Gina covered her ears and screamed.
Jerry scrambled to turn down the volume in the dark. He fumbled with the little knobs, first setting the balance and tone, before clicking off the radio. “Sorry about that.”
Gina’s minxish expression resurfaced in the quiet. “Sorry about what?” She took Jerry down across the seat.
In minutes, he was riding the night train through the back roads of New Jersey. Gina cooed beneath him, sliding her hips down the smooth upholstery. He was king of the world again. He did as he pleased. He should have thought of this with Chelsea. She was waiting for him to raise the bar. He was going places he’d never imagined. He was going to screw the world as he pleased.
The driver hit the brakes, and he went tumbling to the floor. Gina screamed, torn from her passion with an elbow to the nose.
She clutched her face. She was bent over the hump on the floor, her limbs entangled with his. “I think I’m bleeding.”
The limo pulled away from the traffic light. The green light faded to a dot.
Jerry panicked, naked, lost in disaster. He stared at the drop of blood welling in her nostril. “I’m sorry.”
Gina wanted no apologies. She stuffed a wad of tissue in her nose and mounted him like a thrown horseman.
“ We’re going to do this right here.” Her voice was nasally, but she started riding him on the floor, bracing herself against the seats. Gina swung her hips, chest bouncing with the potholes in the road. She grabbed hold of Jerry’s shoulders, taking him all the way home.
Jerry let her run. He’d never view Route 27 the same way again.
The limousine navigated as if on autopilot. Gina’s nose stopped bleeding. Jerry saw a thin ring of blood crusting her left nostril.
He helped her dress, slipping the black material over her freckled arms. The floral smell of sex and perspiration lingered in the back seat. Or was it Gina’s rosy perfume?
She tucked the pink garter in his suit jacket. He felt it bunch against his wallet. “What’s that for?”
“ A memento.”
“ Oh.” He wasn’t about to dispose of it in front of her, but her perfume irritated his nose, and she was talking nonstop. He stared out the window, trying not to meet her eyes. He resisted the feeling of revulsion men get after quick and easy sex.
“ The beaches in Aruba are fantastic,” she said.
“ I hadn’t heard.”
“ The people want to wait on you. They want you to be happy.”
Jerry watched the Mercer Oak pass by in the night. The tree stood alone in a field. It was hundreds of years old, struck by lighting and patched together by experts. The iron tie rods that bound the trunk glinted in the moonlight. “There’s the oak.”
“ Who cares about that thing?” Gina said. “I was telling you about Aruba.”
He loathed her tone of voice. “I did once.”
“ What are you talking about?”
“ Chelsea and I used to picnic beneath it. That’s all.” He stopped short of saying it was their special spot. Old memories filled his palate, as he recalled the many meals they’d shared beneath the oak’s sprawling branches.
“ You’re not still thinking about her?” She slid beside him.
He heard her switch on the charm. Her perfume crashed through his memories, turning his stomach. “Yes, I am.”
“ Don’t you have better fish to fry?”
This analogy irked him, especially since he disliked fried fish.
She rubbed his chest. “It’s me I hope.”
He let her touch him. It was easier than asking her to stop. “I want the best.”
“ You should have the best.” Her head nuzzled his shoulder.
He listened to the wheels roll beneath them. A limousine hummed like no other vehicle. Gina was right. He needed someone to share his wealth and time, but she wasn’t it. No doubt about it. Gina was history. Not even iron tie rods could bind this union. He counted the minutes before they said good night.
CHAPTER 9
Three Women and One Guru
“ I
Jerry scrambled to turn down the volume in the dark. He fumbled with the little knobs, first setting the balance and tone, before clicking off the radio. “Sorry about that.”
Gina’s minxish expression resurfaced in the quiet. “Sorry about what?” She took Jerry down across the seat.
In minutes, he was riding the night train through the back roads of New Jersey. Gina cooed beneath him, sliding her hips down the smooth upholstery. He was king of the world again. He did as he pleased. He should have thought of this with Chelsea. She was waiting for him to raise the bar. He was going places he’d never imagined. He was going to screw the world as he pleased.
The driver hit the brakes, and he went tumbling to the floor. Gina screamed, torn from her passion with an elbow to the nose.
She clutched her face. She was bent over the hump on the floor, her limbs entangled with his. “I think I’m bleeding.”
The limo pulled away from the traffic light. The green light faded to a dot.
Jerry panicked, naked, lost in disaster. He stared at the drop of blood welling in her nostril. “I’m sorry.”
Gina wanted no apologies. She stuffed a wad of tissue in her nose and mounted him like a thrown horseman.
“ We’re going to do this right here.” Her voice was nasally, but she started riding him on the floor, bracing herself against the seats. Gina swung her hips, chest bouncing with the potholes in the road. She grabbed hold of Jerry’s shoulders, taking him all the way home.
Jerry let her run. He’d never view Route 27 the same way again.
The limousine navigated as if on autopilot. Gina’s nose stopped bleeding. Jerry saw a thin ring of blood crusting her left nostril.
He helped her dress, slipping the black material over her freckled arms. The floral smell of sex and perspiration lingered in the back seat. Or was it Gina’s rosy perfume?
She tucked the pink garter in his suit jacket. He felt it bunch against his wallet. “What’s that for?”
“ A memento.”
“ Oh.” He wasn’t about to dispose of it in front of her, but her perfume irritated his nose, and she was talking nonstop. He stared out the window, trying not to meet her eyes. He resisted the feeling of revulsion men get after quick and easy sex.
“ The beaches in Aruba are fantastic,” she said.
“ I hadn’t heard.”
“ The people want to wait on you. They want you to be happy.”
Jerry watched the Mercer Oak pass by in the night. The tree stood alone in a field. It was hundreds of years old, struck by lighting and patched together by experts. The iron tie rods that bound the trunk glinted in the moonlight. “There’s the oak.”
“ Who cares about that thing?” Gina said. “I was telling you about Aruba.”
He loathed her tone of voice. “I did once.”
“ What are you talking about?”
“ Chelsea and I used to picnic beneath it. That’s all.” He stopped short of saying it was their special spot. Old memories filled his palate, as he recalled the many meals they’d shared beneath the oak’s sprawling branches.
“ You’re not still thinking about her?” She slid beside him.
He heard her switch on the charm. Her perfume crashed through his memories, turning his stomach. “Yes, I am.”
“ Don’t you have better fish to fry?”
This analogy irked him, especially since he disliked fried fish.
She rubbed his chest. “It’s me I hope.”
He let her touch him. It was easier than asking her to stop. “I want the best.”
“ You should have the best.” Her head nuzzled his shoulder.
He listened to the wheels roll beneath them. A limousine hummed like no other vehicle. Gina was right. He needed someone to share his wealth and time, but she wasn’t it. No doubt about it. Gina was history. Not even iron tie rods could bind this union. He counted the minutes before they said good night.
CHAPTER 9
Three Women and One Guru
“ I
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