‘No apology needed,’ he says. ‘After last night’s high, I saw that and… wobbled.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘I’m here with you, every step of the way,’ he says, and the tears fall again, fresh and hot and humiliating. But healing, relaxing, needed.
As I face the darkness, as I face the new, Sam’s with me. I could do it alone, now I know that. But to be able to do it with Sam is what I want.
Chapter Fifty-Six
WILL
Day Twenty
Now that Sam and I are official, everything feels like new territory. When I look back, that friendship we had was special. It’s like we were also meant to be like this. Like that friendship was always meant to lead to this.
So, waiting for him to emerge from the outdoor changing rooms across from The Laurel Hotel pool should feel natural. But my knee jumps up and down and I lay a hand on my twisting stomach, trying not to feel apprehensive as the sun beats down on me.
‘Ever since Tim treated me to that evening at No Name, he’s been such an attentive lover,’ Jemima says to Lydia and me, but even though I nod along, her words are becoming tinnier. ‘It feels like he’s enthusiastic about us again.’
The door to the shower block opens, but it’s not Sam. Just a naked forty-something. I sip on my Piña Colada, my thumb running over the spine of the second Jackie Collins book, the first I devoured in one evening in my room.
‘What a glorious man,’ Tim calls, and I lurch forwards.
Sam strides out of the shower block, white towel over his shoulder and nothing else on his body. His stomach ripples, and his thigh muscles sing, and the suntan lotion glistens on his tanned skin. My eyes widen, even though I’ve seen him stark bollock naked before. But this is different. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart races, and my juddering knee won’t stop moving. He sits on the bed next to me. Tim, Jemima and even Lydia have all paused to watch him.
‘Morning,’ he says, tipping his non-existent hat.
He leans back on his bed, and my eyes trail over the hair below his belly button, leading to the thatch of hair at his pelvis. I adjust the towel on my bed, covering myself, afraid of what looking at him might do to me.
‘So, this is The Laurel,’ he says, reaching for his drink.
‘I’m glad I convinced you to come,’ I say.
Sam laughs. ‘In more than one way.’
‘Sam,’ I groan. ‘I think public sex is off limits, even here.’
‘Is that why you’re refusing to look at me?’
‘I’m solid under this towel, so, yeah, forgive me.’
Sam sips his drink, his hand pulling a towel towards his own waist. I try not to overthink the movement, but naturally all I think about is his dick.
‘It’s freeing,’ Sam says. ‘This whole nudism thing.’
‘Think you might do it more often?’
Sam glances at me. ‘Only if you do.’
‘We’ll have to find some nudist beaches.’
‘If we travel, we can do that. Maybe I can paint and be one of those people selling their art on a street, or in a gallery.’
I reach for his hand, linking my fingers in his. His touch his steady, and I close my eyes, feeling the brief, light breeze through the August heat.
‘Do you want to swim?’ he asks me.
‘This isn’t going away,’ I say from the corner of my mouth.
