Chapter 3

"Do you have sex often?" she asked, leaning on the trunk of the palm tree the man had climbed. He had been up in the tree for what felt like forever. For what? He was trying to retrieve a few edible coconuts.

Not only was he picking them, but he was also tearing the fond off with his teeth. Lailah was watching him warily.

He looked down at her. She met his contoured face with hers. He seemed to have been caught off guard by the question she'd asked.

"Beg your pardon?" he said. She chuckled. He could feel the strength of its vibrations in the neighboring branches. He wasn't down to play the lady's game.

She hadn't explained to him yet why she'd wanted so badly to have sex on the beach where anyone could stumble upon them.

She'd been desperate to have sex with him even though she didn't know him. And after all that, she wouldn't let him work in peace.

He didn't know what she was thinking or why she was acting this way. He understood what it was like to fight an impossibly strong urge. It wasn't like that with her. He hadn't known her very long, but he could tell from the day they spent together that she didn't care about the consequences of her words.

"How often do you have sex?" she asked again. The man almost fell out of the tree.

He had heard her the first time, but he thought she'd refuse to ask him a second time, like all other ladies would. At least all sensible ladies.

But she didn't seem particularly sensible. He didn't know what he had been expecting. He already knew that she was odd. He shouldn't expect perfect manners.

"This is not a conversation to have in public," he said and tried to concentrate on the last coconut in his hands.

He finished with it and began to climb down. To be honest, he had enjoyed the romp he'd had with her the previous day. In fact, he'd love a repeat performance, but she seemed to be pushing him away, perhaps unintentionally, with her untamed questions.

He wasn't comfortable with it. Nor was he comfortable with the several other questions she had asked during the act itself. He didn't even want to think about them.

He slid down and embraced the rage of the rushing wind. The gust seemed hostile as it swept past his side.

"Watch out!" she said. He looked down. He had almost stepped on a cutlass laying sharp-side up. He had no idea how it got there.

There was a bench a few steps away from the tree but still technically under it. Twas made from bamboo stalks, and its legs were supported and braced by oak used for the huts.

He had no idea how they had found oak so close to the sea.

He walked over to the bench and sat on one end.

"Over here," he called to her.

He was thinking hard. All he wanted was to never have to have this conversation. But they were both mature adults. Or so it seemed.

She sat down next to him. Very close. She didn't seem to have any feminine modesty. Damn. He was beginning to be annoyed by her lack of subtlety.

"Were you going to kill yourself if I didn't show up yesterday?" he said, hoping to steer the conversation toward a slightly more palatable subject.

"Hard to tell," she said. He sighed. He looked briefly at her before returning his gaze to the never-ending rage of the waves.

"Only a frustrated person would think death is an option. Plus, drowning? That's hard," he continued.

She was kicking her legs against the bench, her toes kicking up sand. He didn't want to read any meaning into it. He was just going to keep observing her. At least she was having this conversation with him.

"What other course of action would you advise for a lady who is being hunted by the man whose baby she's carrying?" she said. Her expression didn't change, nor did she stop kicking the sand.

"That's pretty messed up," he said, alternating his gaze between her and the sea. "But relationships are difficult to judge from the outside. The man might not be acting in isolation."

She didn't seem convinced, and she didn't hide it.

"I thought as much," she scoffed.

The man had no idea what she was talking about. "What?"

She stood up and walked few steps away from the bench with her arms folded over her bountiful boobs.

"Isn't it obvious? Men will always fight for men."

She turned and walked back to their bench. She sat quite far from him this time, all the way on the other end.

"You can't expect me to form an opinion after listening only to one side of the story," he argued.

She looked at him, her gaze hard with determination. He hadn't ever seen her look so mean. He was getting to see the other sides to her.

"So, I'm telling lies?" she said. Her thin arms were still folded over her oversized boobs.

"You're putting words in my mouth."

She stood up and hurled back, "In short, hold your tongue." She began to walk away. Away from that place. Away from him.

He looked stupefied. The peaceful call of the horizon wasn't appealing. He felt distorted.

He didn't know whether it was because he probably wouldn't be having sex with her anymore or something else.

"That's it?" he said as loudly as he could. She didn't even look back.

She kept swaying her curvy shape to the rhythm of the wandering winds.

"Didn't see that coming," he muttered. He was standing. He didn't know what to do. Should he go after her? Or just think of her as the waves of the sea that come and go.

Twas hard to decide, but he would try to glean wisdom from the swelling horizon...