Wife Is A 4-Letter Word by Stephanie Bond

noticed a young man had set up shop on the beach, guarding a half-dozen Wave Runners bobbing in shallow water.
    He picked up a megaphone and yelled, “Rent a Wave Runner, by the hour, by the half hour.”
    â€œLet’s do it,” Pam said, clambering out of her chair.
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œRent a Wave Runner,” she said, tugging on his hand.
    â€œThey look dangerous,” Alan said with a frown.
    â€œCan you swim?”
    â€œYes,” be answered indignantly.
    â€œThen come on, take a risk for once in your life.”
    He pushed himself up slowly, then followed her at a leisurely pace. “I’m a risk-taker,” he defended himself tartly.
    â€œOh, sure, Alan,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re a regular daredevil.”
    Alan bit his tongue. She was the most infuriating woman! He wanted to shake her, but he suspected that putting his hands on her and giving her breasts an excuse to jiggle would probably undo him in his current state. She strutted away from him, giving movement to the rub-on flower tattoo he’d watched her apply to her hip this morning in the room—a performance he’d been able to endure only by virtue of much teeth-grinding. His jaws still ached.
    The young rental man was so bedazzled by Pam and her little bikini, he could scarcely speak. Amidst the boy’s nods and a dancing Adam’s apple, Alan halfheartedly negotiated a price for a Wave Runner and two wet suits, still unconvinced he would relish the ride.
    Pam poured herself into a full-length neon pink wet suit with a built-in life jacket whose front zipper simply could not accommodate her chest. But leaving the zipper down a few inches only lifted her breasts higher and further emphasized her deep cleavage. Alan pulled on his own rubber suit, which was about six inches too short in the arms and legs. He performed a deep knee bend to loosen the material.
    â€œI’ll drive,” Pamela announced, grabbing the handlebars and floating the Wave Runner out a few feet into the shallows.
    â€œOh my God,” Alan gasped when he waded into the bracing cold water. “Are you sure this is going to be enjoyable?”
    She scrambled up on the bobbing machine, straddling the bright yellow vinyl seat and plugging in the ignition starter. After slipping the stretchy key ring over her wrist, she turned around and held out her hand. “Would you stop complaining and get on?”
    â€œWhat’s that for?” he asked, pointing to the wristband that connected her to the machine.
    â€œIt’s like a kill switch,” she said with a grin. “If I throw us off, the engine dies.”
    â€œOh, that’s comforting,” he said as he gingerly climbed up on the back and settled behind her on the long padded seat.
    She pushed a button and the engine purred to life. “Better hang on,” she warned over her shoulder as she turned the handlebars quickly and revved the engine, sending them into a sideways spin.
    Alan grabbed the strap across the seat and managed to hang on, barely. “Have you ever done this before?” he shouted into the wind.
    â€œToo many times to count,” she yelled, leaning low and feeding the gas until they were hurtling across the waves at a breathtaking speed. They caught a wave, rode off the. edge into the air, then landed with a teeth-jarring—and frigid—splash. Pam squealed in delight, then shouted, “You’re throwing us off balance. Hang on to me!”
    Too shaken and waterlogged to refuse, he wrapped his arms around her waist, twining his fingers into the buckles of her wet suit. She was going to kill him. Was drowning a painful way to die? In this case, he’d probably have a heart attack first. The air whooshed from his lungs as they landed hard and a wave of freezing water swelled over the back and drenched him. At this rate, he might suffer both tragedies in the space of the next few