Summer Nights Read online

  SUMMER NIGHTS

  Christin Lovell

  Editor: Susie Hatfield

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  SUMMER NIGHTS

  Copyright 2012 by Christin M Lovell

  Cover Images Copyright Information:

  Iakov Kalinin - Fotolia.com

  nmcandre - Fotolia.com

  Andrei vishnyakov - Fotolia.com

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  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Smashwords Edition

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  This book is dedicated to all the women with excess sexiness. Regardless of our size, we all deserve the man of our dreams: a man who melts our insides as he loves our outside.

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  SUMMER NIGHTS

  Chapter 1

  “Where the hell are the sea breezes everyone talked about? Damn. I feel swindled,” Stella grumbled, stepping out of the busy airport and getting her first breath of hot, humid San Juan air.

  “Do people really use the word swindled still?” I asked, lifting my brow in amusement.

  “I do.” She was curt, matter of fact, but then again, Stella always spoke her mind.

  “You have a point though. I expected San Diego breezes several degrees hotter. Instead, I feel like I’m inhaling a gallon of water with each breath. I hope and pray that the cab has A/C.” I fanned myself with my free hand, but it did nothing for the temperature rising inside my full figured body. Fat was an insulator, which only made me want to strip and jump into an ice bath, with no one around of course.

  We crossed two parallel pick-up lanes with concrete medians between. Upon arriving at the last median, which acted as a drop off/pick-up hang out, several men offered to help us with our bags.

  “No, gracious.” Stella flicked her wrist, dismissing the young male.

  “Gracias, pero no necessecita,” I offered in my broken Spanish. I smiled softly at the boy, hoping to make up for the mispronunciation and sheer rudeness of my friend.

  He smiled. “Where are you from?”

  “You speak English?” I knew my face lit up at that.

  “Most of us speak a little, and since I’m from New York, I speak a lot.”

  “Oh, wow. This trip just got better.”

  He chuckled. “Where are you from?” he repeated.

  “A place that has more breeze and less heat,” Stella stated, shifting back and forth from foot to foot, her wide hips swaying with her movements.

  “We’re from Atlanta, Georgia,” I replied, cutting my eyes at Stella.

  “Sorry. The heat makes me cranky. Get a couple drinks in me and the PMS will subside.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I guess that’ll be first on our list after we check-in.”

  “Where are you staying?” He took a casual step closer.

  “Caribe Hilton?” I looked to Stella for confirmation since she was the one who had made all the reservations.

  “Yes, ma’am. Nothing but the best for our splurge weekend.”

  “Nice hotel. The celebrities stay there when they come to town.”

  “Yeah?” I turned my attention to my fidgeting friend. Her coffee colored skin was covered in a layer of perspiration. She at least had the decency to blush despite her shrug.

  I was taken aback by that. I knew the hotel was nice, pricey too, but hadn’t expected Stella to splurge to that degree. Of course she was booking it with my credit card, which she knew wouldn’t have a balance since I tended to pinch every penny.

  “How long will you be visiting?”

  “Four days. Honestly, given how shallow my breathing is right now in the shade, I don’t know if I could survive longer.”

  He laughed. “You get used to it. Once you get caught up in the city and the atmosphere, you’ll forget about the heat.”

  “This coming from someone half my size and twice my height with no sweat dotting his brow,” Stella mused.

  “You’ll have to excuse her. I think she lost her manners on the flight over.”

  “It’s okay. A lot of people are cranky after flying. My name’s Manny by the way.” He extended his hand out towards me.

  “I’m Summer, and this is my friend, Stella.” I shook his hand, praying that he didn’t notice my sweaty palms.

  “Have fun, senoritas.” He smirked, tipping his head before walking towards an elderly couple struggling under a mountain of suitcases.

  “You didn’t have to be so rude,” I scolded, the second he was far enough away not to hear.

  “Honey, with a waterfall between my thighs and breasts already creating a rash, being polite was the last thing on my mind.” I frowned at her, pushing her into compromise. “Alright, alright. If we see him on the way back, then I’ll make nice.”

  “Deal.” I sighed. “Now where the heck is the hotel pickup?”

  “Hell if I know, but you know what I do know?” She grinned devilishly, pulling me into her sweaty side; my suitcase struggled to roll with me.

  “What?”

  “It’s going to be a Stella Summer!”

  “Ugh, not that again.” I laughed, rolling my eyes.

  Thankfully a black van with the hotel’s monogram engraved in gold on its side pulled up right at that moment.

  ***

  “I call dibs on the shower first!” Stella yelled the second we dropped our luggage on our beds.

  The view of the ocean distracted me from her claim. I bypassed the beds, covered in crisp white linens with a yellow and gold comforter draped across the foot of each one, as I marched over to the sliding glass doors to gaze out at the unbelievable sun-drenched scene. It was one thing to look at pictures but completely different to see it with your own eyes and realize the actual beauty. It was truly breathtaking.

  “We should go drinking in old San Juan tonight. Miguel said that’s where the locals go after work every Friday. It’s the best place to mingle and the best place to find the singles.” Stella shimmied as she rhymed the last line.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not so sure about the singles, but I don’t mind mingling with the locals,” I said. I unzipped my luggage and started to rummage for a decent outfit to wear tonight.

  “Damn. You know half my clothes are too heavy, too long or too something for this dang weather.” Stella tossed a pile of rejects onto the bed, officially messing up the room.

  “On the bright side, we should sweat off whatever pounds we consume in food.” I flashed her a sly smile.

  “Ugh. Although my bottom half couldn’t get much bigger, I’d rather endure the weight gain. I can’t wear any of the dresses I brought without suffering a damn heat rash. As it is, my capris will do the same, but at least they’ll absorb most of the moisture so that the rash doesn’t become yeasty and irritated by the time we get home.”

  “Wow, that wasn’t gross.” I scrunched my face.

  “Girl, please. It’s the fate of every big beautiful woman.”

  I looked down beyond my pudgy stomach to my plump thighs. Unfortunately, Stella spoke the truth. It wasn’t easy being a big girl in the middle of July. Hell, it wasn’t easy being a plus-size woman, period. It seemed like most of the men I encountered already had a stigmatism against fu
ll -figured women, and half the women I encountered did too. Between the stigma associated with being a full-figured woman, the dirty looks for no apparent reason, the questioning glances when I order food, and the downright rudeness I’m bombarded with just for walking in to certain department stores, it was obvious that my wealth had no impact on my placement in society’s food chain. Sadly, my placement at the bottom was secured simply because I wore a forty double-D bra and my pant size reached just outside the teens. This also meant that I couldn’t shop at Victoria’s Secret or any other trendy store that sold clothes so cute they could provoke envy in the most level-headed person.

  “Stop staring at yourself. It won’t make the pounds melt away. Trust me, I’ve tried it.”

  I chuckled. “A girl can dream. Now, what are you going to wear tonight?”

  “I think I’m gonna go with my white capris, pink tank, and silver sandals.”

  “You’re going to let your arms hang out?” I teased in mock horror. Stella never showed her arms.

  “I stopped caring when my armpits became a faucet in the torture chamber of heat outside.”

  I laughed. “Sounds good. I’ll find something while you shower.”

  She nodded, carrying her clothes into the opulent bathroom.

  I fumbled around in my suitcase for a while before I decided to accompany Stella and go outside my comfort zone too. I pulled out a pair of dark jean shorts; they were much shorter than I would generally wear in public. I was hoping to disguise some of my, well… some of my everything-in-the-middle that jiggled, so I paired the shorts with a black cotton tank that landed just below my hips. I chose to accessorize with moderate-size gold hoop earrings and a long matching gold necklace with a dangling bird silhouette. I hoped to elongate places that often appeared short and stuffy. At least I was like Stella; we both had a definitively curvy shape with hips that were large, feminine and gave the illusion of a smaller waist.

  “Oh, God, that was heaven on earth. I never knew taking a cold shower could feel so damn good. It was orgasmic after suffering in that sauna out there,” she exclaimed as she pointed to the sliding glass doors.

  “Are you going to be complaining about the heat the entire time we’re here?”

  “Probably.”

  “Uh huh. Good to know. Now let me go experience what you’re calling orgasmic.” I brushed past her, clothes in hand.

  Ten minutes later I knew exactly what Stella had meant. The cold water trickled down my scorching, sticky body, cooled every pore on my massive surface with delight. Usually the cold caused my muscles to tighten, but today, they relaxed beneath the frigid water that pounded into a soothing massage. I stretched languidly as I stepped out of the shower. I rubbed a thin layer of lotion all over my skin before dressing and throwing on a pair of gold sandals.

  “You need some color. Wear your teal wrist watch.”

  “It’ll slide around in the sweat on my wrist.”

  “Honey, you can wear it and you still won’t suffer the same drench as me. Besides, your shirt couldn’t cut any lower without your boobs hanging all the way out and those shorts, they’re one-third the length of my capris.”

  “Point made.” I grabbed the hard plastic watch, its white face stood out brilliantly against the bright color of the band. I had to give Stella props; it did look great with the outfit and contrasted nicely with my bright red manicure. I self-consciously tugged my shorts down and my shirt up.

  “You are not going to be doing that all night, are you?”

  “No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not used to wearing so little.”

  “We’re in a foreign country amongst strangers we will never see again. We probably won’t even see good ole Handy Manny from the airport either. Don’t worry about how you look in the outfit. Now go blow dry your hair so it doesn’t become a big, brown fro. That never looks good on a white chick.”

  “Yes, mother.” I stuck my tongue out as I grabbed my blow dryer and round brush. Thank God the blower had a cool setting or else I’d be walking around Puerto Rico with a bird’s nest on my head.

  “By the way, are you wearing cute, sexy undies? You know, just in case,” she asked pointedly.

  “Considering a thick layer of cotton would cause me to soak them in half a minute, and not out of sexual need, I opted for lacy hipsters, which I do believe will meet with your approval.”

  “My bwen.” She smiled approvingly as she threw a beaded necklace over her head. Her mocha skin was smooth and creamy, seemingly more even-toned next to the vivid pink of her shirt and the earthy purple and silver of her necklace.

  “Muy bien,” I corrected. She ignored me.

  Stella pulled out her flat iron and plugged it in beside my blow dryer. After applying serum to her short, black locks she began teasing her hair to make the red highlights stand out rather than blend in.

  We finished getting ready at the same time and turned, giving each other a once over.

  “You look good, girl,” she said, fluffing my big curls.

  “You too. I still say this is my favorite style on you.”

  “I work with what I’ve got. You need to too, so no rubber bands tonight.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “That is so not fair considering how thick my hair is. That more than evens the sweat factor of our skin to clothes ratio.”

  “Fine. Take one in your purse, but don’t even think about taking Big Bertha with you.”

  “Now I might have to just to spite you,” I playfully chided.

  To Stella’s relief, I left my coveted Nine West purse in my suitcase and opted for a more manageable metallic Coach wristlet. I shoved my coin purse, cell phone, room key and hair band into the much smaller bag. It barely zipped shut, but luckily it managed to hold everything I needed for the night. I rolled an extra layer of deodorant on, knowing I would need the added protection.

  “You ready?” I watched as Stella stuffed the same items, minus the hair supplies, into a blue leather clutch a couple inches larger than mine.

  “Yup. Let’s go get our drink on and find us some sexy papi chulos.”

  “Oh, that you know how to pronounce?” I shook my head as I walked out the door.

  Chapter 2

  Old San Juan reminded me of a cross between Miami and San Francisco. The streets were narrow and mostly one-way; they were laid up and down steep hills with cars crammed along their edges. The eclectic mix of shops, restaurants and bakeries were dotted amongst government offices and houses worth at least half a million dollars. The people danced along the sidewalks, laughing loudly as they celebrated life.

  Every shape and size woman was dressed in skintight clothes that left nothing to the imagination; the bright hues of their ensembles made me cringe as they highlighted rolls that should be concealed. Even thin women had the appearance of a beer-belly caused by the taut apparel and their shorts were so tight I was surprised they could even breathe. The men didn’t seem to mind though with their arms slung possessively around the shoulders of their dates as they strolled along the streets.

  “Ooh. I’ve seen some pretty fine pieces of sexy here but if I see one more damn rat-tail mohawk, I’m going to pull my hair out. And don’t even get me started on the muffin tops these women think are attractive.”

  I choked on my laugh as we walked towards the harbor where the cruise ships docked. The closer we got to the water, the better it felt. A faint breeze actually attempted to cool me; too bad it fanned as well as using a thin, flimsy sheet of tissue paper would. At least I still smelled good. I’d covered every part of me with my favorite gardenia lotion so when I sweat I wouldn’t smell like a wet dog.

  Coming up to the corner, we approached a hostess stand. The woman smiled and greeted us in Spanish.

  “Un mesa por dos.” My tongue wasn’t grasping the fluency these people spoke with, but it had enough accuracy to get us by.

  The hostess nodded once, grabbed two menus and escorted us to an outdoor table. The covered patio was packed, conver
sations blurring into a jumbled hum that carried beyond the establishment’s borders.

  “I’m starving,” Stella said, picking up the menu off the table.

  “You must be to not complain about eating in the heat.” They did have overhead fans, which cooled the space a couple degrees.

  “Buenos dias-“ the young woman started.

  Stella held up a finger immediately. “We need an English speaking server please.”

  “I speak English,” she said, her brows pulling together despite her smile. She was petite and youthful; her long, dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which highlighted her model features. She wore a black polo shirt, embroidered with the restaurant’s logo, tucked into black shorts that showcased her slim, tan legs; I would kill for legs like hers.

  “Then you’ll work just fine.” Stella glanced over the menu. “What do you recommend for an alcoholic beverage?”

  “Anything with rum. All the rums we serve were brewed here locally.”

  “I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri,” Stella stated.

  “I’ll have a rum and coke with lime, please.”

  An hour later, Stella and I were more relaxed, sipping our third drink of the evening after chowing down on plantains, rice with black beans and grilled chicken. The portion sizes were huge here. We were forced to discard over half our plates because we knew our night was far from over and carrying around a to-go box would only be a nuisance.

  “Ooh, girl. Hot, Latin hunk at ten o’clock has been looking our way all evening.” I laughed when Stella tried to discreetly adjust her “girls.”

  “Go talk to him. I’ll be okay by myself for a while,” I encouraged. I’d yet to look towards the table her eyes were glued to, afraid of being too obvious.

  “Tempting. He’s got muscles galore and a five o’clock shadow that’s already got my pussy weeping.”

  “Stella!” I felt my cheeks heat up as I threw my hands over my face. I peeked through my fingers at her. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

  “If you would stop acting like a child and look at him, you’d understand why I said it.”

  I dropped my hands and turned my head slightly towards the right.