Fine by him. More than fine. He’d been trying to hide his hard-on for the last four hours. And she was wet. He could work with that.
Suddenly, they heard a metallic sound coming from the front door. The lock was being opened. What the fuck? How many more visitors with keys were they going to have?
“Maybe we should have warned Mike or Rachel we were taking an earlier flight and asked one of them to come pick us up” came from the living room. It sounded like Rebecca.
“Nah, let the kids rest. Rachel’s car isn’t in the driveway, so she’s somewhere having fun.”
That was Wilma.
Adrian and Rachel looked at each other. He was naked except for the tented boxers. She was wearing only panties with a wet spot.
Fuck.
He grabbed Rachel and hid with her behind the kitchen island.
“Do you smell food?” Rebecca asked from the living room.
Adrian reached up and turned off the burner. Hopefully it was the right one, because he couldn’t risk lifting his head to check. Rachel was scrambling for her clothes.
“The happy pill’s got you a bit dizzy,” Wilma said.
“Could be,” Rebecca acknowledged. “Let’s drink some whiskey cream liqueur in the backyard?”
“Is the liqueur in the kitchen?” he mouthed to Rachel.
She opened the cabinet over the counter, grabbed a bottle and a pile of plastic glasses, and, running, plopped them on the kitchen table.
Then she rushed back behind the island, almost skidding.
The door of the kitchen opened, and both of them held their breaths.
“Oh, the bottle is ready. Rachel might have seen the pictures on Facebook and known we were on our way back.”
Then the chattering grew farther away.
“Thank fucking God,” he mumbled when they couldn’t hear any more sounds.
Rachel was giggling. “This is more our style, isn’t it?”
She was so right. “Why do you keep liqueur in the kitchen?” He’d lost ten years of his life right there.
He stood up and began gathering his clothes, wincing as he tried to wrestle his hard-on into his pants without injuring himself.
“It’s Wilma’s doing. She does it so she can insist that the liqueur evaporates from the heat of cooking and not because the OGs drink it.”
He chuckled. “Thank God she didn’t come in here to get the bottle from the cupboard. No amount of optical-nerve laziness would have saved us.”
“We’re not clear yet, Boomer,” she warned. “They have to pee every ten minutes, and that’s when they aren’t boozing. If we don’t get you out of here fast, you’ll run into them.”
After sneaking Adrian out and getting dressed, Rachel grabbed several quilts and her cell, and walked to the backyard. There were three chairs along the shore. Once she reached the OGs, she realized Rebecca and Greta were softly snoring, and only Wilma was awake.
“Being old is so unpleasant,” her grandma told her. “After nine o’clock, you can’t keep your eyes open. Then at four a.m., you can’t keep them closed, even if your life depends on it.”
“The liqueur might have helped,” Rachel whispered, giving a quilt to her grandmother and covering the other two grannies. She sat on the grass next to Wilma.
“The happy pills Elle gave us might have something to do with it too,” Wilma mumbled. “Greta was a bit apprehensive about flying, but it went perfectly. We’ll have to ask her for more.”
No, they didn’t have to. “It’s a bit chilly. Let me call Mike.”
“No Grady,” Wilma warned her.
“Don’t worry. No Grady.” Rachel disliked him as much as the OGs did; she wasn’t going to give him more fodder to use against his mother. She punched in Mike’s number. “Yo, the OGs returned a bit early. I have them passed out in Wilma’s backyard. Mind picking them up?” She couldn’t carry them to her car because her car wasn’t there. Wilma’s truck was too high for Rachel to manage by herself. And Greta lived next door to Mike and Kyra, so dropping her off was on his way.
She closed her cell. “He’s coming.”
Wilma smiled. “Mike is an angel. You know, if he hadn’t been in love with Kyra since they were kids, I would have tried to get you two together.”
Rachel snorted softly. “Please. I love him the same way I love Connor, like brothers-in-arms. By the way, how come you came back tonight instead of tomorrow?” As far as she could tell from the text messages, the old ladies had been having a blast in Florida.
“Our morning flight was canceled. It was either return tomorrow evening or today. We decided today. It’s too damn hot and humid in Florida. No wonder everyone of a certain age carries oxygen tanks around.”
Rachel poured liqueur into Wilma’s glass and then some for herself in the glass Greta was still holding. “You should have called us. We would have picked you up.”
Wilma waved her away. “We can manage.”
“Did you have fun?” Rachel asked, taking the glass from Greta and downing the liquid.
“Yes, the resort was very entertaining.” Wilma took a sip. “We checked off several items on our LOLO list. We learned line dancing. Rebecca’s knee couldn’t deal with salsa nor Greta’s hips with hula. Bonsai trimming was a no-go; before we realized what was going on, we’d chopped them. No wonder the other seniors brought magnifying glasses. Watching exotically dressed young men palm climbing was eye-opening. We could have used magnifying glasses for that too. The buffet at the community building was very good. The pool was great. Never seen more wrinkled bodies in one place in my life, though. Violet, a friend of Nathan Bowen’s, told us there was a beach for nudists not far away, but it wasn’t clear if it was only for seniors, so we didn’t want to risk having a stroke. Or giving one.” Rachel chuckled and poured herself another shot. “Violet used to be a hairdresser. She’s responsible for Rebecca,” Wilma finished, pointing at her friend, who now looked like Marilyn Monroe would have if the sex icon had made it to her eighties.
“I see. Are you moving down there?”
Her grandma cupped her face. “Of course not, my dear. Besides, we have unfinished business in Alden.”
The sounds of footsteps reached them. Mike. “Holy fuck,” he muttered, stopping by their side. “What did you do to them, Rachel?”
“Me? I’m innocent. They were like this when I arrived.”
“Grandma?” he asked, patting Rebecca on the shoulder. No response. “She’s out.”
“Too many strong emotions,” Wilma explained. “And lack of oxygen. The air in Florida is thinner.”
Sure. The air was the guilty party, not the liqueur and the happy pills.
Mike harrumphed but couldn’t hide his amusement. He lifted his small grandma in his arms. “The luggage?”
“In the hallway. I’ll bring it to your truck,” Rachel offered.
In five minutes, they had the two grannies and their bags loaded. She waved goodbye to Mike and went back to sit with Wilma, who poured shots for both of them.
“Did you see Mike off?” At Rachel’s nod, Wilma continued, “What about the sheriff? Did you send him off too?”