Page 126 of Johnny

I’m going to die of heat stroke in these.

The long-sleeve button-down shirt is even worse. Why are these clothes so damn thick and heavy?

I’m already suffocating and I’m standing right under the AC vent.

I take it off, then slip my tank top back on—because if I have to sweat my ass off in the ungodly

heat of August in the tropics, I’m not doing it until I have to. Then I open the door and step back out,

holding the long-sleeved shirt in my hands.

Johnny looks up from his boot tying and says, “You have to put that on,” in the same moment.

“I’m sweating my ass off. Why do I have to wear long sleeves?”

“Because the shirt is armored too. So if a bullet hits you in the arm, you’ll just get a bruise instead

of a hole in your flesh.”

He stands up, looks down at his boots as he shuffles his feet like he’s testing them out, and then

walks towards me to take the shirt from my hands. “Here, let me help you.”

And since this is the first almost-nice thing he’s said to me since we woke up, pathetic me feels a

little better when he holds the shirt open and nods his head for me to slip my arms inside.

So I do.

He buttons the cuffs first, and holy mother of God, I’m so hot, I groan.

“It’s just for a little bit,” he says, finishing one cuff and moving on to the other. When that’s done he

reaches for the button of my pants and I grab him by the wrist.

“You need to tuck it in,” he says, locking eyes with me. “The shirt. You need to tuck in the shirt.”

Everything about this morning is so confusing all I can do is nod.

So he opens up my pants, then starts buttoning the shirt.

I don’t say anything about this either. Just stare at his fingers as he makes his way down my front.

Then, when all the buttons are fastened, he slides his hand along the lower portion of my shirt and

slips it right down inside my pants.

I suck in a breath and hold it, unable to move.

I had sex with him last night in the ocean and on the beach. I was with this man. It didn’t feel scary,

or uncomfortable, or like the beginnings of a very bad decision. He turned a gold satin ribbon into a

knotted promise and tied it around my wrist. I’m still wearing it.

But right now Johnny feels like a whole other person. And his hand inside my pants feels like a

transgression.