Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series) (23 page)

“It
was
pretty comical. Hey, that reminds me…I wanted to ask you something about that.”

“Shoot…”

“Well, when I stuck my tongue out at Teresa while Tristan was carrying me away, he said ‘don’t be a tease, put that away’ and I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I’m not too sure what he meant. Plus, when I looked my question, all he did was give me that super fast kiss.”

It’s true, I’ve been noodling on that since I went to bed last night and I think I might know, but I’d rather hear Kate’s interpretation. I still trust her more about these things than I do myself.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Camie. All this stuff is still really new to you. I mean it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since your first-ever kiss.”

“Yeah, I know. I just really dislike not understanding things…it bugs the crap outta me.”

I know that there are times I come off sounding somewhat confident and probably even like an intellectual snob, but I think it’s mostly a defense mechanism. I
hate
looking and sounding stupid. Sadly, I seem to end up looking and/or sounding exactly that more often than not.

“I get that. So in answer to your question, I’d be willing to bet my dad’s life savings that he was implying you were tempting him to either kiss you flat out in front of
everyone
, or, drag you back to his bus so he could kiss you as much and for however long as he wanted to. He could’ve done either I suppose, but being that it was still kinda early and the party hadn’t quite gone into full swing yet, both probably would’ve raised some eyebrows so I’m thinking that’s why you got the fast one. It was for him, not you. I’m guessing he was self-soothing, you know? Like he felt he couldn’t do what he really wanted to so he pacified himself with a quick kiss instead of nothing,” she expertly explained once again.

“Huh. I guess that makes sense, because he didn’t actually kiss me at the bonfire except that one time and then briefly on the neck before we left. He also didn’t hang around much,” I told her, lining up what she said with everything that happened. Thinking back, we did actually kiss for real quite a lot, but it wasn’t in front of a soul; we were always alone.

“Yeah, I saw that, but by that time there were so many people around, I doubt anyone would’ve taken much notice or really thought anything of it. It seems like he’s still playing things pretty close to his chest, but you’ve come a long way in a really short time…I’m kinda surprised actually.”

“What do you mean, why surprised?”

“Well, I think he’s falling for you. And kinda hard, judging from what I’ve seen so far and all the atypical stuff he’s been doing. But I also think he might be afraid of getting burned so I think he’s holding back so as not to rush things, if that makes sense. He’s been declaring himself little by little and now that he’s let you in on his interest, you need to keep it. Remember what our original strategy was, be yourself but make him chase you. If you make it too easy by calling or texting him all the time or trying to get his attention at school, I think he’ll jump ship faster than you can blink an eye.”

I’m thinking this is her way of saying “keep your eyes on the prize and don’t do anything to jeopardize your tremendous advances.”

“Well that would totally suck. I definitely don’t want him to do that.”

“No, you really don’t. Getting him back in the boat would be practically impossible…the stubborn ass,” Kate predicted and then almost incoherently and around what sounded like a big yawn, she asked, “So, do you wanna go shopping later and maybe get some dinner or see a movie?”

My answer was probably just as incoherent as hers though, if not worse as my mouth was full of crunchy cereal goodness. “I’d love to but I really shouldn’t…I have to get this toilet paper mess cleaned up and I have some homework that I don’t wanna wait until the last minute to do. Plus, my dad said something about wanting to go out to dinner as a family tonight.”

“Okey dokey,” she said and then yawned again.

“You sound totally exhausted, Kate…” I opined as I chewed.

“Because I am…I don’t get it. I mean I got like nine or more hours of sleep and I slept great, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes open this morning.”

“Huh. Maybe you need some coffee or something to perk you up.”

“Nah…coffee’s okay and everything but too much of it is murder on my stomach. Besides, I’d much rather get my caffeine in chocolate. And that being the case, the only coffee really worth drinking in my opinion is a Starbucks mocha and I don’t feel like getting dressed.”

“What about Jeff?” I asked, dumping my spoon and now empty cereal bowl in the sink before turning the faucet on.

“What about him?”

“Would he bring you Starbucks?”

“Oh, totally. Well, that is if he heard his phone and chances are, he won’t. He’s such a deep sleeper…I swear, sometimes it’s like trying to wake the dead.”

That reminded me of my fortuitous nap with Tristan so, starting to giggle; I told her how cute and little boy whiny I thought he was when we woke up. In hearing that, she informed me that the initial crankiness I thought I heard from him yesterday was not imagined nor is it uncommon. He loves his sleep and consequently, being woken from a nap really kind of pisses him off. So, it seems Tristan and I have yet one more thing in common.

I hung up with Kate after having made some plans to get together on Monday afternoon, and then Jill and I bent to the task of cleaning the trees and bushes. It was a giant pain and seemed like it took forever so although we didn’t know for sure if she was responsible, neither of us felt too terrible for passing the time by picturing Teresa locked in an old fashioned stockade as the townsfolk threw rotten fruit and vegetables at her. When we finished that, I moved on to my homework and my sister moved on to…something I guess…I kind of lost track of her after that. But, by the time I was finished putting my laundry away, Jillian and I were reunited when my dad announced that it was time to leave for dinner.

The restaurant we went to was a new one that my mom had read a review for and wanted to try. I thought we’d stick close to home, but come to find out; the place was downtown; about thirty minutes away. It was larger and more upscale than what I was expecting too. It was the kind of place with intimately dim lighting, unobtrusive wait staff, and high booths and potted plants that screen the quiet patrons while they enjoy their Oysters Rockefeller. You know, the kind of place that isn’t exactly known for its extensive children’s menu. Not that it matters really, unless of course you find yourself asking the question, “Why would anyone bring an infant to a place like this?” Which was exactly what I was asking myself on my way back from the bathroom after we’d finished eating. Although I’d kept my question to myself, I ended up getting an answer. And to say that the answer was worrisome would be kind of a freaking understatement.

The whole roundtrip was a series of uncomfortable and disquieting scenes and it ended with me wearing someone’s freaking Caesar salad. No, I’m not kidding. First, because I’d downed at least three sodas and a virgin piña colada during dinner, I had to pee like a racehorse. Sorry about the tired metaphor, but, it’s true, so, there it is. That being the case, I of course got lost both going to and coming from the ladies’ room. Second, I did find my way to the bathroom but only with help. What’s more is that help actually had the nerve to be irritated with me for disturbing her during her oh-so important task of folding cloth napkins to make them look like fans. And even then, her directions were lacking and by the time I finally got to the restrooms, I was unable to appreciate the pristine cleanliness and pleasant flowery aroma the ladies’ room provided. Honestly, I would’ve been happy with a port-a-potty or a freaking bush.

Thus I found urinary relief but when I left the bathroom, I must’ve turned the wrong way because as I was walking, I noticed that the kitchen was on the opposite side of me from where it should’ve been. Seriously frustrated, I turned back around and tried to find a drink station or some other point of reference so I could get back to where I came from. Truthfully, Hansel and Gretel probably had an easier time finding their way than I did in that place. Anyhow, I was walking along a path running parallel to a row of booths with a chest-high wall topped with plants that were keeping the diners and the foot traffic separate, when I heard the baby start fussing. Well, fussing doesn’t quite cover it but whatever. That was the moment I asked myself the aforementioned question. However, the moment I stuttered to an utterly shocked halt and became entirely unable to keep myself from eavesdropping was when I heard the infant call “My Tristan”
his
“Da-Da.”

How do I know it was “My Tristan” you ask? Well, because when the baby very clearly said “Da-Da,” a woman I can only assume is Tristan’s mother said, “Tristan dear, he wants you.” And then Tristan, whose voice I’ve come to be able to hear in my head at will, replied, “I know…come here, buddy.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t stand there rooted to the spot not only listening, but peeking through the plants to see as well. And don’t you judge me either…you know you’d do the exact same thing.

Anyway, this was what my limited and rather shameful surveillance got me:

A man and a woman were sitting on opposite sides of the table, facing each other, and Tristan, sitting at sort of an angle to me in the curved booth, was hugging the baby to him and trying to quiet his crying. In hindsight, I was really touched by how Tristan cooed to the chunky little monkey he was holding, making kissy faces and soothing him by rubbing his back and stuff like that; it was quite precious.

Then the woman spoke up again. “Why is it they always say Da-Da first?”

“Well at least this one talks…I don’t think he opened his mouth until he was almost two,” the man, who I guess is Tristan’s dad, said.

“He just wanted to get his words right, Stan…and he was
not
almost two,” Tristan’s mom said in lighthearted defense of her son.

“
He
can hear you, you know…hey dad, see if you can find his elephant in the bag.”

Digging through what I guess is a diaper bag and sounding dismayed, Tristan’s dad said, “Why in God’s name is there so much glitter in here?”

“Well Dad, you see, that’s what happens when a guy has a baby with a prostitute...she gets hooker dust all over the f-u-c-k-i-n-g place,” Tristan answered in what sounded like extreme displeasure, literally spelling out his swear word for, I assume, the baby’s benefit.

“Tristan, I know you and Gina don’t exactly get along anymore, but calling her a prostitute isn’t right,” Tristan’s mom admonished gently.

“Well, she uses her body for money…pretty much the same thing in my opinion,” Tristan retorted.

“That’s what dancer’s do, dear,” Tristan’s mom returned.

“Especially the ones on the pole…” Tristan’s dad intoned.

“Oh Stan…”

“See? Dad gets it! I mean Jesus Christ, Mom; you make it sound like she’s a ballerina or something and she’s not, so just say it. Joey’s mom is a stripper. A lying b-i-t-c-h stripper who still insists the condom broke.”

“It was entrapment, Son, plain and simple…everyone who matters knows that.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t exactly make it okay, now does it?” Tristan sighed. “You know what, never mind…can we get off this subject? He’s a great kid and it’s not his fault.” He then started using the stuffed elephant to play peek-a-boo with the baby, now known as Joey.

“You’re right dear, he’s a wonderful little boy…and he’s getting
so
big. Just look at those chubby little fingers and toes…you know, Tristan, you had the cutest rolls of baby fat when you were nine months,” Tristan’s mom mused.

“Oh good lord…” Although I couldn’t see him do it, I could picture Tristan rolling his eyes.

“Well I can’t help it…maybe if I could spend more time wi—”

The sound of what was clearly a diaper being soiled cut Tristan’s mom off and laughing, Tristan said, “Well, it wasn’t a bell but I’ll take the save anyway…okay you guys, lemme out so I can go change him before our food gets here.”

When it became obvious that Tristan was about to stand up, I came to my senses and skedaddled myself the hell out of there before I got caught spying. I was hurrying around a corner, trying to put as much distance between myself and Tristan’s table, or the bathroom, or, both actually, and that’s when I ran into a waiter carrying a tray of Caesar salads. Luckily, the dressing had very little anchovy in it, so I’m calling that a bonus.

Ugh.

I couldn’t even begin to process the startling scene I’d just witnessed and since I was still picking Romaine off of my person when I finally got back to my table, I used that incident as a more than reasonable excuse for wanting to leave right away and not discussing what was, in truth, my more than a little guilty preoccupied silence. Even Jillian kept her distance and didn’t once try to pick my brain for any other possible reasons as to why I was being so reserved. I took a shower immediately once we got home and then faking a series of yawns, I went to bed. The reality is though; I wouldn’t sleep a wink.

I kept turning the information over repeatedly in my head, trying to decide how I feel about dating a guy who has a baby. I mean the age difference is one thing, and the experience he has is as well, but a baby?! Getting involved with someone who has a baby is pretty serious and I can only imagine how complicated and difficult it would be to do. And I’m only fifteen for crying out loud! I mean yes, technically I’m old enough to have a child myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to play any kind of remotely prominent role in the life of a baby.

But what about Tristan? Doesn’t he deserve to have a life too? Or should he be branded an outcast, never to have a relationship in his young life because he’s a teen father? No, I don’t think that’s fair at all. However, is this something
I
should get involved in at this stage in my life? Well…I just don’t know. I mean I really like Tristan and we seem to have this connection that’s becoming pretty amazing for one thing, but I’d also like to say I’m the kind of person who can keep an open mind and not judge someone based on a past mistake, you know? And this doesn’t sound like a mistake even, but more like Tristan having been a victim. True, he could’ve not had sex with the girl in the first place, but who knows, maybe she tricked him into doing that too. It’s possible I guess, and having that experience would kind of explain some things. Like why he detests when girls go after him they way they do and why he tries to keep his life as private as possible. I mean if I’d fathered a child with a stripper while I was still in high school, I sure as hell would be doing my damnedest to keep that from being public knowledge too!