The flight into Harry Reid International was smooth. Thankful for the short flight and the aisle seat I was able to snag, I exit the airport with my carry-on in tow. As I order my rideshare, I hesitate. Should I call Everett? Heisthe one who suggested we share a ride when we get in. Maybe he’s here, somewhere in this airport, hesitating just the same as he questions whether or not to check in with me before sliding into his own rideshare.
I choose the less conflict-inducing choice and order my ride. It would be really weird if Everett and I showed up at the hotel together. If my brothers were to see me stepping out of a car with my ex-boyfriend as if we’d planned the whole thing, they’d be sure to give me their two cents.
When I arrive at the hotel, I check in and go to my room. It’s nice, a single king-size bed with plush bedding and small bottles of Fiji water at the mini bar. It’s still early, and I know Mina and Josh won’t be here for another few hours, muscling through the Friday afternoon traffic onto Las Vegas Boulevard. Grace is set to arrive soon too, though she has her own plans with a different hotel on the strip. Something about a comped room.
So to beat the heat and kill some time, I change into my bathing suit and head down to the pool. With my large sun hat, mesh cover-up, and a few magazines in my small tote bag, I find a spot near the bar with the perfect amount of shade and away from the gaggle of children cannonballing themselves into the water.
I flag a server walking by, requesting a white wine spritzer, before sliding my sunglasses on and laying back. I leave my magazines, the unanswered emails, and the book I’ve been lugging around with me in my bag. The heat is stifling, but under the shade and with the occasional gust of a mellow breeze, it’s relaxing, and I eventually start to laze into the rough yet plush fabric of the lounge chair I’ve flattened.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I know it’s Everett before I even see him. From the way his voice melts over me, making my insides warm and gooey. Or his sure stance, standing over me with confidence. His presence feels almost…pervasive. Hard to ignore and overpowering.
I face him with a proud smile, the smugness radiating off the way I don’t bother covering up or moving about in a flustered state. Instead, I leave my arms draped over the back of the chair and cross my leg over the other. “Very much.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Go ahead.” I gesture to the empty spot next to mine. As Everett lays down a towel and adjusts the back of the chair to his liking, I take him in. He’s traded his neatly pressed dress pants and fancy shoes for swim trunks and a loose-fitting button-down. He’s wearing sunglasses as well, Ray-Bans that make him look cool and even a little trendy. In the overbearing heat, his skin looks sun kissed. And the muscles that run along his calves and forearms look nearly indecent.
“You just got in?”
“Mh-hmm,” Everett hums. “Thought I’d check out the pool to beat the heat.” My drink arrives, and Everett orders one for himself. I lay back, sipping my wine while trying to ignore the way Everett’s hair blows in the wind almost as if it’s got a mind of its own. Or how the light stubble around his chin makes him look unruly and roguish rather than unkempt. “When did you get in?”
“Just now,” I tell him. “I checked in and came straight down.”
“Do you know when Josh’ll be here?”
“They barely left like two hours ago. With the traffic, they probably won’t be here until close to seven.”
I reach for my sunscreen out of my bag and start applying it on my arms and legs. I move to my back, barely reaching the center, before giving up and applying more to my neck and chest area.
“Did you need some help?”
I look at Everett as he points an indistinct finger to the tube of lotion in my hands. I hesitate but then consider his offer. It’s an innocent one, something my parents used to do before I raced into their pool, yet there’s something underneath it. An undertow of caution I’m too aware of. “Sure,” I finally answer.
He takes the tube in his hands at the same time I turn to face my back to him. I hear the cap pluck open and a blubbery staccato noise of the sunscreen being squeezed out, and before I know it, Everett’s hands are on my skin.
My muscles jolt at the contact, but I adjust quickly, finding that his fingers move skillfully. I start to wonder if it’s because of a past that involved numerous partners where he performed a similar act in hopes of some intimate favors. Or maybe it’s that his hands have always known how to touch my skin. He never unlearned how.
I feel his hand tuck under the strap of my bikini top, moving along the dip in my spine, and those fingertips kneading the lotion across the spots I couldn’t reach. And I realize, I don’t remember the last time I was touched like this. So intimately and with so much care and tenderness. It makes me wonder how his hands would feel on other parts of my body.
I feel his breath sigh over my shoulder blade, and I instinctively lift it, as if to move closer to him, hoping he’d dip his face to press his chin or even his lips to my warm skin. A gentle pat to my hip signals the end of his task, and when I turn to face him, he’s extending the sunscreen in my direction.
“Thank you,” I whisper, taking it from him.
He nods and sits back in his chair.
I lay back down, brushing off the moment by stretching my toes to a point and exhaling an indulgent sigh, even letting a small hum slip through my lips. “This feels so good,” I say quietly.
“You look relaxed.”
I perch my sunglasses on my head and look at him with a cheeky smile. “As opposed to how irate and bitchy I’ve been for the past month?”
“No,” he argues. “You don’t look wound up. You look good. You should go on vacation more often.”
“I agree,” I respond. “Just maybe somewhere where walking the Las Vegas strip in six-inch heels isn’t on the itinerary.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
