I step aside, and he saunters into the room like a man who isn’t experiencing the worst discomfort of his life. Even with a base tan, sunscreen, and twenty-seven years without major sunburns, I have been taken out by the Australian sun.
Jett, however, carries no evidence he spent all day on the boat and in the water, thanks to his wetsuit and the zinc he slathered all over his face before he leaped into the water.
This is payback for laughing at him when it turned him into a ghost. Now I look and feel like a boiled lobster.
Karma is a bitch.
The latch clicks shut, and I gingerly follow him, perching on the edge of the bed. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a spare towel, laying it out to cover the bedsheets. When he’s finished, he grimaces.
“First time?”
My mind immediately goes to the gutter. “Excuseme?”
His cheeks flush the color of my shoulders, and then he clarifies, “Do you get sunburnt often?”
“Oh, no, not really.”
“I can tell.” He chuckles when my nose scrunches and the pain contorts my features. “There’s only one way to deal with a sunburn.”
“And that is?”
“Accept the misery, slather yourself in aloe vera, and learn from your mistake.”
Well, that is not the answer I was hoping for. He laughs again, though this time it’s nothing more than a low rumble that travels straight to my abdomen, heating me from the inside.
The subtle scent of the ocean wafts through the room as he drags a hand through his salt water–curled hair. His outfit is casual, a pair of joggers and a t-shirt that readsTake me back to the Pleistocene epoch.
I make a mental note to ask Charlie what that is, but based on the image of a mammoth below the phrase, I’m guessing it’s some weird science joke.
“I can help, if you’d like,” he offers, fidgeting with the cap of the aloe bottle. “I’ve dealt with a lot of sunburns, so I’m basically a professional.”
“That’s not something I would boast about. You should take care of your skin.”
His eyes flicker to my left shoulder that peeks out beneath my flowy bathing suit cover. It’s the only item of clothing that didn’t touch my skin in the wrong way.
I ignore his expression and the fact he seems to have won the small, silent battle between us. “So, what do I do?”
I tried to take a shower, but that was like leaping into the center of an active volcano and swimming in the lava. No way I’m doing that again.
“You need to put aloe on and let it set in.” He pats the towel he laid out. “Lie on your stomach.” He scratches the back of his neck when I don’t budge. “If you’re not comfortable with me touching you…”
“Oh, no, it’s not that.”Why is it so hot in here?“I can’t move very well.”
“Ah.” He moves the towel. “Better?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Okay, now take your clothes off.”
I stare at him.
He stares at me.
And then, as if to clarify, he screams, with no composure whatsoever, “So I can put the aloe on, not because I want to see your boobs!”
“I, uh, can’t lift my arms, either,” I stammer.
Jett gazing upon my breasts was not a thought that crossed my mind prior to this insane interaction, but it’s going to be one that sticks with me, right beside the memory of his wetsuit and how little it hides if one were to glance south.
