Miles Barker is in the hot tub I want to be in. I was hoping to have the jacuzzi all to myself tonight, given that every night I’ve passed by it’s been completely empty. It’s just my luck that not only is itnotempty, but Miles is in there.
I can see him from here, twenty or so feet away from me. This is the closest hot tub to my room, and so I guess it’s also the closest hot tub to his room.
He’s draped over the side of the tub, an arm outstretched to either side, looking at ease, that silver chain he’s always wearing resting against the contour of his chest. I pause. Maybe I should find another hot tub. There are more around the property, but I don’t have the same urge to run away like I did the first two days I was here. I am a little annoyed that some unforeseen force keeps putting us into close proximity, but I had fun with him at the beach party last night.
Miles has always been the kind of person who could make any situation more fun. He had that reputation on campus, too; if he showed up to a party, it would go to the next level. One time, he killed the music at a frat house and started up a karaoke machine. There was no screen of lyrics, and the music was just music, but Miles knew every word to “Sweet Caroline” by NeilDiamond and had the whole party yelling the chorus every time he came to it. The rest of the party just did karaoke the whole night. It was wild and talked about on campus for months after. Fraternity brothers would seek him out on campus during the week and beg him to come by their party, not for blind karaoke, but just to bring his energy.
It was nice to experience that energy last night when we danced. The alcohol I’d been drinking helped me loosen up a bit, but I knew it was safe to let go with Miles and be silly.
Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to be around someone like that right now. Maybe letting my handsome ex–hockey player ex-boyfriend flirt with me would heal me, or chase away the horrors of the last year of my life.
He turns toward me, alerted by the slap of my flip flops on the concrete as I get closer, and oh, the way his face lights up when he sees me.
Why does that make my stomach dance?
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says as I approach.
I stand in front of the stairs of the hot tub, arrested by the reality of sharing a hot tub with this man.
The dim, blue lighting of the jacuzzi highlights the cut of his muscles. His shoulders are huge, the muscles in his arms telling the story of his professional athletic career and a second career in construction. In all the places his body isn’t in the water, droplets form along his skin, like raindrops on a windshield, begging to be wiped away. Or licked off of him.
Oh my god, Abby. Get it together.
I’ll sit in a tub with Miles and maybe let him make me blush a little, but I need to keep my hands to myself. As if on cue, my hand twitches, hoping I’ll betray the part of my brain screaming not to touch him.
“Are you coming in?” he asks, breaking the silence. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
My face heats. I guess I have just been standing here gawking at him.
I kick off my sandals and slip my navy-blue dress over my head, trying not to think too hard about how it feels to sort of undress in front of Miles. Thank god I had the sense to choose my black one-piece instead of one of my bikinis. I feel less sexy in this thing, and the last thing I need while climbing into a very small hot tub with my attractive ex-boyfriend, whom I am trying to keep my hands off of, is to feel sexy.
I slip into the water, holding back a groan. It feels…heavenly. I expected it to be too warm given the temperature outside the hot tub, but it’s wonderful. I sink down on the built-in seat, keeping as much of a distance from Miles as I can given the limited space, and lean my head back against the edge, closing my eyes.
Why did I wait four nights to come to the hot tub? This is amazing. Maybe I didn’t need an entire vacation in Mexico to calm my nervous system; I just needed a jacuzzi.
The bubble of the jets is soothing, lulling me into a deep sense of calm. Ambient music plays nearby. I think they hide speakers in the landscaping, and although it feels a little manufactured, I can’t deny that it does add a touch of tranquility to the whole place.
“You doing any excursions while you’re here?” Miles asks, interrupting my peace.
“Yep. I signed up for a few of them. Did one today, in fact.”
“Let me guess, horseback riding, jet skis, and scuba diving?”
“Nope,” I say. I was impressed by his memory of my migraines and the Gatorade, but I am obviously easy to impress. Guess he doesn’t know me as well as he thought he did.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. My actual guess is…some kind of art tour in town, something with a sunset—I think there’s like acruise with drinks and stuff. And something with animals that aren’t horses, maybe the dolphin experience?”
I lift my head, setting my gaze on him, my jaw going slack.
How the hell…?
“I…yeah. Well, sort of. No art walk, but I’m hiking to a lighthouse. I do have a sunset sail, and two animal things,” I say. “I’m going to the sea turtle conservation place in a couple days, but today I went swimming with stingrays. I’m—color me surprised, Miles.”
“I remember you, Abby. I know you.”
“You made some vague guesses,” I say, downplaying how surprised I am at how well he guessed what I would do here. “The migraines are sort of an obvious one and?—”
“I’m guessing you still love Taylor Swift?”
