I don’t know what to say or how to wrap my head around what’s happening between us. We haven’t had sex—not completely—but I sleep in his bed every night, and I’ve seen the inside of my hotel room once when I had to use the bathroom and it was closer to the elevator than his.
We spend every day together; each spare moment I have, I’m with him. Some nights, we sit on opposite sides of the room, a movie playing in the background while we work. Other nights, he holds me until I fall asleep.
What I thought was a simple urge to kiss him has morphed into something I am not ready for, something I can’t have, not with him.
His fingers find the strap of my dress, slipping beneath the fabric and sliding along my skin. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, causing my throat to dry. He roams my face, searching. “You all good?”
I flounder for a response, thrown off by the question.
Does he think I’m not okay? Did I do something that made him think I’m upset? Is he mad at me?
“I’m…okay.” I do not say the wordfine. “Why? Are you all good?”
His chuckle is low, caressing along my skin. His fingers pluck the strap, releasing it so it delicately snaps against my skin. “Just checking in.”
The ease with which he communicates astonishes me. How subtly he can reassure, to stop and check in, to take a moment to reestablish.
“Oh.” The syllable comes out as a squeak. “Okay.”
Once more, he scans over me, all the way down to my toes, and then nods, like he found what he’s looking for. “Should we go look at some weird-as-shit plant life?” he asks.
I glance over to Molly and Doug, and our conversation whips through my mind.
When’s the last time you did something a little reckless?
The words repeat over and over, and before I can change my mind, I break off from the group. “Gonna run to the bathroom,” I yell over my shoulder, sprinting into the small building.
Oh, god, this is insane. Past reckless and borderline idiotic. Arguably worse than making out in the bushes. But he makes me…well,reckless. In a wonderful, secure way. And maybe I want to sink into that a little, to let loose how Doug and Molly do, but with Jett.
Hidden in the restroom’s tiny stall, I clumsily remove my panties, tripping over myself as I drag the lace down and wiggle them off. It’s not making out in the bushes, but this is wild and fun and holds a far less chance of getting caught.
I stuff them into the pocket of the dress’s built-in shorts, rearrange my boobs so they sit high on my chest, and return to the group. Jett waves me over as the guide gestures to the rainforest’s trailhead.
Doug is in full work mode, a camera slung around his neck and the drone and controller in his backpack. Molly’s beside him, and with them focused on something else, I tug at Jett’s hand.
He gives me a quizzical look but leans down when I pull his arm. “What’s up?”
Without a word, I stuff my panties into the side pocket of his cargo shorts.
My heart stammers, and regret sinks like a boulder as the adrenaline fades. That was a horrible idea. A stupid, thoughtless idea. I try to take them back, to salvage some of my sanity and pride, but Jett stops me, wrapping his hand around my wrist.
His eyes linger on the pocket, where a sliver of black lace peeks out from the opening.
“Tell me those aren’t…”
“My panties,” I whisper, then spin on my heel and bolt away.
I’m not ready for his reaction right now, so I cling to Molly, looping my arm through hers as the sunlight fades and the canopy of life grows dense. She glances at me, puzzled, but goes along with it.
“I love him like this,” she admits, zeroed in on her husband, who is shuffling around a tree the guide has pointed out.
The air is crisp, and the shade cools the temperature to something mildly more tolerable. It’s not the tree he’s focused on, but a peppermint stick insect, its elongated body and legs a near color match for the tree bark.
It skitters upward, and I leap back—right into someone else.
Warm hands bracket my hips, and my pulse skitters when they squeeze gently, reassuringly.
That isnotthe guide.
