It takes a heavy sigh, two clucks of her tongue, and a roll of her eyes, but she finally ends the silent treatment.
“Fine. Show me the bathroom, then.”
I smile, thrilled with my little victory, scoop up all of our belongings from the beach in one armful, and show her the way.
I can’t explain how weirdly enjoyable our needling has been this morning, but I know this—my shower is going to have to be a cold one.
Holley
Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I scrape my wet hair into a messy bun and twist it with a hair tie. Thanks to the shower, my skin and hair are devoid of the sticky residue of salt, but there’s nothing I can do about drying my wet locks. Luckily, if I leave it like this for a couple hours, it’ll dry on its own into a pretty decent showing of waves. Of all the things I’ve had tough in my life, making my hair work in a pinch isn’t one of them.
My T-shirt clings to my newly dried skin, and my nipples jab at the material of my bra. I try to tell myself it’s the cool air of the bathroom on previously heated skin, but I’m too much of a cynic to fully believe it doesn’t have anything to do with the man waiting for me outside and the time we spent in the water with his hands all over my body.
Having my legs wrapped around his hips, listening to him share the heartbreaking true story of his early life—I almost couldn’t take it. My whole body felt drawn toward him, like being pulled in by a black hole in space.
I had to swim away—to put some distance between us—for the sake of my survival. I mean, Jesus. From what I know about space stuff, black holes, like, suck stuff in forever, never to be seen again. With the way my hormones were raging, I would have been in the same predicament, for sure.
No turning back.
I shake my head to clear it and grab my belongings from the sink top. The longer I stare at myself in the mirror, the more uncomfortable thoughts start to surface, and I’m not ready to face them.
I make my way along the stalls, up to the front entrance of the bathroom, while shoving my deodorant back down in my bag. I round the corner of the wall at the exit and slam right into a hard body.
“I’m sorry!” I squeak, but firm hands settle at my hips before I can say any more. I’d be lying if I said I could say any more. The truth is, looking up into startling aqua eyes and feeling the sensation of his hands on me again have robbed the voice box right from my throat.
Call the cops, baby. I’m a victim of a crime.
Holy moly, I think I’m losing it.
Jake smiles at me like he can hear all of the thoughts running through my mind. Like he’s acutely attuned to every stupid thing I can’t seem to stop myself from wondering about.
I reach out to grab his tattooed arm—purportedly to push myself back and away—but when a fresh droplet of water sinks into my palm from the skin of his forearm, my vision tunnels and my actions slow. My God…is that droplet of water from his shower? And if so, what other parts of his body might it have touched?
Someone call a doctor. I’m a sick, sick woman.
Slowly, carefully, I extricate myself from his body and try my best to smile without looking like I’ve just been fantasizing about him. It seems like a better option than pretending to be mad again because that means coming up with things to argue about. And he’s funny. It’s not easy pretending like the jokes he makes are annoying.
I have no idea if I succeed in my endeavor to look innocent or not, and I hope I never find out. Because with my track record, the statistics on that one, friends, would not be in my favor.
“You ready to go to breakfast?” he asks casually, like we spend the day together all the time. It’s startling how natural it sounds.
“Yep.” I reach back to the suit hanging over my bag and hold it up for him. “I rinsed out Chloe’s bathing suit, but I can take it home and wash it if you’d like.”
He shakes his head, grabbing it from me. “No problem.”