A/N: I told you this story wouldn't be ignored for long. Just to let everyone know, after this chapter, there are only three more left. Just as a forewarning, there are two characters from the show that have been included in this post as a surprise. I just felt that the opportunity was there, so I took it. I hope you find it as humorous as I found writing it. Thanks for your patience. Enjoy! Charlynn
Chapter Seven
His ministrations were sensual and hypnotic, his pace slow yet relentless, his touch completely and utterly drugging in nature. Closing her eyes, Marissa relaxed back into the cousins of the couch, inhaled deeply, and let the sensations he was causing inside her body wash through her. Up and down, up and down his fingers moved across her arm, barely touching the tanned, silky smooth skin yet sending pleasant whispers of desire and need down her spine, two things she was determined to ignore.
As long he did not increase his attentions, as long as they remained as innocent, she would be able to deny herself the pleasure she knew they both craved. After dancing around each other for several weeks, it seemed as if their relationship had started to burn like an unquenchable forest fire as soon as the spark between them had caught and ignited. From their first real kiss in her classroom, it took mere days before they were a couple in every way besides cohabitation which really was just a formality. Yes, she still had her home and he had his, but, three weeks after they started dating, she shared his bed with him every night, and the work on her house had slowed to almost a grinding halt. Suddenly, remodeling was the last thing on her mind.
They made a pretense of appearing as if they were nothing but acquaintances when in public. In fact, they even went so far as to sneak around. If the three of them went out for dinner at night, he picked her up a at a different place every time, they drove out of town to find a restaurant where there would be little chance of running into someone they knew, and she even snuck out of his house before dawn every morning, stool across back alleyways to reach her own home, and then proceeded to work like she did before they had started dating. Besides Joaquin, the only other people who knew of their relationship were Margie, her husband, and her children, and not even they knew the extent of their commitment.
It was the weekend before Thanksgiving, Sunday afternoon, and, while J was outside playing with Doctor Seuss, Ryan and Marissa were curled up together on his couch pretending to watch football. Well, he might have been paying attention, but men in tight pants running around on a field, hitting each other as hard as they could while trying to maintain control or reverse possession of a small, leather, oblong ball, and slapping each other on the butts when they did a particularly good thing did not appeal to her in the slightest. After all, she was quite content with the man spooned up against her back, and she most definitely preferred loose, faded, low slung blue jeans over spandex any day of the week.
She was so tranquil and lost in the exhilaration of her new life with Ryan and his son that she didn't notice the variation in his touch until she felt his fingertips brush against the underside of her bare breast. His hand had left the safe contours of her arm, traveled underneath the hem of both her long sleeved t-shirt and tank top, flirted with the sensitive skin of her hourglass shape, past the top of her hip, over her petite waist, and up, without stopping, past her ribs to stop and lavish attention upon her firm yet supple, understated yet generous décolleté.
"Whoa, slow down there, Ron Jeremy," she humorously scolded him, joining their left hands together and removing his from underneath her shirt. Opening her eyes, she twisted her head around to look at him, a smile playing softly across her face. "What do you think you're doing? J could walk in on us at anytime."
Ryan shrugged dismissively, so obviously intent upon getting what he wanted that he tried again, unsuccessfully, to slip his fingers under her clothes. "It wouldn't be the first time."
"I know, but I, for one, do want a repeat performance…again."
"It's sunny outside, not to warm not to cold, and you brought your dog over," he listed the reasons they would be safe to play around. "My son is going to be outside until we call him in for dinner in a few hours."
"What if he has to go the bathroom," the teacher wondered.
"Then he'll go outside behind the garage."
Staggered, Marissa screeched, "Ryan! You can't let him do that!"
"Who do you think taught him to," he asked of her, smirking. "Listen, it's no big deal. All guys do it."
"That doesn't make it okay," she pointed out exasperatedly, "or polite, and it sure as hell isn't sanitary."
Leaning in to stop her from saying anything else, he kissed her tenderly, the embrace sweet, leisurely, and much too short for either of their tastes. "At this point, does it really matter how unhealthy J's behavior is as long as it gives us some alone time?"
"We have alone time every night together after Joaquin goes to bed," she replied. "I just don't feel comfortable making love right now when you know as well as I do that we'd be tempting fate and running a good chance of getting caught."
"Then we won't make love," the golf course manager assured her. "We'll just pretend that we're horny teenagers again who can't keep their hands off of each other but yet can't go all the way because their parents are in the next room."
Protesting, she tried to scoot away from him, but, just as she was about to climb off of the couch, Ryan slid his free arm around her stomach and pulled her back to securely rest against him. "Oh, no, you're not doing that to me again."
"Doing what?"
"You're not going to get me all aroused with foreplay and then not seal the deal," Marissa whispered vehemently. "If you got us both excited like that, you could sneak off and have a cold shower, but what would I do?"
Grinning at her, he teased. "Take a cold shower as well."
"You only have one bathroom."
"I know," Ryan stated, agreeing with her. "That's why we would share the shower, but, with you in there with me, it wouldn't necessarily have to be a cold one."
"And what would we do about J," she asked, attempting to hold back her laughter at his roguish behavior but failing. "Put a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door?"
"We could," he acquiesced, "but we could also try a more upfront approach, simply by telling him that his Dad was taking care of Miss Cooper."
Rolling her eyes, the blonde, young woman taunted him, "so now we're back to calling me Miss Cooper?"
"It made it sound more dangerous, a little explicit. After all," he pointed out, "you're the one who called me Ron Jeremy. I'm just trying to live up to the reputation."
Sitting up on the couch and forcing him to do the same if he wanted to remain in constant contact with her, Marissa said, "I have a better idea. Let's talk about something else." At his dubious expression, she searched for a new topic of conversation. "How about Thanksgiving?"
"What about it?"
"Margie said she was going to invite you and J to her house for the holiday. Are you going to take her up on the offer?"
"Probably not," Ryan responded. "What about you? Do you have plans?"
Smiling self-deprecatingly, she revealed. "I'm not really big into the whole family holiday scene. Growing up, they were always a big production with my Mom, but, once I got on my own, I figured I would make them special for me, you know, but it didn't quite work out that way. Freshman year of college, I became obsessed with the idea of cooking myself a huge, lavish Thanksgiving day feast. Although I hadn't rushed yet, I had friends in the sorority house, and they let me stay there during the break. I made this ridiculously large turkey – it was almost thirty pounds, two kinds of potatoes, mashed and sweet, stuffing and gravy, cranberry sauce, corn, green bean casserole, rolls, a complete relish tray, and pie, not just pumpkin but several different kinds. I don't like to cook and I'm not that good at it, but I had watched several cooking shows, took notes, and the meal turned out pretty well if I do say so myself.
"Everything was perfect. I had even gone out of my way and bought festive table settings for the meal. That afternoon, after the food was finished, I laid out the entire table, took a picture to remember my first, real, authentic Thanksgiving on my own, and then sat down to eat only to realize that I wasn't hungry. I had picked at the food while preparing it, so much so that I was already stuffed before dinner even started. So, I put everything away, dejectedly watched Father of the Bride, Part One and Part Two, and then proceeded to eat leftovers for the next three weeks. I haven't celebrated the holiday, or Christmas and Easter either for that matter, since. This year I'll probably just stay in, order take out, and try to catch up on some of the work I've been neglecting around the house."
Raising his brows in question, he queried, "and your Mom is okay with that?"
"No, but she's going to have to be." Petulantly, she crossed her arms over her chest as if to signify her desire to stand her ground. "She's been calling and leaving messages for me every day, but I just keep ignoring them and her. I told her two weeks ago that I wasn't going home to spend Thanksgiving with her and the rest of my family, but she's never quite learned what the word 'no' means."
"So then you'll come with us," Ryan suggested, smiling widely.
"To Margie's?"
"No," the landscaper refuted her idea. "J has a tournament that weekend a few hours north of here. We're driving up and staying for a few days. Since you don't have any plans…"
"Why didn't you tell me earlier about his competition," she wanted to know.
He shrugged. "We, J and I, didn't want you to feel obligated to go with us; we didn't want you to cancel any plans because you felt you should go."
"Don't do that," Marissa beseeched him. "Don't think that I feel obligated to do anything when it comes to you and your son. I love spending time with the two of you. If I could, I'd be with you guys all the time. The two of you make me happier than I think I've ever been before in my life."
"You do the same for us." Wrapping her up in his arms, he inquired, "so does that mean you'll come with us next weekend?"
"I will," she answered, "but on one condition."
"Name it."
"You're going to have to get two connecting rooms," the twenty-four year old teacher instructed him before leaning in and giving him a long, deliriously wet and possessive kiss, "or there will be absolutely no alone time."
"Done," Ryan agreed almost instantly, the words barely leaving his lips before he continued their embrace, progressed it, deepened it, reveled in it. This time, despite her better judgment, Marissa did not protest his advances, she didn't push away his wandering hands, and she didn't attempt to put distance between them. Their connection and attraction was undeniable, and she didn't have the strength to try…not that she really wanted to.
"What will it be," Ryan asked, holding up two gift ideas he had for Margie, "a collection of board games including Operation, Guess Who, and Life or Lite Brite?"
"You can't be serious," Marissa laughed, gesturing towards his proposed presents. "You're going to get her toys?"
"That's what she asked for."
"Yeah, but Margie's not really a girly-girl," Joaquin pointed out. "I think she'd want something a little more…dangerous."
His father observed him. "Do you have any ideas?"
"Here's one for you," she suggested. "Why don't you just get her a gift certificate and then she could pick out her own toys."
"Gift certificates are so impersonal," the father figure argued. "It says that you didn't spend the time to really put some thought into the present."
"Plus," the eight year old added, "Margie likes to unwrap things, so opening an envelope just would't cut it for her." Turning to his father, he smirked mischievously. "I was thinking you could get her a skateboard, and I would pick out some really cool stickers for her to put on it."
"She's in her thirties, she's married, and she has three children," Marissa argued. "You cannot get her a skateboard. She'll kill herself."
"Are you saying that Margie's too old to play on a skateboard," the golf course manager teasingly asked her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her back to rest against him, hands free of the toys he had been holding. Laughingly, he placed a chaste kiss on the side of her neck. "I wonder what she'd say if we told her you said that."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Well that depends upon your plans for Christmas," J soberly replied, taking his father's side and helping him. "We know you really don't like the holidays, but, if you do what we want you to, then we won't tell Margie what you said about her."
She twisted around in her boyfriend's embrace and glared at him. "You're having your son blackmail me!"
"I like to think of it as teaching him how to properly negotiate."
Silently, she pouted while contemplating their ultimatum. Despite her total apprehension of all things festive, their weekend away during Thanksgiving break had been wonderful. During the four days they were gone, Marissa never once smelled the aroma of a home cooked meal, Joaquin had placed third overall at the tournament, and, just as he had promised, Ryan had gotten them separate rooms and they had shared plenty of alone time. It had been the most enjoyable holiday she had ever spent, and, even though she wanted to share a laidback, minimal Christmas with the two most important people in her life, she was unwilling to give in to their demands so easily.
"What are you conditions?"
"You must agree to do whatever we want from the 23rd of December through New Years," the older of the two Atwood boys stated without room for argument.
"You have to agree to go wherever we want to go," J continued for his Dad, "you have to agree to buy no gift certificates for anyone, and, while we're gone, you have to agree to spend all your Christmases with us."
"All my…," their words and the meaning implied behind them took several seconds to register. "No," Marissa immediately rejected the idea, emphatically slicing her hands through the air in a negative manner and pulling away from Ryan. "Absolutely not! Are you insane? We're not ready to take that kind of step! What about my job? We have two separate homes; what would we do with them? Christmas is only two weeks away!"
"And your point is," the landscaper taunted her.
Without another word, she huffed loudly out of annoyance and marched away from them, completely leaving the toy store to wander through other parts of the mall, leaving behind her two amused and even more determined blue eyed devils. Twenty minutes later, they caught up with her in a trendy boutique where she was picking out a complete outfit to give to Margie's daughter Sarah. She was holding up an eggshell colored blouse to get a closer look at the shirt when they appeared at her side.
"Sarah would look alright in that," Joaquin stated. "What do you think, Dad?"
"I agree," the older of the two boys leered, "but do you know who would look even better in white?"
"Who," the eight year old played along.
"My wonderful girlfriend," Ryan answered, "except, when she wears white, it should definitely be a dress."
"She could take one with her when we go away for the holidays," the little boy suggested, giggling slightly when she turned back to glare at him.
"I'm not going anywhere with the two of you," Marissa snapped, shoving the much- discussed shirt into her boyfriend's hands and fleeing the sore. As she made her way back into the commons area of the mall, she could hear their laughter following her.
It took them longer to find her the second time. Because she was hiding in a sports store, she figured they would never think to look for her there, but, forty-five minutes later, there they were, all dopey grins and twinkling eyes.
"You know, son," the twenty-four year old declared as if he was passing on sage advice, "they say that it's a lot like falling off the deep end. Perhaps that's why she's here – she's looking for a life jacket."
"You two can use each other for target practice for all I care," she bit out, gesturing wildly towards the rows upon rows of cases containing weapons in the store. "I said no," she repeated, once again sneaking away from them and disappearing.
Four more times that Saturday afternoon they played their little game of cat and mouse before leaving to go home. She had taken sanctuary in Hallmark; they had followed her moments later to comment on the wide selection of congratulatory cards the store carried. She had been browsing through Victoria Secret believing Ryan would never allow his son into the store; the two of them had appeared suddenly beside her, J's eyes covered by his father's hands, to ask if she was looking for something special to wear on a very special night for an even more special someone in her life. She had indulged in her well-known sweet tooth by perusing and sampling some chocolate covered delicacies in a candy shop; they had whispered from behind her that chocolate cake was an option she could choose. She had hid in a dressing room of the largest department store in the mall; the two of them just so happened to find the one next to hers to discuss ways of stopping her from getting cold feet and locking herself up in a small room as a form protest while they were away celebrating the holiday season.
However, the very last thing she had been expecting occurred on their way home: she gave in. Exhausted from a day of Christmas shopping, Joaquin collapsed and fell asleep almost immediately as soon as they were in the truck. A few minutes into their ride while she and Ryan exchanged shy and questioning glances, the little boy had nestled himself into her side, buried his head against her shoulder, and relaxed against her as if her mere presence was enough to calm and soothe him. In that moment she knew their request had not been as outrageous as she had first thought. What's more, it actually seemed rational, sound, and practical, not to mention that it was exactly what she secretly wanted. So, with a gentle smile and warm, bright, tear filled eyes, she waited until Ryan pulled up to a stoplight to lock gazes with him, a simple nod on her part declaring to him her concurrence. They would be spending the holidays together just as he and J wanted, but the nine days would be so much more than that; they would also cement their future.
"Welcome to the Hopelessly Devoted to You Spa and Resort, the gangly, curly haired man of their age greeted Ryan and Marissa, a travel weary Joaquin sitting behind them in the lobby with their luggage. "I, Seth Cohen, am the manager of this delightful establishment. My partner and I," he motioned towards a younger redhead who simply smiled and nodded at them for several moments, his large, bug eyes never once blinking the entire time, "will do everything in our power to make sure your stay here is enjoyable. I see on your check in information that you're planning to be wed while you're here in sunny Cabo-San Lucas, Mexico. Would you prefer a civil, Christian, or Jewish ceremony? We can perform all three of them here."
Slightly startled by the bizarre man standing before them, Ryan stumbled over his words. "I…we don't…how?"
"My father, the Honorable Judge Sanford Cohen and part owner of this expensive pile of bricks, performs the civil ceremonies, and I am both a minister and a rabbi, so I perform both of the religious ceremonies. Chester, my right hand man, my second in command, my protégé, here handles the more artist portions of the ceremony. He's in charge of playing the organ."
Kicking herself for being curious but unable to not ask any questions, Marissa inquired, "how is that even legal?"
"I assure you that Chester is of age."
"No, no, not that, Mr. Cohen," she corrected him. "I meant how can you be an ordained priest and a rabbi?"
"Dad was a Jew; Mom was a gentile," the outspoken manager explained. "I had the best of both worlds and found a way to use them both as a part of my career."
"And the two separate religions are okay with you being…," Ryan prompted.
"Being devilishly handsome, obscenely wealthy, and unbelievably intelligent," Seth quipped, grinning ridiculously while sticking out his chest. Dressed in a vintage suit, pink Oxford dress shirt, skinny tie, and Chuck Taylor's, he was anything but the picture of masculinity. "Of course."
Marissa had to bite her tongue from laughing at her fiancé while he rolled his eyes at the other man's comment. "That's not what I was implying," Ryan stated. "I was wondering if both churches were accepting of your sexuality." Signaling towards the still silent Chester, he expanded, "of your relationship with another man."
"Oh," Seth's big brown eyes widened in surprise. "We're not that kind of partners; we're just friends who happen work together, too." Lowering his voice, he whispered as if they were conspiring together. "Between you and me, you know, I've tried it; I've swung both ways before, but I've got to tell you, once you go dick, you're going to be sick." Ryan and Marissa, mouths agape with shock, stared at him, completely at a loss for anything to say in response. "Come on, where's your sense of humor," the curly haired man joked. "I was just kidding. In fact, if you want candor, I'm still waiting to experience a straight relationship before I try comparing it to some guy-on-guy action."
With a furrowed brow, Marissa asked, "that was another joke, right?"
The hotel manager/minister/rabbi rolled his eyes. "Yes," he answered. "Even once I sleep with a woman, I'm not going to try it with a man. I find I possess a lack of attraction towards the male posterior, a necessary trait if one wants to be gay."
"You were left alone a lot when you were a child, weren't you," Ryan questioned him. "Your parents were workaholics who over-indulged and pampered you so much, the other kids refused to play with you, so you spent large quantities of time by yourself, right?"
"How did you know?"
Closing his eyes and shaking his head tiredly, the blonde retorted, "lucky guess," before turning away and attempting to escape both the lobby of the hotel and the two men who operated it.
"Wait," Seth's slightly high pitched voice stopped him. "You didn't say which wedding you preferred."
"Is your father as weird as you are?" Apparently, Marissa realized, her fiancé had tired of polite conversation.
"He might me wary of the tweezers and have a tendency to break into show tunes while he's in the shower, but, no," the manager replied thoughtfully, "I wouldn't say he's as eccentric as I am. Definitely not as cool as me either, but that's a whole different story. What do you think, Chester?"
The three other adults turned to look at the fourth, still mute one in their group. The redhead simply shrugged, smiling to show off his rather large bucked teeth and staring, once again, without blinking.
"He agrees with me," Seth translated for his partner.
"We'll have a civil ceremony then, please," Marissa decided, speaking over her shoulder as she joined her future husband and stepson by the elevators.
"Can I interest you or the little first mate there in a sailing lesson," the curly haired young man continued despite the fact that his three, newly arrived guests were trying to escape from him as quickly as possible. "We also offer Yogalati classes, hold Magic the Gathering competitions every Friday night, have a complete comic book library open to the public, and have our very own life-sized Goonies theme park out back. How about a tour for five later on," he shouted when they stepped into the lift. "All five of us will go together – make an afternoon of it."
The doors to the elevator shut, Marissa sighed in relief, and then both she and Ryan turned to glare at Joaquin.
"What," the eight year old protested.
"Why in the world," they asked at the same time, "did you ever choose this hotel?"
"The rooms all have Playstations in them," he replied with an impervious shrug, "and, instead of little bottles of alcohol in the mini-fridges, they have mountain dew, yoo-hoos, and pudding in theirs. I thought it sounded cool."
With nothing else left they could do, the soon-to-be newlyweds simply looked at each other and laughed. It was going to be a wedding neither of them would ever forget.
Her fingers were practically itching she was so excited to open her gift. Yes, she had a reputation for being slightly immature when it came to Christmas; after all, there was something so enticing about shiny red and green paper just waiting to be ripped off and immediately tossed into a forgotten pile of garbage. However, it wasn't the present from Ryan, Marissa, and Joaquin that was taunting her as it waited to be opened underneath her tree – it was the card, recently arrived the day before from Mexico where it had been over nighted from. It was Christmas morning and, as was their tradition, the Miller family was waiting for Robert to pick who would be the lucky first person to open up a present.
"Go ahead, Margie," he instructed, "before you pee your pants out of anticipation."
She didn't need to be told twice. With a shaking, eager hand, she reached out and plucked the card off the top of the present she had been eyeing so covetously, shocking her family that she didn't instantly start ripping wrapping paper. This was a first for her – reading the card before opening the present. Hastily, the envelope was discarded, and, once the card was her hand, she realized that it was addressed to not only her but her whole family.
Dear Robert, Margie, Sarah, Robbie, and Alex,
She read out loud. Joaquin's penmanship was amazing; it was almost as good as hers. His vocabulary, for an eight year old, was inconceivable; it kicked her vocabulary's ass.
Merry Christmas!
Mexico is awesome! Our weather has been beautiful so far, and, as a gift to us, the manager of the hotel even upped our room to a suite for free. He said it was because he was in the Chrismukkah mood, but, between you and me, I think it's because he's afraid of Dad. He keeps mumbling things about water polo, shaved chests, and lockers, but I have no idea what he means. That's often the case.
Besides his strange ways, Seth, the manager, has become my friend. While he's teaching me to play shuffleboard, how to sail, and what he deems the proper way to dance, I'm showing him how to throw a punch so he can defend himself and instructing him on how to notice a woman's signals if she's interested. So far, he's a very slow learner.
His protégé Chester is nice, too, weird but nice. He doesn't say much. In fact, now that I think about it, he hasn't said a single word yet, but he's always smiling, so I guess that means he's happy and having fun when the three of us hang out together. Basically, he just lets Seth and I make all the decisions though.
Dad and Marissa have been spending most of their time either on the beach, wandering around the town looking through the small shops, or "napping" in their room. When I asked Seth and Chester why they were "napping" so much, curious as to what they would say, Seth said they were testing the springs on his mattress for him, as a favor, and Chester just shrugged, his usual response to any question, but, because I know for a fact that neither of them have experienced what was occurring in Dad and Marissa's hotel room, I can't really fault them for not knowing.
Dad said to tell you we'll be home in time for your annual New Year's Eve party, and Marissa wanted me to let you know that she'll have souvenirs for everyone. As for me, I just wanted to thank you for my gift. We hope you all like yours, too.
Wish you were here,
Ryan, Marissa, and Joaquin Atwood
Margie felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. For the first time in her life, she had been rendered not only speechless but unable to breathe as well. The responses of her family around her faded out completely until the point where she couldn't even register them. So, she never heard her youngest two children snickering at the implications J's letter had made about his Dad's relationship with Marissa, she didn't notice Sarah's delighted smile over the fact that she would be getting another gift from her Mom's friends when they returned from vacation, and she was beyond capable of registering the unique mixture of amusement and worry covering her husband's face. All she could see, all she could focus on, the only thing that she could comprehend was the fact that Ryan, Marissa, and Joaquin all had the same last name now, something that had not been true before they had left for Mexico.
Crumpling the card up and throwing it aside, she stood up from her perched spot on the floor beside the Christmas tree, ran to her cell phone, and immediately dialed the number of the younger woman she was quickly starting to think of as her best friend. Marissa's phone went straight to voice mail, and Margie spoke only thirteen short, clipped, angry words. "I am so not amused, and you have a lot of explaining to do!"
Merry Christmas to her indeed. Now, she had to wait six days for the chance to find out exactly what had happened in Mexico, and patience had never been her forte. Hanging up the phone, she threw it without looking to see where it would land.
"Bah freaking humbug," she snapped at her smirking family. "I'm getting drunk. Open up your damn presents." With that, she left the room, too focused upon her search for hard liquor to hear the peals of mirth she caused.
Undoubtedly and unfortunately, she would never forget Ryan and Marissa's wedding anniversary. However, someday, somehow she would get her revenge, and they would never see it coming.