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“You know, that’s never disappointed a woman before.”
“I’m probably a weird one. I listen to a fair number of true crime podcasts,” I say.
A fair number sounds saner thanall of them.
“Ah,” he says. “My sister does that, too. What is it with women and true crime?”
“I have a theory,” I say.
Below deck, the boat’s engine roars to life. We start moving away from the dock. As we head farther from the coast, the massive architecture of the Winter Resort grows smaller. It’s so clad in greenery that it almost disappears into the surrounding landscape.
Phillip leans back against the seat, his posture more relaxed, and stretches out his long legs. “Tell me.”
“Well, I think women are drawn to true crime because it lets us explore the dark side of human nature from a safe distance. It’s like a puzzle we can be a part of solving.” I tilt my head. “I’ve also heard that some can feel empowered, weirdly enough, since women are most often the victims in these stories. Like, listening to true crime is almost instructional, on a subconscious level.”
He’s frowning. “Fuck, that’s dark.”
His frank tone makes me chuckle. “Yes. I’m not sure if that’s why I like them, personally. I find true crime fascinating and entertaining at the same time, and I love the ones that are solved. It feels like I’m listening to justice being done, you know?”
“Right,” he says. “Maybe it’s analogous to guys who love watching documentaries about World War Two.”
“You know what, that might be it, exactly.”
“My sister says true crime podcasts help her sleep. She’s probably a psychopath,” he says and shakes his head. “I’ve suspected it for a long time.”
“Oh, have you?”
“Mm-hmm. She’s a dentist,” he says like it’s the final nail in the coffin.
It makes me laugh. “Okay, I can sort of get your point.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, there on the boat, moving fast across the open ocean. I push my sunglasses higher on my nose and look around for my bag. “I should probably put on some sunscreen.”
“Yeah,” Phillip says.
“Could you help me with my back this time? If we’re going to be in the water, you know…”
He gives a slow nod. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”
Five minutes later, I’m sitting with my back to him, looking out at the swell of the waves, and waiting for the first touch of cold lotion.
Silly,I think to myself.
Amazing,the other part of me says.
I’m flirting. I’m actually flirting, and I’m doing it on what would have been my honeymoon. There’s nowhere I want this to go, and nowhere for ittogo. And maybe that’s just what I need. To dip my toe infinitesimally into the metaphorical pool, with no one knowing but me that it’s been dipped.
A first step into the world of singledom.
Warm hands land on my shoulders and brush my long hair out of the way, pushing it over my left side.
Goosebumps erupt on my arms.
“This’ll be cold,” he mutters, and a second later I feel cold sunscreen on my bare skin. His hands are large and strong on my back. They move in sweeping motions, over my shoulder blades, along my spine, and beneath the band of my bikini top.
I close my eyes. It feels weird, and it feels good, and perhaps it feels weirdbecauseit feels good. Even when we’re not in the cramped confines of a minivan. Phillip runs a hand over the small of my back, his pinky grazing the top edge of my bikini bottoms.
“This good?” he asks.
