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And I was.
Our relationships didn’t fizzle because of my inability to treat them well. They fizzled for all the other reasons: lost interest, stagnant feelings, incompatibility.
Taylor and I? We’d have entirely different issues…starting with her smart mouth.
In the beginning, I hated her for what she did to me. I painted her out as a monster and never gave her the chance to prove otherwise. Any time she was vulnerable, I assumed she was pretending, acting like a damsel in distress to serve her own malicious intent. Each time another man fell over himself trying to please her, I figured it was because she craved the attention.
It occurs to me now that painting her in that light was a defense mechanism, my way to heal a bruised ego. I got hurt and wanted to safeguard against it happening again, so I made her small, because otherwise, I’d be a simpering fool, chasing after the woman who lured me into a bathroom so she could steal my wallet. It seemed pathetic to forgive her so easily for her transgressions, and yet now I realize, somewhere along the way, I did forgive her. Deep down, I know she’s just a young woman with few options who was pushed into a corner, one who made a mistake and has more than atoned for it.
In fact, I don’t just forgive her for what she’s done; I trust her. I trust that she’s here for the right reasons, that deep down she’s not malicious or cruel. She’s a fighter. A survivor. Someone I’ve actually come to admire.
Our game of tit for tat these last few weeks was never truly about mutual hatred. We’ve been needling each other because we both secretly like it, because the button-pushing banter and teasing remarks are the only ways we’ve allowed ourselves to reveal our true feelings.
I realize I’m still standing in the cabin, dragging my hand through my hair and behaving like a perfect creep just staring down at her on the ground. With an inward groan, I snatch my toothbrush and some clothes for tomorrow and then I leave, wondering where she and I could possibly go from here.Chapter 25Taylor“It looks AMAZING,” Isla exclaims, stepping back with wide eyes and a hand covering her mouth.
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not wearing this.”
“What? C’mon. It’s a one-piece. You’re practically fully clothed.”
Isla is totally out of her mind. The bathing suit she insisted I try on is a one-piece, but it’s a one-piece that looks like it belongs on the set of Baywatch. It’s bright red with a plunging scoop neck.
“It’s the same style as the one I have on!” she protests, waving down her body.
Maybe that’s true, but I am much more endowed than Isla, and what looks tasteful and demure on her looks wholly scandalous on me. My boobs and butt are too big. I need like four more bathing suits layered over this one if I’m ever going to leave this cabin.
Camille is wearing a white two-piece with a yellow sarong knotted at her hip, and yet again, it looks tasteful because she’s lithe and tall.
It’s like I’m the only one of us who’s gone through puberty.
“Camille, tell her she looks great.”
She scrunches her nose like a little chipmunk. “The red is very bright, but yeah, it does look really good.”
Camille’s decided to play nice this morning, which I appreciate considering I currently have very little patience for her. I had a terrible night of sleep. My neck is sore and my back aches and I woke up in the middle of the night hugging a random sweatshirt that smelled an awful lot like Ethan, which is disconcerting on so many levels. When I realized what I was doing, I flung it away, but only so far that I could still reach out and bring it right back since it was kind of nice to have the extra padding under my head, and well, the man smells divine. I can’t fault him there.
I think the scent actually rubbed off on me. Even now, I can still smell it. I’d jump straight in the shower but we’re about to go down to the lake and there’s no point in rinsing off beforehand.
“Just throw something on over it and let’s go,” Isla says, tossing me the sweatshirt. I have no idea how it came to be in my possession last night, but I’m definitely not wearing it out of the cabin. Can you imagine what Ethan would do if I showed up to breakfast in his clothes?
I don’t want to find out.
I fold it neatly, set it on the dresser, and then find the only set of clothing I have that make sense for a day at the lake: a white t-shirt and those denim cutoffs I was teasing Ethan with the other week. Who would have thought they’d actually come in handy? Isla lets me borrow a pair of her sandals so I don’t have to wear my work boots, and then we’re off.
