Maybe my mistake was thinking there would ever be arighttime to tell Laurel this whole thing—her engagement, her elopement, her insistence on running naked through the forest—is rushed at best and a colossal mistake at worst. “Don’t you think we should slow down and—”
“Charley.” She folds her arms across her chest. “This is my bachelorette party, and it’s my turn to bride card. I’m bride card–ing.”
I stare at her for a beat, then two, but the look in my sister’s eyes is one I know well. No matter how I add it up, the answer will be the same: I’m taking my clothes off in the woods for the second time today. At this point, it’s an inevitability.
“When I’m charged for indecent exposure, I’m sure the judge will be persuaded by the bride card defense,” I whisper-yell through my teeth. “My underwear stays on.” We shimmy past a man in a neon vest and nothing else to step onto the back deck.
She loops her arm in mine. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” She bats her eyelashes at me.
I face the sky, basking in every ray of harsh daylight that’s still very much spilling through the summer foliage, and estimate how many friend requests I’ll receive tomorrow from strangers who know the exact placement of my areolas. My money’s on seven.
“I might hate you,” I grumble.
“You love me,” she chirps back.
Loving people might as well be an incurable disease.
Chapter 17
A Little Ceremonial Exhibitionism
Sunday, Now
The “bride card”is persuasive enough to get everyone’s tops off and a fair number of bottoms too. Laurel and Petey lead the naked charge, which means I’m treated to his newest bum tattoos of Michigan J. Frog and zombie Bart Simpson, because again, the sun is out and will not be setting for another ninety minutes.
Ethan’s wearing navy boxer briefs, a different pair from when we jumped into the lake earlier. Not that I noticed them then. Or now. I’m not even looking.
“Should I strip all the way down?” he asks. Can he read my thoughts? “You’re staring at my underwear.”
“No I’m not.”
His smile is the annoying, self-satisfied one. “I thought you said you’d seen it all.”
“I said I’d seen enough.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Stand in front of me. I promised Laurel I’d go topless for her little ceremonial exhibitionism, and I don’t want you to…” I gesture between his eyes and my tee.
“You don’t want me to see you? Seriously, Chuck? We’regoing to be like that? Eight hours ago you were about to bang me up against a tree.”
“Don’t say ‘bang.’ ” I cringe. “And the shirt was always going to stay on.”
“You were planning to Winnie the Pooh it for our first time? Disappointing, honestly.” He extends his arm and leans his nearly naked body against a neighboring maple. Heat burns at my aforementioned breasts and up my neck, blooming in my cheeks. He’s enjoying this, making me squirm.
“Fine. I’m a gentleman,” he says, backing down, but I don’t feel like I’ve won anything. He’s reading me like a book. A very simple book with only one line, over and over.
Then he steps in front of me, just as I asked. I step forward too, his back to my front with less than a foot separating us. His shoulders fidget, all of his previous bravado falling away. The space between us pulls taut. He seems to become equally aware of our proximity and what I’m about to do.
“Can you stay right here? So no one sees me, uh, take it off?” I keep my voice low, so that the sentence floats over his shoulder on the warm breeze.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, his voice unsteady.
I pull off my shirt. He’s not even looking at me, but I feel him everywhere. My fingers are his fingers. It’s as intimate as if he were doing it himself. I peel off my bra, covering my breasts with one hand and clutching my clothes in the other. “Okay,” I breathe. “Keep in front of me, Powell. Eyes forward, okay?”
“If that’s really what you want.” The response runs up my exposed surface. Ethan promisingnotto look at my naked body might be more sensual than an actual perusal from any other man on the planet.
We both wait for my response, wondering whether I’ll turn him around and ask him—no,beghim—to see all of me.
