Page 61 of Tossed into the Mob
“You're back!” My mate was sitting up in bed watching a soap opera on the tablet, and he beckoned me closer, his graspy hands saying, “Gimme, gimme. I can smell the anchovy.”
We sat on the deck with the sea breeze blowing our hair, and my mate devoured the treats and told me how amazing I was to think of the fudge.
“I am amazing.”
Brock rolled his eyes, but he leaned forward for a kiss, and I licked the anchovy butter off his lips.
“Ready for the rubber duck?”
The town was small enough that we could walk. The huge duck sat overlooking the ocean as a few tourists took pics in front. There were internal stairs, and we walked to the top, standing on a viewing area just under its beak.
“Well, it is a duck and it’s yellow.” Brock touched the walls. “But it’s not rubber.”
We snapped pics and sent them to our family. Knowing Ranger would reply with a smart remark, I turned the phone off, and we walked barefoot, hand in hand, along the beach.
“Maybe we could move here. It’d be a great place for the baby to grow up.”
I quirked a brow. “Far from your dad?”
“Ummm, well, he could visit. Or live here too.”
Niles was already shuttling back and forth to visit us, so I supposed he’d come a little further.
“How about we discuss it in the upside-down boat café?” I pointed to the boat fashioned into a small restaurant on the headland.
Brock flung his arms around my neck. “I’m feeling peckish, so that’s a yes.”
I had a feeling we’d be spending a lot of our time here doing food-related activities.
Brock ordered the seaweed-and-cheese toast, while I was content with a pot of tea. I checked out the remaining sites in town and suggested we take in the pirate museum.
“Does that display dead pirates or some of their booty?”
“Dead men tell no tales.” I shrugged. “Ahoy, matey.” I lifted my tea cup and smacked his butt.
“What?”
“I thought you were getting into the mood by saying booty.”
Brock giggled and ordered fresh oysters in hot sauce. “A pirate’s life for me.”
I told him to keep some of the pirate talk for the museum, and when he’d finished eating, we strolled to the museum. There was a large X at the entrance, and we both stepped on it and yelled, “X marks the spot.”
The staff member at the door rolled their eyes ‘cause they’d probably heard that many times before. Inside there were old maps, barnacle-covered anchors, log books, and navigation tools.
But Brock grabbed my arm and squealed. “Look.” There was a place for a photo op where we could dress in pirate clothes and pretend to walk the plank over a section of the floor painted like the ocean with hungry sharks waiting for their next meal.
We put on the pirate tricorn hats, picked up plastic cutlasses, white shirts with billowy sleeves, and short jackets and breeches. Brock had to leave his britches unbuttoned because of his bump, but he eyed my lower region and licked his lips.
“Do you think they’d sell us those breeches?” He leaned in close. “They’re very sexy.”
“Not these ones in particular, but I’m sure they sell them in the gift shop.”
He pulled me close and stuck his tongue in my ear. “Shiver me timbers.”
My cock swelled, making the breeches extra tight. “A pirate’s life for me,” I managed to get out.
We took more photos of us “in jail,” and I considered whether to share all of the pics with our family. Brock urged me to do it, saying we’d get a laugh at their responses.
