Note: This is the seventh chapter in what will probably be a fairly long series. If you haven't read Chapters 1-6, this section won't make any sense. I mean, the sex scenes will mostly stand alone, but there's a pretty significant back-story. Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated! Special thanks to AnInsatiableReader and stikiniki for helping me clean it up.
As it has been more than a year since I posted on this series (I know... boo, hiss, boo), you may want to go back and re-read at least Chapter 6, if not the whole series. There are some references in this chapter to things that happened previously. To Brad, it's only yesterday, but for you, it's been a bit longer. I tried to add as many memory-jogging details as I could without bogging down the story, but, really. Chapter 6 is the second-highest rated story I've posted so far -- you'll enjoy it. Go! Then come back.
Day 6
Tuesday, June 16
Pensacola, FL to Charleston, SC
"FUCK!!!" I shouted. It was probably too loud for 5 a.m. in Scott's quiet little neighborhood, but the rain was loud enough to drown me out, and I had absolutely no control over my volume after what we'd just done to ourselves. "You just get fucking faster, don't you?"
Thirty feet in front of me, Scott was pacing around the parking lot of his apartment complex, walking in circles with his hands clasped behind his head.
"You made me earn that one," he said between gasps of air and rain. As I sprinted into the lot beside him, my hands hit my knees as I doubled over, trying to force my heart rate to slow down after the long run. I, too, was desperately trying to breathe.
"C'mon, man," Scott said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Gotta walk it off. C'mon."
He started his circles again, and after looking up and letting the rain pelt my face for a moment, I followed. The green workout shirt I was wearing wasn't normally so dark, but it was plastered to my upper body, as were the workout shorts. All I could see when I looked up were fresh sheets of rain and heavy cloud cover.
Scott had been better than me at pretty much everything in high school. In a lot of those things I was now his equal, and I was probably better at a few things. Running wasn't in either of those categories. I'd never beaten Scott in a foot race of any length, and while I'd gotten much faster since I'd joined the Marines, that hadn't changed. My final time on our 3-mile physical fitness test was 18 minutes, 17 seconds. Scott, on the other hand, had come into the Corps already under 18 minutes, and his fastest time to date was somewhere under 16 minutes.
We'd been coming down the home stretch of an easy four-mile run in the early-morning rainstorm, during which we'd rehashed last night's events and talked about what it might mean for his and Lynette's long-term relationship. He was all for having Stacy over again, but he wasn't sure how Lynette would like that without another man around to balance things out.
He'd also prodded me for details about my mysterious phone girlfriend, but right as he asked, his apartment complex came into view, maybe a quarter-mile away. I'd instantly shouted out "Race!" and took off at a dead sprint, slicing through the rain with precise, controlled strides. I felt like I was running faster than I ever had.
About 20 seconds later, Scott had flown by me like I was standing still.
"So," Scott began when he found the air again. "How long have you been cheating on your girlfriend?"
My lungs were nowhere near ready to answer that, but my brain didn't much care.
"What the--?" I asked, spinning quickly toward him but running out of gas after the first two words. I took a few more deep breaths as the rain continued to soak us both. "Cheating?"
"The girl on the phone the other night," Scott started again. "Kelly, you said last night? She's your girlfriend, right?"
"We don't call it that, no," I said.
"But there is a we?" he questioned. When I didn't reply, he nodded. "So you're cheating."
I grinned. "This is an open-book kind of test."
"Say what?" Scott had been looking up at the rain, but that statement got his attention.
"It isn't cheating if the teacher told you to do it."
I turned and began walking away, starting a cool-down lap encircling Scott's building and the one immediately behind it.
"She knows?" Scott asked when he caught up.
"Yep. Only conditions are that I'm safe about it and I tell her each time."
"You have to tell her?"
"I dunno if 'have to,' are the words I'd use," I said. "As great as some of the things I get myself into are, sometimes telling her is the best part."
"You mean, like afterward?"
"Usually afterward. Or sometimes... ya know, during."
Scott stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "Say what?" He asked again.
"Stacy and I started messing around on the couch last night. Kelly was on the phone and played along."
"Holy shit, man."
"Yeah," I agreed. "It should just make things even better when I get back to Idaho."
"And you said you've never met her before?"
I nodded. "Nope. That's why I really don't think of it as cheating. Hard to cheat on someone you've never met."
"How did you hook up with her at all?"
"I called my mom's office one day. Apparently she's a manager for one of the stores. She answered, I flirted, and that night we had phone sex."
Scott just stared. "I knew I'd taught you well, but... apparently I taught you really damn well."
"So, yeah," I said, ignoring his attempt to take credit. "She's very open-minded."
"A rarity for Idaho," Scott said. "Is she hot?" He asked. I cringed a little bit at the question, but between the darkness and the rain, I don't think Scott noticed.
"She certainly sounds like it," I answered, hoping he'd drop it but knowing damn well he wouldn't.
"I didn't ask how she sounds," he said. "Is she hot?"
I had no clever response, so I just shrugged.
"You've at least seen a picture of her, right?" he asked.
I shook my head. "She's seen one of me, though. My boot camp picture was sitting on my mom's bookcase the day I called."
"I take it all back," he said. "I haven't taught you shit."
"Look--"
"Dude, how do you know this chick isn't Miss Piggy plus 250 pounds?" he asked.
"I don't."
"The chick could look like a road grader got stuck in reverse on her forehead."
"I know."
"She could smell like --"
"I get it, I get it," I said putting my hand up so Scott didn't give me an image that would make me want to hurl. "Fat, ugly, smelly women need love, too."