Marcia King-Gamble - Sex On Flamingo Beach

“Like I said before, your people are my people. They always have been. Let’s just listen to the music and shelve the topic of race for now.” Rowan looped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a kiss. “Let’s give them something more to talk about.”

He was so much cooler than she was. Emilie focused on the music and tried not to think about what people were saying. For the next couple of hours she listened to a number of musicians play their instruments. A few even attempted to sing. And as the sun sank low in the sky, and twilight made its appearance, she finally relaxed. She was actually liking having Rowan’s arm around her shoulders.

On their way back she spotted Chere Abrahams and her husband, Quen.

“Would you mind if we said hello for a moment?” Emilie asked, pointing to the couple.

Chere had never gotten back to her about the sale of the condo. Now was as good a time as any to find out whether she’d have to find another place to live.

As luck would have it, Camille Lewis got to Chere before Emilie could. There was a lot of eye rolling and huffing. The two weren’t exactly friends and Chere made it no secret she disliked Camille. It seemed doubly odd that the two were now engaged in conversation.

Having no desire to run into the woman again, Emilie deliberately slowed her steps. Camille, after tossing a disdainful look their way, took off.

“Hey, guys,” Emilie greeted. “Wasn’t that an awesome session? Wouldn’t it be great if we had more concerts?”

“I was just saying that to Chere.” Quen nudged his wife with his elbow. “Wasn’t I, sugar?”

“Yeah, yeah, you were. Sorry, that woman gets on my last nerve.” Chere aimed a poisonous glance at Camille’s departing back. “You’ll never guess what she just said to me.”

“Don’t repeat it and spread her cancer,” Quentin Abrahams warned, squeezing his wife’s hunched shoulders. “Camille’s bad news, sugar. Don’t pay her any mind.”

Rowan and Quen exchanged one of those bear hugs that men had perfected. It was the male version of the woman’s air kiss. Chere held her cheek out for the real thing.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm, if only you were single, girl,” Rowan said.

“Honey, if I were single you’d be dead of a heart attack.”

Rowan swept a handful of hair out of one eye and roared. “I’d be dying with a smile on my face.”

Chere forgot about Camille’s acid tongue and burst out laughing.

“Do I need to start looking for a place to live?” Emilie asked Chere.

“Not right away. Quen’s still thinking it over. He was hoping that you’d counter.” Chere elbowed her husband. “Say something.”

“Make me an offer and we’ll work something out. If I don’t have to pay a real estate agent a commission fee it just might work out.”

“Just you wait a minute,” Chere howled. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’m waiving my commission.”

Rowan got in on the action. “Emilie, you’re thinking of buying a house?”

“It’s Quen’s condo, and thinking is the operative word. This market’s gotten ridiculous,” Emilie said.

Falling into step, they began to walk down the boardwalk together.

“I have a town house I could let you use for free,” Rowan whispered in Emilie’s ear.

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