She points, but she doesn’t need to.
I could feel his smile all the way from here, even if I couldn’t see it.
The way the left corner of his mouth lifts higher, almost an infinitesimal amount, the slight crinkle at the corner of his grey eyes, lighter than usual and like the ocean under the early-morning sun, the angle of his head.
“You’re sure about this?” Tia peers up at me from under the brim of her hat.
“Sure about what?”
“This ... truce.” She gestures towards them again, Talon now crouched down, hands firmly on his knees, seemingly coaching Bohdan and Jay through the same push-up routine against the barrel.
I look away. I don’t need to see the muscles of Bohdan’s arms contract like that—the swell of his bicep against the cuffed sleeveof another loose, linen button-up. The flex of his shoulders as it stretches across his back.
I certainly don’t need to remember what it felt like for those arms to cage me in alongside his legs: one on either side of my waist, him impossibly hard inside me, sweat-slicked ridges of abdominal muscle pressing against my chest, a wave of hair curling over his head, voice rough and every second word in Czech because he could never keep his head straight when we were together like that.
“I think you should fuck.”
Whirling towards Tia, my palms find my cheeks, like I can cover up the flush. “Who?”
“You and my brother.” She rolls her eyes, hand motioning back and forth between me and Bohdan. “You two, obviously.”
“And why would we do that?” I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, like I think the whole thing is improper, and I wasn’t just fantasizing about him inside me.
Tia tips her head back with a bark of laughter. “Because you used to do it all the time. When was the last time you got laid?”
“None of your business.”
“Since Bohdan?” She flips her hand over, studying her nails under the sun, like she wants to make sure her manicure stayed intact.
I narrow my eyes. “Of course not.”
Tia nods, all sympathetic like she expected as much. “Him either, I bet.”
“What?” I blink.
She gestures towards him again. I think Talon has them all doing tricep dips now. “Bohdan. I bet it’s just been him and his hand for the last year and a half. With the memories of you to keep him company, of course.”
“Don’t.” I widen my eyes, shifting on my feet.
I know what that looks like, too.
I’ve watched him. He’s watched me. We’ve watched each other.
His palm gripping against the wet tile of the shower, hair plastered to his face, curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck, droplets of water running across his shoulders, down the planes of his chest while all his muscles contract—
“You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?” Tia’s mouth curls into a catlike grin.
I feel a bit like shoving her, but I cross my arms instead. “No. I’m thinking about wine fortification. I hope they tell us about the process today.”
She laughs again, linking our arms and tugging me down the path towards the winery. “Liar.”
I try to concentrate on my sandals hitting the uneven cobblestones so I don’t trip, fall, and have to explain to a French paramedic that I was too busy thinking about my ex touching himself while he watched me in the shower to notice where I was going.
But Tia’s words, quiet and careful, interrupt all my other thoughts because they remind me of the thing I can’t forget.
“You’re sure?” she asks again, and I can feel her eyes on me.
“Yes. I need the Polaroid back. He can have his ring. And I’m finally going to know why.”
