Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Craig

Bubbles, bubbles everywhere.

Jamie and I were chin-deep in the hot tub sipping some clementine-flavored sparkling water with the stars twinkling above us. This soak under the waning moon was just what we needed. Two days alone with no hockey—thank you NHL schedulers—no kids, no housemates, and most of all no texts from Leon. He'd been incredibly quiet since the cake incident. Probably plotting his legal strategy to battle my claims in court. His position in his law firm had been terminated within days of a visit from the police to " discuss " this situation with him in his office situated oh so politely on Wilshire Boulevard in a modern glass building. I could only assume the news had traveled like a flu bug through the forty-plus attorneys in that building.

"You're a few thousand miles away," Jamie commented, bringing me back from my ex and his wrangling to avoid being labeled a stalker.

"Sorry." I smiled over at him, a soft wind blowing over my damp cheeks to tickle the wet hair on the nape of my neck. "I was thinking about Leon."

"What's he done now? Has he changed his mind about representing himself in court?"

"No, oh God no. He's far too narcissistic to think anyone but him could provide him with proper representation in court." Jamie rolled his eyes to the slip of a moon. "I know his ego knows no bounds. More power to him. I think we have him pretty well dead to rights on the stalking charge. The texts will prove that, as well as the cake, even if he is claiming that the cake was a gift to me to celebrate our beloved Bruno's third birthday."

"Yeah, no judge in the world is going to believe there was no malicious intent."

"You know he's the smartest man in the universe. Surely the judge will buy into his claim that he knew I adored red velvet cake and that was why the inside of the cake was scarlet. And how could it possibly be his fault that the bakery delivery fumbled the cake, breaking it in half, and smearing frosting about. Surely no one can fault him for poor service from the bakery."

Jamie frowned. "He might be able to get that one past a judge. Is red velvet your favorite?" I nodded. "Damn. Was the cake ordered to be in two chunks?"

"The baker claims it was one solid cake when it left his shop, picked up by someone he doesn't remember."

"Well, that sucks." He shifted a little closer, being sure to keep his glass of clementine fizz above the bubbling water.

"It does. And the driver who delivered the cake has mysteriously disappeared after talking to the cops. Just quit after that first day. All his info on his application was false so we have one flimsy description from the bakery owner that we handed over to the cops and a PI to hopefully track him down. It's just so mentally exhausting."

"Why would someone hire someone without checking his background and such?"

"The guy was strapped, and he was supposedly a friend of a friend, so he took the chance. The friend of a friend was also BS, but the delivery man knew enough about the baker to know some of his friends. It's all really creepy, which fits Leon well."

I was so grateful to have a restraining order in place now. I should have done it long ago, but I kept hoping Leon would move on with his life and leave me to do the same.

"Honestly, is there no depths of evil conduct that arsehole won't sink to?"

I refused to dwell on the whole who-owned-Bruno aspect of this mess. Yes, his name was on the registration papers. But the cake incident and my testimony about him trying to hit the dog was, I prayed, going to be enough to bring him down in court. If they granted ownership to Claudia that would be fine with me. Sure, I'd love to have my dog back, but he was happy with my sister. If Leon was granted custody of Bruno I might do something rash, and it would be me facing charges. If only he would relent about taking Bruno. I would have settled out of court—hell, all I wanted was for him to leave me the fuck alone, screw any monetary damages that might come to me—but oh no, he had to "expunge the heinous slights to his name" in front of a judge. His words not mine. Stupid, foolish, egocentric jerk.

"Seems not. I think he's been sliding more and more into some real mental health issues but the cops showing up on my behalf pushed him over. For years, he was this cool-as-a-popsicle abuser, but once the truth was revealed and his shiny exterior has been tarnished, he really took a nosedive."

"Your brow is all furrowed." He reached up with wet fingers to smooth my forehead. "Enough talk of that twat. This is our two-day holiday away from the rest of the world. I, for one, am looking forward to spending it doing nothing but lying about, making love, eating scones with clotted cream off your chest, and doing a bit of reading."

I wiggled about in the tub. "Do we even have scones and clotted cream? That's the first question that comes to my mind. The second is when can we break them out?"

"What do you think was in all those bloody bags from the market?"

"Clementine sparkling water?"

"Yes, okay, there were a few bottles of those, but there were also some tea purchases since your cupboards are woefully devoid of any quality tea bags."

I snickered at his vehemence when it came to tea. I loved him so much I'd even bought an electric kettle for him to use. You microwave one cup of water for your boyfriend once or use a generic tea bag from a box purchased at the dollar store, and—whoa, boy. That was a lesson learned.

Only Yorkshire Tea for Jameson Hennessy, if you please. The Brits are quite serious about their tea.

He continued. "And some of those biscuits you introduced me to."

"The Pepperidge Farm tea cookies."

"Yes, those." He wiggled about in excitement. "They're lovely with tea. I may have bought a few bags of those as well, to tide us over."

"Any cheesy puffs?" I hit him with my best sad puppy face.

"As if I would go shopping and not find you some cheesy doodly things." I slid close, hip to hip, and stole a fast kiss. Mm, he tasted of sweet clementine. "And scones with clotted cream. It's hell to find clotted cream in this barbaric country but there are a few stores that carry it."

"You love us Americans and you know it." I stole one more kiss, tossed back my sparkling water, and then stood. Jamie sat in the tub, staring up at me questioningly.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"I am more than okay. I think it's time to break out the scones."

"Ah." He finished his fizzy orange drink, placed the glass on the edge of the redwood tub, and rose from the bubbles. The lights in the tub made his wet skin glisten. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of anyone having a scone."

We paused long enough to turn off the hot tub. I'd cover it and gather our glasses later. Right now, it was time to feed a rather hungry-looking Brit.

Our first day of the Nothing-but-Jamie-and-Craig-Two-Day-Holiday started with me giving him a blowjob to help him wake up. It was payback for his amazing display of oral skills last night. His tongue could do glorious things with clotted cream. As could his fingers.

We spent an hour or so eating breakfast, then decided the day was too beautiful to be spent indoors reading and/or fucking. We'd work those activities in, obviously. We took a ride out to Newport Beach and chartered a whale-watching tour.

The catamaran was sleek and modern. We settled in, bouncing softly over bright blue waves, with some light snacks and wine coolers from the charter company. Jamie slathered sunscreen all over himself, citing his aversion to sun freckles on his soft English rose skin. We were about an hour from the port when a school of dolphins decided to swim alongside us, leaping up out of the sea and then diving back into rolling white caps.

We moved out a little farther into the Pacific. Jamie and I strolled around to the back of the three-sixty walkaround deck at the behest of the first mate, a strapping fellow with hair bleached nearly white from the sun and skin dark and supple as old shoe leather.

Off the port, we got our first view of a blue whale. Jamie ran to the railing, his LA Storm ballcap blowing off his head right as the mighty mammal breached, sending a large flock of seabirds to wing. The whale was mere yards from the right pontoon. It blew out a geyser of water that flew into the air thirty or so feet.

"Holy shit!" Jamie yelled, his glasses wet, as were our faces and hair.

The whale disappeared under the water, coming up on the other side of the boat. We ran to that side, phones out, and got to record it. Then a smaller whale appeared, the fluke slapping at the water dousing us yet again. Cells wet, hair sodden, clothes damp, we grinned at each other before exchanging a salty kiss. The two whales, a mother and calf, the first mate assumed, spent at least fifteen minutes swimming leisurely along with us until we lost them after they dove deep and disappeared.

"That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen," Jamie said on our way back to the harbor, a towel with the charter boat's logo on it around his neck. His cheeks were pink from the sun as his hat was now sitting on top of a tuna. "I love you so much for picking that excursion." The barking of seals and the raucous cries of gulls filled the air as we slowly made our way to the pontoon's berth. "Next stop is my pick."

"I'm all yours," I said, taking a moment before departing to sign a few hats for the crew of the whale-watching boat.

Jamie, being the scientist that he is, chose to spend the next few hours at the Griffith Observatory. We stopped at a Mexican eatery for a late lunch before driving up to our second destination. The famed observatory sat on a south-facing slope overlooking Los Angeles, Hollywood, and the Pacific Ocean. We walked through several exhibits, all dealing with space and the stars, hand-in-hand. Jamie was in his element. We then made our way to the Samual Oschin Planetarium where we saw two live shows. We spent some time outside on the roof, using the smaller telescopes to look at LA as dusk settled over the city. It was truly breathtaking. I could see why so many websites said this was a great date destination. My date was so excited over being able to discuss science with the tour guides that he offered me a choice as to how to end the day:

A – a queer nightclub for a cocktail.

B – a chance to ravage his arse.

I was not a dumb man. I chose B.

The second and final day of our two-day whirlwind of romance and fun times was spent making the drive out to Valyermo—which meant barren valley in Spanish, according to Jamie's mad skills in googling—to spend the day at a spa/ranch. This was totally my idea. Jamie had been less than thrilled when I sprang it on him over breakfast.

"Honestly, babe, when I said I wanted to spend the day riding a stud I didn't mean a damned horse. Do I look like the type who ever once played polo?"

His pout was cute but didn't sway me from the reservation I'd made late last night—after the ass-ravaging and when he was snoozing away contentedly. When he heard the word spa was part of the ranch's offering his frown turned upside down. Until we were in the stables at the ranch-slash-spa.

"Have I mentioned that I don't ride things bigger than me?" Jamie pointed out as two pretty brown mares were being saddled for us.

"That's a fib," I whispered with a randy wink. He sniffed in that delightfully British way of his. "Come on, admit it, you think I look pretty good in tight jeans and a Stetson."

"I will concede that denim does look good on your bubble butt."

"Thank you. You'll enjoy it, I promise."

He didn't enjoy it. At all.

The mares—named Iris and Isis—were sisters and were the most docile beasts I had ever ridden. I'm not a master equestrian by any means, but I did like to get out into the sandy, rocky areas of California to ride when I could. Jamie was not a fan. He could ride, just barely, after an hour of basic instructions. We rode out with a guide named Paul who looked like Sam Elliott, right down to his silver mustache. Paul knew the trails well, as did the horses. After an hour, we stopped to have a light lunch alongside a narrow stream. There were some scrub trees to offer shade, and water for the horses. Paul made himself scarce after setting up our little meal on a redwood picnic bench.

When we lowered our backsides to the benches Jamie winced then threw me a glower over his dusty glasses.

"Let's make a point of not scheduling horseback riding after a double-header of arse-ravaging," he groaned while removing the cowboy hat he'd bought in the ranch's boutique. The fact that a dude ranch had a boutique said a lot about their clientele.

"Oh honey, I never even thought," I confessed then reached over to take his hands in mine. "We can turn back."

"No, it's fine. It's a pleasant sort of pain," he whispered over a lunch of cold baked beans, soda biscuits, crispy fried bacon, and some canned fruit. Water was bottled. A real cowboy meal straight out of the saddle bags. "Reminds me of last night."

"Do you want me to ask Paul if he has a pillow?"

"Good God, no. He's too much a real cowpoke. Imagine the look he would give me. I wager he would call me a tenderfoot!"

"More like a tender ass," I teased softly and got a baking soda biscuit lobbed at my head.

With true British stoicism Jamie completed the ride back with a stiff upper lip. We hadn't dismounted properly, and he was off, with a rather awkward gait, to the spa area. I followed along at a snail's pace, checking my notifications now that we were back where there was some Wi-Fi. Nothing of any great import. A video from Claudia of her and Bruno visiting a dog park. Bruno wasn't too big on other dogs, but he adored children and was sitting beside a small girl who was attaching some of her bows to the long fur on his head and ears. He just sat there, soaking in the adoration and pretty decorations like a true diva.

I was so engrossed in the video, I nearly walked into the backside of a horse. Apologizing profusely to the rider and the horse, I hurried into the massive spa building. Soft tinkling bells and the smell of jasmine greeted me. As did a lean man with bright red hair in a gauzy white outfit. He handed me a drink in a tall glass.

"Hello and welcome to the revitalization center. My name is Augustine Leo, and I'll be your guide through the luxury itinerary that you booked. Please enjoy the complimentary cocktails while we walk." I fell in behind him, walking past a small rock fountain and four people sitting on mats on the floor in front of the fountain, eyes closed, repeating some sort of mantra.

"First up we'll be joining your partner in the steam room. After your steam you'll have a cool shower then we'll be moving on to Thai herbal compress massages followed by fifteen minutes at the pool. After sun time, we'll move into a meditation suite where you'll have thirty minutes of silence and self-reflection with no cell phones or any outside interference."

He took a pause and smiled, and I thought he was done, but then he started up again.

Then we'll head back to the spa for a facial, a manicure, and a pedicure, and finally, you'll be free to join the other guests for dinner at the main ranch with more hearty Western fare. Or you can enjoy the sunset on the veranda of the spa, where you'll be served something from our healthy mind menu. The choice is yours."

"Okay."

"Mr. Hennessy is waiting for you in steam room six. This way, please."

I hurried to finish my cocktail, a fruity blend of pear, apple, lemon, and lime juices with a touch of vodka. It was really delicious. Augustine led me to a changing room where I stripped out of my horsey-smelling jeans and tee and into a red towel. My clothes would be laundered for me while I was being pampered.

Augustine then led me to one of several steam rooms. I stepped in and gasped at the heat and moisture that slapped me in the face. Jamie was sprawled out over a bench, his glasses in a little pouch, his hair stuck to his head already.

I sat down beside Jamie, sweat flowing from me. It had to be well over a hundred and ten in here.

We proceeded to melt into puddles. When our time was up, we were given robes and then hustled to a shower room. The cool shower felt amazing, as did the dip in the pool, the massages, the mani/pedis, and the facial. The only thing I had some trouble with was not reaching for Jamie while sitting in a room with incense and Tibetan singing bowls vibrating harmoniously around me. All he had on was a spa robe cinched around his lean waist and nothing else. He'd refused to pull on his dirty briefs or the paper knickers, as he called them, so he was bare. I'd donned the disposable underwear and was kind of regretting it. They felt odd on my balls.

"I feel you looking at me in that way of yours," he said, sitting cross-legged on a mat with his eyes closed.

"I can't help looking at you that way. I love you. That's my dopey Craig-is-in-love look."

He cracked one eye open. "I love that look. Keep doing it."

And so, I did, through the meditation where I never meditated unless admiring your boyfriend was considered meditation. If so then I meditated the hell out of it.

During dinner on the verandah, as the sun set, I stared at him adoringly. My gaze never strayed from his beautiful profile as the sky changed colors from scarlet to blue and then to black. A hundred billion stars blinked to life, and I enjoyed the wonder on his face in the soft glow of small solar lights spaced about the large porch. Coyotes howled in the distance. An owl called out for a mate.

I'd never felt more at peace. Then my damn phone vibrated.

"Ugh," I sighed as I debated replying to the text or not. "Should have left on silent," I mumbled as I pulled it from my back pocket. The spa had treated us like royalty. Ten out of ten stars. Jamie had already said he wanted to return as soon as we could. Maybe we could live outside of the city someday, find a nearby place with a couple of houses, the girls could get horses, and I could finally have Bruno back. If I didn't lose him in court. And there he was. Fucking Leon.

"See who it is. If it's junk, then silence it," Jamie suggested before sipping his lemon/lime soda on the rocks. I read the text. Read it again. And then read it a third time. "You look odd. Is everything okay?"

"They found the delivery guy."

"What? Tell me."

"Get this. He's a client of Leon's and was trying to cross the border in a panic. It seems my ex made him an offer to dispose of evidence that would prove him guilty in an upcoming case if he did this one little favor for him. Then, when the deed was done, Leon told him to get the hell out of the country and never tell a soul, or he would ensure he died in prison."

"Bloody hell. That's got to be illegal?"

"According to Detective Russo, tampering with evidence is a huge no-no. Seems the guy is singing like Taylor Swift." I looked up from my phone. "I'm too scared to be excited."

He moved over to my lounge chair, hugged me tight, and then kissed me on the lips. Gently, with a smile that reached his pretty eyes.

"I give you permission to be as excited as you want to be."

So, I shot to my feet, taking him with me, and we danced a dance of pure joy under a desert moon.