A Fare To Remember_ Just Whistle_Driven - Vicki Lewis Thompson [112]
“And then you stuff it and hang it on the wall,” Dec said with a chuckle.
Ian sighed. “Maybe we’ve been fishing with the wrong bait. Or maybe we’re fishing in the wrong waters.”
“And what fishing spots would you suggest?” Marcus asked.
“I don’t know. Pubs haven’t been working for us. So…” Ian drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know. I hear the Internet works pretty well.”
“We’re smart guys,” Dec said. “I don’t think we need to resort to electronic means. We can certainly figure this out.”
“I say we stop picking up random women,” Marcus said. “Full stop. We try to get to know them before we sleep with them. We haul all kinds of fish into the boat, then take some time to decide which fish to throw back.”
“I think I date some pretty decent women,” Declan said.
“Ha!” Ian leaned back in his chair. “What about Danielle? She ties you to the bed during sex, then goes out to get breakfast for the two of you. On the way back, she gets distracted by…”
“A sale at Bloomingdales,” Dec said. “It was Bloomingdales. Purses, I think. The girl really liked purses. More than sex.” He turned to Marcus. “What about that woman you dated who couldn’t get excited unless you spanked her.”
“It was exciting the first few times, but when she pulled out a whip, I had to draw the line,” Marcus murmured, shaking his head.
“Remember Giselle, that dancer from my building?” Dec asked. “What happened to her?”
“Exhibitionist,” Ian said. “She liked to do it in front of the windows of her apartment, with the curtains open. I guess she’s known in the neighborhood for her…performances. There were guys across the street with binoculars and video cameras.”
“I’ve seen those guys,” Dec said to Marcus. “I always thought they were watching birds.”
“So we’ve all had our share of strange sexual encounters. If we want things to change, Marcus is right. We need to make a plan,” Ian said. “I say we go out there and look for keepers. No bleach blondes or fake boobs or overbaked bodies.”
“No aspiring Playboy models or ex–beauty queens or former professional cheerleaders, either,” Dec added. “And no strippers.”
“They prefer exotic dancers,” Ian corrected.
Marcus shook his head. There was a benefit to being reserved around women. He’d never had the courage to dip a toe into those dating pools.
“Just regular girls. I say, the three of us make a pact to meet one normal woman this week,” Ian suggested. “We report back here and compare notes.”
Marcus smiled inwardly. Ian had always been the competitive one. If an activity could be turned into a game, he found a way to do it. And he rarely lost. “I’m going to have to pass on this,” he said. “I’m stuck out in Newport on a boat for the rest of the summer. Alone.”
“Just you and your precious tools?” Ian asked.
“You took that job with Trevor Ross.” Declan nodded. “I hope he’s paying you well. He certainly can afford it.”
Dec had provided security at a number of Ross’s parties and also advised his corporate security office on a variety of matters. He had referred Marcus to the wealthy tycoon. “I figure if I impress him, I might be able to talk him into investing in my business,” Marcus said. “More capital means bigger yachts.”
“What’s his boat like?” Ian asked.
A grin curled the corners of Marcus’s mouth. “You should see her. She’s a beauty. Built in 1923. Schooner-rigged. Ninety-foot wood hull. He had the cabin completely refurbished and it’s sweet. But he wants more detailing so I’m adding some vintage carvings and a new figurehead. The crew is on vacation. I’m living on the boat while I work. He’s got it anchored off his place on Price’s Neck.”
“So you’re out of the game for now,” Ian said. “You can get in later. But you still have to pay up every week.”
“You’re turning this into some kind of pool?” Marcus asked.
“Every week we throw a twenty into the pot,” Ian explained. “First guy find a keeper—and keep her—wins it.”
“Fifty-two weeks, twenty dollars a week times three, that’s over three thousand in a year,” Dec said. “Not bad incentive to start fishing. But who’s to judge.”
“We all have to