirt over a pair of blue jeans), Edna’s presence always took second
fiddle to the main attraction: two mermaids who each night dallied in a
swimming pool on the other side of a large picture window that overlooked the
dark, dank bar of the Mermaid’s Purse.
Sometimes
Lacy could relate to how a stripper must feel, having leering eyes
laser-focused on you for sometimes hours at a time. Even though she was, for
all intents and purposes, far more dressed than a stripper. That said, the coconut
shell bra wasn’t exactly a turtle neck, and she had large enough breasts that
they couldn’t help but spill out a little bit from the tiny confines of those hard
cups.
At
first she’d felt self-conscious in her low-cut tail and coconut bikini top, but
soon she realized it was sort of fun to get paid (and earn some pretty generous
tips) to just flipper around a swimming pool for several hours a night. Since
the pool was indoors, they weren’t exposed to the elements, which was a huge
plus. The biggest downside was sheer boredom: you could only do so much in a
mermaid tail—a few underwater flips here, a handful of turns there, a couple of
tail slaps with whatever other mermaid was on duty that night, and maybe send
some seductive bubble kisses to the people at the bar, and then you had to get
creative. Thank goodness she had to surface for air every twenty seconds or so,
just for the change of scenery.
Often
Lacy stuck around after work to chat with her co-workers. She adored the owner,
Vera Cosmopolous, a seventy-something Greek American woman who made it her
life’s goal to fatten Lacy up, even though Lacy felt plenty fattened enough
already, thanks.
“Here,”
Vera said, sliding a plate with grilled pita and baba ganoush, an eggplant and
tahini dip, toward Lacy, who had to admit she was starved after swimming around
in the pool for four hours. “This will be good for you and will help you get
over that stupid man.”
The
stupid man she was referring to was her now ex-boyfriend, Billy Crapple. Yes,
that was his name, deservedly so. Although Billy “What a Complete Pile of” Crapple
was what she chose to call him nowadays. Lacy had devoted the past two years of
her life to building a relationship with Billy, only to find out he’d been seeing
not one, not two, but three different women at the same time. Three-timing Lacy.
When she found that out—based on a phone call from one of the suspicious three-fers,
accusing her of being the other
woman, of all things—she kicked him to the curb, vowing to steer clear from men
for the foreseeable future. From here on out, she was devoting herself to
finishing up her degree and stockpiling money as a mermaid.
It
was a good life. Or good enough, albeit a teensy bit lonely. Currently the
biggest stressor in her world was that she had to attend the engagement party
of her friend Carly, whose fiancé Jimmy was good friends with Billy. And the
last thing Lacy wanted to do was show up dateless with him there.
“I
tell you what you need, honey,” Vera said as she helped herself to the pita
bread she’d proffered to Lacy. Her electric green nail polish practically
glowed in the dim light of the bar as she pointed at her mermaid employee who’d
become like a daughter to he. “You need to bring a man with you and show that crappy
Billy Crapple you never looked back once he was in your rearview mirror.”
Lacy
sighed. “Yeah sure. Great idea. But who might you suggest?” She looked around
the empty bar. “I mean I could bring Stan with
me—” she nodded toward a man twice her age with a bushy moustache and a
wife at home, “but that wouldn’t work on many levels.”
They
both laughed at the idea. Stan just scowled at them.
“Can’t
you think of any man who might go, even as a pity date?”
Lacy
rolled her eyes. Just what she wanted to be: a pity date. Even though that’s
precisely what she needed to find.
“I
dunno,” she said. “I mean there’s this nice guy I’ve chatted with at the gym.
He was next to me in yoga last week, and I’ve seen him at the other end of the
room in boxing class every now and then.”
Vera
shook her head. “Just as long as you didn’t see him in ballet class, I say go
for it.”
“Like
go for it as in, approach the guy whose name I don’t even know, and say, ‘uh,
hey. I’m sort of a loser and can’t find a date and I really need one badly to
taunt my cheater ex-boyfriend and, well, we did
do yoga together so it’s almost as if we knew one another’?”
Vera
waved her hand, dismissing the cynical suggestion. “It’s as good an approach as
any. Unless you want to put an ad in the paper.”
“No
one puts ads in the paper anymore.”
Vera
shrugged. “Oh excuse me. Then you can put a notice in Craigslist and I’ll hope
and pray you aren’t murdered in your sleep.” She clasped the cross dangling
from her neck.
“Fine,
I get your drift. I should just lose the shame and ask this guy. Even though
I’m likely to see him every damned day at the gym, which will be perpetually
humiliating if and when he turns me down.”
Vera
frowned. “Humiliating is when you’re left at the altar with a bouquet of tea
roses and no fiancé. I speak from experience.”
It
always saddened Lacy that Vera never did marry after that episode. Instead she
made the bar her life and family, and now here she should be retired and enjoying
life, but with no one to share it with, she just keeps on working.
“You
do know that guilt trip isn’t going to work on me, lady?” Lacy kissed Vera on
the cheek.
Only
it actually did work, every damned time she used that ploy. Each time Lacy thought
about being alone and in her seventies, it just about prompted her to start
looking for someone before she became old and lonely. Couple that with the need
to prove to Billy that she’d long since moved on meant that she was indeed
going to muster up the courage to ask her yoga buddy to be her date. Even if it
killed her.
Chapter
Two
Cameron
Sanders ran his fingers through his thick, wavy, dark hair, then wiped the
sweat from his brow with one of those lousy, rough gym towels that felt like
sandpaper on your skin. He knew he’d been hanging at the gym too much when he
started to give a care about the texture of sweat towels. This is what happens
when you’re a down-on-your-luck artist making diddly squat painting caricatures
of various tourists wandering around on the boardwalk.
It
wasn’t as if he wanted to be a professional kitsch artist, but man, it was hard
making a living selling his real paintings. It was such a mercurial business,
art was. And now that the gallery he’d been featured in had shut down, he was
back to practically selling shit out of the trunk of his car, which was so not
how Leonardo da Vinci did it. Of course Leonardo didn’t even have a car.
Not
that he was Leonardo. Or Michelangelo, for that matter. Or even whomever that
person was who made the famous painting of the dogs playing poker. Perhaps he
should have been doing commercial work like that and he’d not have so much free
time to exercise at the gym for hours at a time.
“Hi,”
he heard a voice say. “You mind if I join you?”
He
looked to his right and saw no one on the machine next to him so he turned to
the left and saw that pretty girl he kept seeing in yoga class—the one he dared
set his mat next to last time in the hopes she’d notice him. She didn’t.
He
nodded. “Go right ahead, be my guest.” He extended an arm in welcome, as if he
controlled who did and did not get to use the StairMaster next to his.
He
didn’t want to creep on her but he’d noticed her several times over the past
month or so and it had occurred to him that if only he had a steady income and
a career he could crow about, he’d have loved to ask her out on a date. But shy
of a veritable overnight miracle, nothing in his life was going to change in
the next, oh, forever, which meant he’d better tuck away such fantasies until
he might some day be able to employ them.
He
stuck his earbuds in and returned to watching last night’s episode of The
Bachelor, which he only watched because, well, who wouldn’t want twenty
gorgeous women fawning all over you while you drink to your heart’s content and
go on awesome vacations? This was the closest he was gonna get to the fantasy.
A
few minutes later he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked over to see the
woman with the deep emerald-green eyes, so soothing and damp they reminded him
of a cool pine forest in the summertime. Last time her hair was in a high
ponytail but this time it was braided down her back. Either way it made him
think how amazing it would be to have a firm grip on that hair of hers as he
watched her mouth wrapping slowly around his cock. Which was jumping the gun a
bit, since he hadn’t even mustered up the courage to introduce himself, let
alone invite her on a date. Nor would he, not with his depleting bank account
and failing artistic career.
He
glanced over at the woman who was sort of waving and using some sign language
to communicate with him. He removed an ear bud.
She
smiled. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just noticed you were
watching The Bachelor and I totally missed it last night and wanted to watch it
now but I forgot my earbuds and is there any chance you’d share one of yours
with me? These things are so boring otherwise with nothing to watch.”
He shrugged. Couldn’t hurt to give her one—as
long as she could keep pace with him on the StairMaster. And she looked plenty fit
enough to do that. In fact with those arms of hers it looked like she could
kick his ass if need be and right hook him into the next century. And that ass
of hers was so perfectly shaped, just right to cup his hands around. And those
legs. Well, shit, it didn’t say much about him that all he could do was look at
the woman and think how many different ways he might like to fuck her. Although
wasn’t that how every guy was? Nothing wrong with dreaming.
He
handed her his left earbud and they started climbing again and for the next
twenty minutes just climbed their stairs to nowhere together while indulging in
someone else’s fantasy world without actually being in it. It was all very
meta.
Cameron
was about ready to bail on the stair-climbing but every once in a while he got
a great sidelong glimpse of her ass and that motivated him to keep on keeping on,
at least for a few more minutes. Finally she tapped him on his shoulder and
offered up the earbud. It made him feel a little sad that the moment was
drawing to a close.
“Hey,”
she said as her fingers pressed the earbud into the palm of his hand. “Thanks
so much for sharing. I really appreciate it.”
He
slowed down his machine till it came to a halt, then wiped his face again.
“Sure thing,” he said, taking a swig of water. “I was honored to share them
with you.”
She
grinned. “Honored? Sheesh. I never knew it could be such a good thing for me to
mooch gym supplies from someone. I’ll have to get into the habit of that more
often.”
They
stood facing each other behind their machines, dabbing off sweat and catching
their breath.
“That
thing about kills me,” she said, placing her hand on her hip as she pointed a
thumb at the StairMaster.
“Right?
I feel like everyone else in here isn’t getting nearly the workout we are.”
She
extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Lacy. Lacy Caldwell.”
He
slid his palm to hers. “Cameron Sanders. You can also call me Cam.”
“It’s
great to finally meet you,” she said. “I know we’ve been in a few of the same
classes together. I think you were next to me at Vinyasa yoga the other day,
right? And maybe boxing too?”
He
nodded. “And don’t forget Body Pump.”
They
laughed.
“Clearly
we have shared interests,” she said, glancing at her watch.
She
shook her head. “No, not at all. I just have a class in an hour and wanted to
be sure I had time to shower.”
Well,
crap. Now he’s going to be obsessed with thoughts of her in the shower for the
rest of the day.
“What
a shame,” he said. “I was going to see if you’d like to go grab some coffee.”
She
arched her brow. “Huh. Yeah, sorry, I don’t have time for that now.” She pinched
her lips with her fingers as an idea emerged. “Though please forgive me if you
think this is weird, but I have another idea that might be fun. Bear with me.”
She held up her finger. “So, I’m only suggesting this because we’re practically
family now that we’ve shared earbuds and all.” She grinned. He loved her smile,
those white teeth all nice and straight and perfect.
“You’ve
got my attention,” Cameron said, wrinkling his brow. “And I’m really hoping you
aren’t asking me to join you to, say, visit your husband in jail.”
She
shook her head and held up her hand with a barren ring finger. “Oh, trust me.
No husband. No way, no how.” She dusted off her hands to get rid of that
thought.
“I
have to admit that’s a bit of a relief.” More than a bit, now that he’d put
himself out there by asking her out for coffee.
“In
that case, I hope you don’t think this is really weird of me.” She scuffed the
toe of her sneakers along the carpeted gym floor as she stared downward.
“The
longer you wait the bigger chance I’m going to conjure up some really bizarre
scenario in my head and then that will be weirder still.”
She
shook out her hands as if she was trying to wake up a sleeping limb. “Okay,
here goes.” She sucked in a breath. “So, you see, I have to go to this party and
this ex-boyfriend who is a total jerk is going to be there and I really just
need to take someone—anyone—as long as he’s male and has a pulse, though it
doesn’t hurt if he’s good-looking, so that I don’t look like a dateless loser, and
I was wondering if maybe you’d be that person perhaps?”
Cameron
lifted an eyebrow. He was completely amused by her half-cocked invitation. He shook his head as if clearing his brain.
“So
let me get this straight. You need a prop. To make your ex-boyfriend jealous.
And I’m as a good a one as any. It’s unclear as to whether I fall into the
good-looking prop category or if I’m just the man with a pulse.” He lifted his
brows in question.
She
squinted her eyes. “That didn’t come out so well, did it?”
He
laughed and waved his hand. “Not to worry. I’ve got a tough hide, so I didn’t
take it personally.”
“I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It
wasn’t rude at all. Just sort of funny. In a peculiar way.”
“Peculiar
as in you’re going to humor me and be my
date to Carly and Jimmy’s engagement party so that Billy Crapple can see that
I’ve moved on?”
He
cocked his head. “Have you moved on?”
She
ski-sloped her brow. “From Billy Crapple? Hell yeah. Believe me, there was no
love lost there. I was happy to be rid of him. I just don’t want him to think I
can’t land a man and I need him back or something.”
He
took a swig from his water bottle. “Well that’s the silliest thing I’ve heard
of. Clearly,” his gaze slowly scanned her from head to toe, “You could land any
man you set your sights on.”
She
pointed at her red, sweaty face, strands of hair clinging to her forehead.
“Yeah, especially right about now, all smelly and sweaty.”
“I
can assure you no man would be turned off by a sweaty woman.” He grinned.
“Quite the contrary, in fact.” He didn’t want to scare her off with being too
suggestive so he diverted the conversation. “But in answer to your question,
I’d love to be your pulse.”
She
jumped up and clapped her hands. “Oh goody! And honestly, you’re way more than
a pulse—you are one hundred percent good-looking prop material.”
Cameron
had never been more thrilled to be used by a woman in his life.
~*~
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