Robin
If I wanna,
I’m gonna.
I once saw those words on an
Instagram post and thought, Yeah, right,
who has that kind of freedom? To do whatever they want, whenever or wherever
they please?
I’d never known that kind of
freedom until now.
I paused for a moment on the sunny
dock to survey my surroundings as the cool morning breeze washed over me. The gentle
sound of waves lapping at the marina pilings, the distant roar of motorboats plowing
through the lake water, and the fragmented chatter and laughter of adults and
excited squeals of children filled the air. A
delightful whiff of bacon and coffee floated by—someone’s morning breakfast
being cooked over an open fire at the nearby campground. The dewy air laden with
boat fuel, fish, lake water, and pine-sweet smells enhanced the sounds and aromas of the lake
marina on a busy summer holiday.
What
had gotten into Ram? His suggestion that I go on this little excursion alone,
dumbfounded me. The twenty-dollar bill I carried in my pocket felt like a
million bucks with my revelry of being unshackled from him. Well, he never
physically shackled me, but he never left my side when we were out in public,
especially in a crowd.
I
drew in a heady breath, looking out the small
window of independence and readied myself to take on this new experience
I
headed down the dock toward the marina store, with the singular goal of going
in, alone, and buying whatever I
wanted with my twenty bucks.
The
blue skies and hot weather of this Father’s Day weekend drew large crowds to
the lake. A laughing family slowed my progress. They were weighted down with
excited children and baskets of food, handing both off to two men in a pontoon
boat. Identical twins, from the look of them. The way they swung kids and
provisions onboard while cracking jokes, they had to be the favorite uncles of
the clan.
At
the end of the dock, a lone couple leaned against a pillar, picnic basket and
open beach bag of towels at their feet. Oblivious to the day as they kissed,
his hand cupping her face. As his thumb ran softly across her cheekbone, I
watched wistfully, my own face tingling where I imagined the man’s thumb
dragged across. My mouth tasted the salty sweet of his tongue and my palm felt
the coarse texture of his beard growth and the firmness of his strong jaw. I envied
the lovers. I wanted that. I wanted those bone-deep feelings of love, the
oblivion to the world, the all-consuming need to touch. I wanted to be
someone’s polar opposite at a soulful level and feel the pull toward him.
I
almost sighed with relief when I entered the store, not sparing the romantic
couple a second glance. The cold blast of air inside the air-conditioned store
felt good on my heated skin. The place was packed. Ram had told me to be quick
while he gassed up the boat. Through the plate-glass windows, I could see him
replacing the pump and pulling cash from his cargo shorts to pay the marina
worker. His head kept looking back to the store, expression impatient. But I
craved Peanut M&Ms and a Diet Dr. Pepper, and Ram be damned, I was getting
them.
As
the line shuffled forward, my gaze shifted beyond Ram to a tall, blond man
stepping out of a sleek, expensive-looking boat. His thick hair was cut short
on the sides, long and windblown on top and his swim trunks rode low on his
hips. He offered his hand to a pretty blonde in a blue bikini and a sheer wrap
sarong, helping her step from the boat onto the dock. When he turned toward the
store, I got a better look. He had a tattoo on his chest over his heart that I
couldn’t make out from the distance. The man was a walking cliché of
gorgeousness. Every woman’s checklist of perfection. Six pack abs, check. Broad
shoulders, check. Defined arms, check. Obligatory Adonis belt like a pair of inverted
parenthesis, pointing due south: check, check, and check. My brain shook its
head while my eyes gave a standing ovation.
He
smiled, leaned down, and said something in the blonde’s ear. She laughed and
slapped him playfully on his arm. His grin widened and he returned to his full
height, taking her by the elbow to lead her into the store.
I
couldn’t take my eyes off the guy. It wasn’t just his looks—I lived with a hot,
sexy man and had plenty of eye candy. This attraction felt deeper. It felt
weighted. Heavy on my skin and in my bones, my whole being riveted to this man
as he entered the store. His laughter sent a thrilling tingle down my spine, my
ears lifting to the sound and finding it familiar.
Did I know him?
“Next.
Ma’am?” I spun around to see the cashier forcing a smile and waving me forward.
I quickly paid for my candy and soda. I turned to go, and walked straight into
a wall. At least it felt like a wall. It was a man’s bare chest. He grunted
with the impact, and as he grabbed my shoulders to steady me, my eyes zeroed in
on the tattoo over his heart.
What the …?
I
didn’t think I’d banged my face into his rock-solid chest so hard that I
hallucinated. I blinked to be sure.
A
half-hinge tattoo.
The
hair on the back of my neck rose, and I curled my fingers into my palms to stop
them from reaching to touch. It was beautiful. Unique. I’d only ever seen one
like it once before—on me.
The
other half of the hinge was inked under my left breast.
And
it was tingling.
I
jerked my gaze up from his chest. Silver eyes, wide with surprise, looked down
at me. His face drained of color as if he saw a ghost. It was the mouthwatering
man from the boat, now standing with his large hands gripping my shoulders,
holding me in place, an electrical current where his warm callused fingers
touched my bare skin.
“Bird?”
he asked, his voice deep and hesitant.
The
air became too thick to breathe. Whatever I could inhale got trapped in my
lungs, unable to escape around the lump in my throat. I pulled out of his grasp
and stepped back. His hands dropped to his sides and he straightened to his
full height. His liquid-silver eyes narrowed, guarded and heedful, seeking
answers.
“Bird,”
he said again, more confidence in his voice. The intense gaze softened, became
liquid at the edges.
Bird?
Something
scraped like tiny fingernails on the edges of my mind—a need to throw myself
into his arms, hold him tight, and never let go. I stood still, stunned and
braced against the frightening impulse.
Why did he call me Bird?
His
beautiful eyes pleaded with mine.
I
gathered my confused senses, shoved my candy and drink into his chest, and like
that bird, flew out of the store into the bright sunlight.
Standing
on the dock next to our boat, Ram looked first at me, then wide-eyed over my
shoulder. He went pale and jumped down into the boat.
“Bird,”
the man from the store shouted.
The
boat’s engine roared to life. Ram reached for my hand and pulled me in.
Feet
pounded the boards of the dock. The tattooed man’s voice coming close. “Bird. Please.
Stop. Wait…” The roar of the engine
drowned out his last words, but I thought I heard him call my name, Robin.
Ram
punched the boat to full maximum speed, paying no attention to the marina’s Idle Speed and No Wake signs as we sped through the inland waterway. Docked
boats, big and small, bobbed violently up and down in our wake.
Looking
back to the dock, I saw the blonde woman run up to the tattooed man. He pointed
out at the waterway, waving his arms, then took off to the other side of the
building—most likely to his boat. The blonde sprinted behind and they
disappeared around the marina store while we sped further out into the lake.
With the throttle wide-open, we disappeared easily around the next bend and
into the straightaway. Only then did Ram look back.
“I
don’t see him,” I yelled over the rushing wind and roar of the motor.
“He’s
coming,” Ram said. He glanced down at me with furrowed eyebrows. Eyes
determined. Then he focused forward and veered into a cove and rounded behind a
small island. He cut the engine and we waited. My heart beat frantically as the
sleek speedboat raced past us, the blond man at its wheel.
I
looked at Ram. His jaw rigid, perspiration dotted his forehead, and he breathed
heavily as he continued to stare in the direction of the boat, now gone. I’d
never seen him frightened of anything or anyone, but the wild, taut emotion
lining his pale face couldn’t be anything but fear. Ram knew that man. I could
read it in his body language, his squinting eyes calculating our next move.
“Who
was he?” I asked, my hands gripping the seat cushions on each side.
Ram
broke his concentration and turned his ice blue gaze on me. “I think he’s one
of them. I need to get to my computer and find out.”
I
stared at Ram, looking for truth in his eyes and finding none. I was certain he
had just lied to me. Even more certain we’d be moving to a new location.
Again.
HINGED
Copyright © 2017 Char Sharp
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