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Are we about to walk into a trap?
Chapter 35
Mackenzie
The guys walk into the men’s changing room, while I head for the women’s. There’s no one else here, so it’s not as though I’d bump into any other men if I’d joined them in the men’s changing area, but I need a few minutes to myself to recover. I have no doubt that if I tried to shower with those three around, they wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute. They’d have me up against the shower wall, fucking me senseless all over again. While I’m not complaining, I need ten minutes to wash the chlorine out of my hair.
I grab my towel and toiletries from the locker where I left them and head into the shower. It’s a luxurious rainfall one, with extra jets pummeling me from either side, like I’m getting a shower and a massage all in one.
I tilt back my head, letting the water drum on my scalp, and then soap and condition my hair. I used a wide tooth comb to work out the knots while it’s still slick with conditioner and then rinse that out, too. Finally, I soap down my body, washing away the remnants of Kirill’s cum.
I smile to myself and press my thighs together as a fresh rush of pleasure goes through me. I know I’m being swept along in this whole relationship, but it’s hard not to be. Plus, they said they were sorry for how they treated me.
I must be honest with myself now.
I want them. I want to be with them. I want them to be with me.
After all the terrible things in our past, is it naïve that I’m starting to hope we might have a future?
I have no idea how I’m going to explain the nature of our relationship to my mom, or Nataniele, but they’re just going to have to deal with it. We’re all consenting adults. I’m not sure either of them has a leg to stand on anyway if they dared to protest.
I get out of the shower and dry myself off, then throw on a pair of sweatpants with a sleeveless tee. I refuse to try to wear jeans after swimming. There’s nothing worse than feeling hot and clammy, and trying to slide tight denim over damp skin.
In my bag, my cell phone is ringing.
It’s my burner phone. The one I used to call Lola when I’d been at the motel. My stomach flips. I take out the phone. I don’t know what instinct told me it was Lola, but deep down, I already knew I’d see her name on screen.
“Hey, Lola,” I say, answering the call. “How are?—”
She doesn’t let me finish my sentence. I can tell by the way she’s breathing, as though she’s been running and can’t quite catch her breath, that something is wrong.
“Oh, God, Mackenzie. I ca?—”
Her voice cuts off.
“Lola? Lo? Are you there?”
“—had me up against?—”
Her voice comes back to me, but only for a second or so before I lose her again. She sounds scared, and the small amount of what I’ve heard is enough to worry me.
I take the phone away from my ear and check the number of bars. There’s only one. Shit. The service out here is terrible.
I hold the phone higher and take a couple of steps around the changing room, trying to find a spot with better service. We’re out in the middle of the national park, so it’s not surprising it’s bad.
I catch a word, faint and distant, from down the line.
“—professor—”
My blood freezes, and I clamp the phone back to my ear. “What? What did you say, Lola?”
She sounds like she’s crying. “He threat?—”
Her voice breaks up again.
I stare at the phone in my hand. “Fuck!”
She’d said something about the professor. About Paxton. Is she trying to tell me he was threatening her? That means he’s back there. Has he given up looking for me? Or has he just decided to try a different tactic? I’d never wanted to get Lola involved, but has he been the one to involve her?
