*** Writer's note: this is not a direct sequel, but
'Marlie Fucks on a Boat... Eventually'
establishes the main characters. This story continues some time afterwards.
Marlie screamed as two rough hands grabbed her.
Raw panic gripped her. "I was just dropping off your stuff," she sputtered. Given all that'd happened, she didn't think there'd be a confrontation. Certainly not violence, and not right at sunrise.
"You're in so much trouble," she heard.
She was quickly yanked aboard by the overnight bag she delivered to the boat. She was spun around and pushed into a soft bench, bag only then dropping on the deck. Those hands inexplicably caressed her cheeks and then Cheryl kissed her on the mouth.
The shock of it all was unexpected, starting from being cowardly asked by her new boyfriend, Cheryl's ex, to drop Cheryl's bag off after their breakup. Marlie moving in with Blaine was sudden and she knew it would ruffle feathers. And yet, the last thing she expected was to be kissed by the girl whose relationship she broke up. This... bizarre response was such a relief.
Few months back Cheryl walked in on her boyfriend messing around with Marlie while they were on a group boat outing, and instead of throwing a shitfit she gracefully bowed out. It was the most drama-free breakup Marlie had ever witnessed, even though it made her feel horrible for causing it. The kiss felt surprisingly welcoming because it seemed Cheryl had forgiven her.
Cheryl was a friend. She used to split her time between staying at her mom's or at Blaine's. Now she stayed aboard her docked cabin cruiser all the time and no one'd heard from her for a time. Marlie was tossing and turning all of last night, worried about Cheryl being mad at her. Dreading the confrontation. She wanted this over and done first thing in the morning.
The kiss was a new experience for her, she'd never kissed a girl. It was somehow subtly different from what she knew, somehow far more intimate. Forbidden.
She was confused by it, and she was a little surprised that being confused felt kind of nice. She had a vibe that Cheryl was bi, but didn't know for sure until today and tried to form an opinion of it. So far it was a good one. She kissed her back after a few seconds of all these thoughts running through her head, her breathing thrown off.
She tried speaking after a minute but was shushed. When arms went around her and those hands started sliding over her back she returned the kiss far more willingly, surprised with herself. Then, when Cheryl straddled her, the whole thing felt way too comforting, somehow moreso for it being so startling.
That's when she put her hands around Cheryl's hips and the initial panic in her returned because she felt something. And not just how surprisingly turned on she was. She felt a yearning. She started pulling Cheryl's body into hers, bizarrely wanting to feel legs wrapped around her own body. It was almost frustrating.
...
Ten miles away, officer Byrne watched two morons anchored in middle of the bay. After a few seconds he sighed and let his 8x42s hang down, habitually capping the lenses despite the fogproofing.
Striper season was delayed until next month. So what the fuck were those two idiots doing out there with rods out? And in this fucking weather? He pushed both throttles forward and the twin Evinrudes brought the patrol boat on plane faster than he wanted them to. He let them run wide open for a pinch longer than he had to, then throttled back to cruising speed. This new boat gave him an unadulterated grin.
...
"Don't like the look of that guy," Luka muttered, white-faced. The chop wasn't the only thing making him sick now. He and a large guy called Bazoo did everything they could to blend in unnoticed. They stormed a sports store the day before and camouflaged themselves in ridiculously colorful UV-protected gear. Boat they snagged had a recent fishing vessel decal. They were wearing lifejackets, the fishing rods were up on the holders. Just two guys fishing. He popped another dramamine, wondering if they would ever kick in.
Bazoo just grunted, glancing at the approaching boat. He was staring more intently at the GPS tracer he brought along, hoping the blip would show up and it'd start beeping. But the signal disappeared days ago and all he had was coordinates he was told to memorize. There was a more accurate GPS mounted in the boat's console, but he didn't know how to use it. He stared at the murky water, frustrated at the naive plan of seeing all the way down to the bottom once they got here.
"Baz, what's the plan?" Luka asked nervously. He pretended to adjust a fishing rod for show, swinging it around so it'd be plainly visible to the cop. See, just fishing, nothing to see here, he thought to himself. For all his effort, it just didn't work and they'd somehow drawn attention anyway. The waves were making him feel so ill.
...
Officer Byrne turned the flashing lights on and gave them a complimentary patrol honk few hundred feet out, to put the two idiots in a more receptive mood. He dropped down to idle and checked on his hanging fenders. Sure as shit, he was gonna check their coolers. And that's when he noticed something was off, even from fifty feet away.
One of the rods was obviously a freshwater baitcaster, the other way too thin for striper. Neither rigged right or even being used. No spares. He'd expected to see an umbrella rig or a spoon, but the spinner wasn't even spooled with line.
As the distance closed, his suspicion started firming up. Whatever these knuckleheads were up to, sure as shit it wasn't fishing, he thought to himself. The rods came clearer into view and there was still only one highly reflective gossamer-thin line to see from that distance, not two. He absurdly thought he'd see a bobber- these clowns had no business being out on the water.
Before he recognized an unexpected sound, he felt it jar his bones. It was all wrong because he felt the sound from the inside. His inside.
And that was the last thing he felt.
...
