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“I don’t think it’s like falling down a hole. Or is that not the kind of careful you meant? Or are you saying it was an accident, and you regret it even after you said all that deep and soulful stuff to me?”
I realize, finally, that she’s hurt by what I’m saying. Duh. Of course, she’s hurt. I’m being a dumbass, which makes me feel even worse, because if Steph is offended, the girl who is always unfiltered and open, then I’m in serious trouble. But then, she’s not being closed off. She’s being open now too, and this doesn’t have anything to do with a filter.
I have to brush my hand over my eyes and scrub it hard over my jawline. It hurts, but I don’t really give a shit. I’m trying to think of the right thing to say, except I’m not sure it exists. Anything I say is probably going to make this worse.
“You know about the company.” I finally settle for that because it’s safe.
“Yes. Of course. I also know there are these agreements you can sign saying that money and assets are protected. So, it’s kind of a non-issue.”
“Steph—”
“I’m just saying. That’s not a good excuse. If you’ve been using it all this time, you need to try again on that account too.”
“My ex-wife—”
“Treated you badly, and you’re scared to take risks because you think everything eventually goes to pot, and everyone will treat you like a dump, hurt you, abuse your trust, belittle you, and leave that lasting mark on you. Well, that’s the thing about risks. Sometimes, they don’t work out. But sometimes, they do. I guess you have to weigh the pros and cons.”
“I’m not exactly a scientist.”
“I don’t think you need a specialized degree to examine your own feelings, but then, what am I talking about? Tons of people pay specialists for just that. It’s why therapists charge a hundred and fifty dollars an hour. Never mind. I don’t even know why I’m arguing in favor of this. I already decided it can’t go anywhere because it’s totally inappropriate.”
“You just didn’t like my reasoning then.”
“I wanted to hear what you had to say. But you should know that even though we’re not doing this, and you’re right, it shouldn’t happen again, I don’t think of it as a mistake. And you’re a good person, Adam. You’re a great catch. You’re attractive, smart, funny, kind, dedicated, hardworking, and rich. Any woman would be glad to have you, and there are a ton of women who would take you without the rich part. There are people in this world who would appreciate you without the money or the company having anything to do with it. People who would willingly sign any agreement because you’re incredible, and they just want you.”
I’m more than flattered, and I’m also a bit shocked. Is that how she thinks of me? Last night, did it mean something for her? Has she been thinking about it for more than just the time we’ve been camping? We’ve known each other for a long time. We’ve worked together. Does she have feelings for me?
The pinch in my gut that feels like rusty nails and old boots trying to digest says I might not be completely devoid of feelings either.
The point is, we have to put it aside because we work together. Because I’m not going to fire Steph, and I know she’s not going to just up and quit because of what happened. She’s right, of course. She’s always right.
“That’s very…kind. Those things you just said about me.”
She ignores whatever I say, squirts more gel onto her hand, and reaches for my arm closest to her. The way her fingers dance over my skin makes me want to groan. It makes me want to lean forward and do exactly what we just said we couldn’t do. Like capture her lips, kiss her until she’s moaning too, get the red sundress off her, take her into the minuscule shower in the bathroom and see if we could break it, and then test out the bed after.
Fuck.
Fuck, shit.
Shit, fuck.
Her hands dance over my arm muscles, smoothing gently, massaging softly. She even takes my hand and rubs the gel over my red knuckles and fingers.
This time, I can’t stifle the groan. It should not be sexual, and maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just the knowledge that someone actually truly cares about me.
Steph’s head snaps up. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” I don’t want to say yes and cover for myself because it will make her feel bad. But now, I have to think of something to explain that. “I mean, it stings a little, but that’s alright.” Lame. That was L-A-M-E. “I…do you know what it’s like to feel like you never fit in? Not really? Anywhere?”
Steph gulps. She moves her hands again, working gently on mine. She finishes that, grabs the gel, and shifts so she can move onto my leg. I don’t think leg massages are even a thing, but if they are, Steph should consider giving them out professionally. She could probably charge a ton for them because…just…god…
That feels good. Her hands on my skin, my burning skin, the cool gel, and the fire that’s burning through me. Soothing, aching, and her hands that are creating a whole different so
rt of fire, the bright flames. A different ache, a different burn.
“Yes,” she whispers. “When I was in high school, people used to make fun of me for being skinny, for being built like a boy. I even wore girly clothes, but they still called me Celery Stephanie. Do you know how many doctors have actually asked me if I have an eating disorder? I mean, come on! I’m not even that thin. I think I look healthy. I can’t help that I’m built like this. Like a ten-year-old boy.”
“You don’t look like a ten-year-old boy. I think you’re perfect.” I realize my face is probably the brightest shade of fire engine red, and the burn can’t possibly cover it, but I have to continue because this is important. “You look perfectly healthy. Lots of women are petite. I would suggest that those kids and teenagers were just insecure or jealous assholes, and those doctors had no idea what they were talking about, and they should eat a bag of big dicks.”
