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Securing a cabin cost me only a hundred dollars a night, and I would have paid a thousand or even ten thousand if that’s what it took.
I realize I could just pack it in and go back to the city, but Steph said no. If she’s saying no, maybe she thinks I won’t pay her. Or perhaps she has something to prove to herself too. Maybe she doesn’t want to admit defeat now that we’re already out here.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to go home yet because she actually likes spending time with me. That seems a little extreme to consider because she was more than ready to go back before we even got here. But something changed for her, and I’m not sure I can take all the credit because that would be a lot of credit.
As I walk back to our campsite with keys for the cabin and a map from the office with a big X marked in red where the cabin is, I realize I’m actually happy. No tent, roughing it, so far out of my element that it’s laughable, even after the disastrous night we spent, I still feel good. Tired and sluggish, my back and neck are still killing me, and my legs might as well have been tied into pretzel shape all night, but that aside, I feel good. Inside. It’s more than just a sexual feeling—the stirrings of attraction and desire—even though thinking about holding, touching, and tasting Steph last night ensure that I sprout a tree in my shorts to rival those around me. It’s more than just that. I haven’t felt this way in so long that I forgot it’s possible to feel it at all. I don’t have a word for it, just this notion of how good it feels to connect with another person and for it to feel like it’s not forced or wrong. It’s natural. That’s it. It feels natural. Like maybe I’ve been waiting years for this.
I don’t know how to talk about what happened last night. Not even after I hang out at the campsite for a while, waiting for Steph. Not when she gets back, all showered and fresh, her bikini straps sticking out of a red strapless sundress, her hair still in that messy bun since she probably kept it up like that in the shower.
I should talk about what happened, but now I’m thinking about Steph in the shower, and words are pretty elusive when I imagine all of her silky skin naked, soapy, and wet. I stand there amidst the wreckage of our campsite, knowing how silly I must look just gaping at her. And weird. God. She probably thinks I’m a massive creep in disguise.
But no.
She just puts her stuff back in the trunk, slams it, and smiles at me. “Everything will need a while to dry out. Did you get a cabin?”
“Y-yeah,” I stammer. I hold up the key like I’m a sixteen-year-old kid, and the key belongs to my new ride.
“Okay. We can leave the stuff for a few hours to dry out then come back. It’s so hot already. And humid. The sun is going to cook everything soon. I thought we could hit the beach for a bit, maybe stretch out on the sand.”
“That would be nice.” I was thinking about the bed in the cabin, and how we could both make use of it, but I’ll settle for the beach.
I’m already two steps ahead, imagining the red bikini Steph has on—I know it’s red because I can see the straps peeking out, and they’re red, so I think that’s a good indication of the color below—and how killer she’s going to look in it. I realize this is completely at odds with how I wanted this trip to go. Why did I have zero intentions of this happening before we got here? Right, I know why. Because she’s my assistant, and work complicates things, and my life complicates things, and complications complicate things, but really. Why?
It wasn’t just the beer, and it’s not just because I’m tired now.
“There are two dry towels left in the one pack that didn’t get wet. Should I get them?”
I nod. Stephanie ignores how weird I’m being and goes to get them. She produces two towels, sunscreen, and a few bottles of water out of the stuff in the trunk. I already have my car keys in my shorts, so I add the cabin key to it after I lock it, and then we’re ready.
The beach isn’t far. It’s only a five-minute walk from the campsite. We’re the only ones there since it’s still ridiculously early, especially for beach-going. The sand is coarse and yellow, not white or fine, like a tropical beach. There’s a line of weedy debris just where the dark blue water ends. It’s no tropical paradise, but it’s good enough, and as Steph said, it’s already scorching. The sun is up, huge and golden, without a cloud to block it.
I’m so tired that when Steph passes me a towel, I hurry to lay it out, and even just sitting down feels good. I get bold enough to take off my shirt—let’s pretend it doesn’t have anything to do with me trying to impress Steph at all—and sprawl out on the huge yellow towel. It’s soft, and even though I don’t have a pillow, I don’t need one.
Steph arranges her towel without even looking at me. She doesn’t strip off her dress, but she does squirt sunscreen onto her hands and spread it all over her arms and legs. I have to look away since my shorts aren’t very good at hiding obvious baseball bat actions.
“Here.” The bottle of sunscreen lands on my chest, and I jerk a little as it hits even though it’s light. “Put that on, or you’ll end up like a lobster.”
“I have a good base tan going.”
“No. Not for that kind of sun. Just do it.”
She doesn’t offer to help me, and there’s no way I’m going to ask, no matter how soothing and nice it might feel to have her hands on me. And when I say soothing and nice, I actually mean fucking incredible. I hear her sigh in contentment as she spreads out a few feet to my right. It feels good—the towel, the sun, the sand below, and the fresh air. I’ll never take being able to spread out horizontally for granted again, I swear.
As for the sunscreen, I do as I’m told. Even though I’m a guy, I can follow directions. I squirt out a massive amount of white, thick, coconut smelling liquid from the tube onto my left palm. I set the bottle aside, and as I lie on my back, I smack my hand to my chest.
I’ll smear it around in a second.
In just a second.
I just need a tiny amount of time.
Just a little. Just another second.
It’s so warm. So deliciously warm. And I’m so tired. So. Freaking. Tired.
Sunscreen. Right, sunscreen, I’m coming for you. I’ll spread it out. I’ll sit up and slather it all over. In just. Another. Second.
CHAPTER 11
