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“Where?”
“Didn’t you notice the en suite bath?” I laughed again and then took a smidgen of pity on her. “Over the side, where do you think?”
“Well…how?”
All right, she did have a point there. Or rather, she didn’t have a point. Or a pointer. I had to laugh again at my internal joke.
“Just…I don’t know…hang your ass out over the edge. Or get in the water. Whatever.”
“I’d have to take off my suit.”
“So?”
She blushed again.
“What? You want me to hang out in the next room for a few minutes? I promise I won’t gawk at you.”
She didn’t move. Well, actually, she was still fidgeting around; she just didn’t make a move to actually solve her dilemma. If she kept this up, she was going to pee in the fucking raft.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already checked you out front and back, had my mouth on yours, and my hand on your tit, so it’s not like…”
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. I realized how what I had said sounded, considering she had been unconscious the entire time. I shook my head.
“I didn’t mean…ah, fuck.” I grabbed my shirt and flopped down on my back, covering my whole face up with the garment. I lay there for a moment but didn’t hear her moving at all, so I yelled at her again. “Get on with it!”
She moved. I could hear her shuffle over to the front of the raft and then move around in one place, presumably taking off her shorts and her bathing suit.
“If you are going to get in the water, put the life preserver around your waist first and hold on to the fucking ladder. I don’t want to have to dive in after your ass again.”
“Okay,” she said. “Um…where is it?”
“Right outside the opening – on the left.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Whatever.”
I listened to her move around a bit more and then felt her move closer to the opening and off to the side. There was a soft splash, and a minute later I heard her pulling herself back up onto the raft.
“There’s something similar to a towel over there,” I said, flinging my arm out in the direction of the back of the raft and waving my hand around. “Make sure you dry off the floor, too.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Whatever.”
I listened to her move around some more, getting pretty fed up with just lying there, baking, with my fucking shirt over my head.
“Are you done yet?”
“Almost,” she said quietly. Her voice still sounded scratchy. “Okay, I’m done.”
I grabbed the shirt off my face and sat up, looking over at her. She was adjusting the straps on her suit and still blushing.
“Do you know why my…um…throat hurts?”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t elaborate. After a minute she finally asked.
“Why does my throat hurt?”
