The waiter who was not Taco did as he was told (and hopefully, Jake thought, did not secrete any bodily substances into their drinks) and the two girls sat down next to them. They went through the predicable period of oh-my-gods and it's-really-yous before settling down enough to hold a semi-coherent conversation. The girls told them that they were from Tucson, Arizona, had grown up together, and were currently attending the University of Arizona together. Their respective parents (Miranda's mom and Rose's dad were brother and sister) were semi-wealthy Arizonians who were treating their B-student children to a Mexican Riviera vacation for the end of the summer. It was their last day here and the parents in question were out on a golf course somewhere.
"So you two are pretty close then, huh?" Jake asked, finding himself intrigued by the fact that they were nineteen-year-old cousins.
"We're almost like sisters!" Rose proclaimed.
"That's fuckin' hot," Matt said. "You guys ever dyke out together?"
"Jesus Christ," Jake chuckled, lighting a cigarette. He took another drink of his margarita and wondered if he should be feeling guilty about this.
"Well... no, we never did that," Miranda giggled. "We've been on a lot of double dates to frat parties though."
"Oh yes," Rose said. "We're very popular on Friday nights."
"You're our kind of sluts," Matt said, putting his arm around Rose, who was sitting next to him. "Let's have another drink."
Rose rubbed her shoulder suggestively against him. "Let's do it," she said.
They had a few more drinks and soon Miranda had scooted her lounger next to Jake's. She was playing with the hairs on his arm and flirting quite brazenly. Jake knew that this was not a real good idea but the alcohol in his bloodstream kept him from putting a stop to it. He had always had a special place in the part of his brain that controlled lust that was a sucker for natural redheads. He found himself wondering if her pubic hair was that natural red color too. Thoughts of Rachel were spinning around in his head but he found himself ignoring them. After all, has in a different country, wasn't he? And it had been a long time since he'd allowed flirtation from a groupie to progress to this point. And besides, it had been almost six days since he'd last been laid. He hadn't even whacked off since leaving Los Angeles. No one would ever know, would they?
Before long he and Miranda were chest deep in the Sea of Cortez, splashing and wrestling with each other. Her bikini-clad breasts bounced before his eyes and her smooth, nineteen-year-old skin rubbed against his in a most pleasant manner. Soon they were kissing each other, their tongues probing in and out of each other's mouths. Miranda's hands dropped down and began feeling Jake's erection, first from the outside of his shorts and then from the inside. His finger worked its way beneath the crotch of her bikini bottoms and he brought her to a quick, sharp orgasm right there twenty yards from the beach.
"I've never been this hot before, Jake," Miranda told him, kissing his cheeks, his ears, his lips. "Can you show me your hotel room?"
"Yeah," he said, biting at her ear lobe. "I think that's a real good idea."
They caught a water taxi back to the town and walked three blocks to the hotel. They went up the elevator and within seconds of going through the door to Jake's suite, his shorts were down and his rigid penis was in Miranda's sucking mouth.
"Yeah," he said, running his fingers through her still-damp red hair. "Now that's a fuckin' blowjob."
She sucked him until he shot off in her mouth, swallowing every drop and then licking him clean. He then laid her down on the bed and stripped her, admiring the nest of copper colored hair between her legs and the sparse array of freckles on her breasts. He licked and suckled her breasts, tonguing her nipples until she was moaning in pleasure. He then kissed his way across her freckled stomach, eventually making his way to her swollen vaginal lips. He dove into her, licking and slurping at her, his only thought of Rachel being that Miranda tasted different, a little saltier.
Miranda came once, twice, and then three times under the assault of his tongue. While she was still panting out the effects of number three he quickly retrieved his wallet and pulled out one of the condoms he always kept in there. He sheathed his weapon and then climbed on the bed, pushing Miranda's legs as far back as they could go and then lining up with his target.
"Yeah, Jake," she panted, her hands running up and down his back. "Do it to me. Fuck me!"
He fucked her, sinking into her body in one fluid stroke. He felt guilty as he drove himself home, knowing that he was cheating on Rachel, but the guilt only served to enhance the situation, to make it seem more powerful and pleasurable then it actually was.
What Jake didn't know about his encounter with Miranda was that it wasn't as secret as he thought and that being in a different country didn't really matter. When Matt had booked the trip with his travel agency one of the clerks in there had made note of the fact that Jake Kingsley appeared on the reservations but that Rachel Madison — who she knew from the entertainment magazines was currently dating the singer — did not.
This particular travel agency was one that often booked high-priced vacations for famous people. This particular clerk had earned more than one envelope full of money in her career by tipping off certain photographers and entertainment reporters when someone famous was taking a trip. Recognizing potentially juicy gossip when she saw it, she phoned her favorite contact, who just happened to work for the American Watcher tabloid. She gave the names, dates, accommodations, and anything else her contact wanted to know about the upcoming trip. She was thanked for her service and promised two hundred dollars for the information. Within an hour Paul Peterson — the independent celebrity photographer who had taken the now-infamous shots of Jake and Mindy Snow naked on a boat — got a call and was offered an all-expenses paid trip to Cabo San Lucas with premium payment if he got pictures of Jake Kingsley in a compromising position. Peterson took the job.
When Jake and Matt landed in the airport on their first day, Peterson was already there, waiting for him. He staked out the two musicians relentlessly, going everywhere they went except for onto the deep sea fishing boat. He got plenty of shots of Matt with a variety of women but nobody gave a shit about those. He was dismayed and a little frustrated when Jake stayed away from women for the first four days of the trip. He had gone out to bars and clubs, had even been down on the beach on the first day, but the only women who he got anywhere near were those few and far betweens who asked him for his autograph.
Patience and diligence paid off, however. On day five he hit his gold mine. While Jake was cavorting on the sand and in the beach with the redheaded slut, Paul was nearby with his ultra-zoom telephoto lens, shooting rolls and rolls of film of everything that transpired.
Nobody warned Jake. Pauline tried. She had been contacted by an American Watcher reporter asking for 'Mr. Kingsley's comments on the matter' while Jake was flying home but she was unable to get hold of him before it was too late.
A limo dropped him off in front of his house at 3:00 PM on the afternoon of September 3. He walked in the house and found Rachel sitting at the dining room table, her eyes swollen, her mascara smeared, and numb fury in her eyes. Jake immediately knew something bad had happened.
"What's the matter, babe?" he asked her gently, already starting to fear the worst.
"I ran into a reporter," she said. "Someone who works for American Watcher."
"Oh?" Jake said, his fear starting to ratchet up a few notches.
"I went out to go shopping," she said. "I was going to find something nice to wear for you when you came home. Apparently he'd followed me and came up to me as I was getting out of my car."