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I laugh, and we kiss again. When he leaves my lips, he moans against my neck, like he’s in pain. I can feel his erection against my lower stomach as we both struggle to maintain control.
What is this guy doing to me? All I want to do these days is get naked with him.
“Do you need to change?” I ask, gently pushing him away. I instantly want to pull him closer again.
As tempted as I am to stay in this room with him for the rest of the day, I want to go out and do something adventurous. I don’t have many days left.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
I admire the view from behind as his pants hug his backside when he walks across the room. He grabs a pair of board shorts, athletic pants to wear over them, and a sweatshirt. He changes while I use his bathroom.
And after loading the boards on top of his 4Runner, we leave in search of Spring Lake.
Spring Lake is a gorgeous stretch of land. It’s popular with the tourists and the locals. The day is perfect, and it looks like we’re not the only ones who decided to take advantage of the great weather. The parking lots are full when we arrive. But the lake is spread out enough with different nooks and crannies and trails that we don’t see too many people milling around.
Zane releases our boards, and I carry one the short distance down the trail until we reach the shoreline. There are several sandy areas along the path, and we find one that is unoccupied and claim it. I’ve seen other people launching canoes and kayaks from these nooks on past trips, but I’ve never done it before. Being from out of town, my parents and I would’ve had to rent them and have them delivered out here. And we just never made the effort.
“Thanks for bringing me,” I tell Zane. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
The water is this ethereal shade of deep turquoise. It almost looks fake; the color is so rich and beautiful. A giant rock juts out from the middle of the widest part, and then the lake narrows in both directions. There isn’t much wind today—thank goodness—so the water reflects the mountains behind it, like a mirror.
Zane hands me a paddle and goes through the basics of what to do. He has me climb onto the board on my knees and pushes me into the water. He jumps onto his paddleboard like a seasoned pro. With the pictures I saw on his wall at home, I’m betting he has great core strength and perfect balance. Being on top of a board—any board—is probably second nature to him at this point.
I paddle until I get to the middle of the lake, and then I stop to look around. This is a vantage point I’ve never seen before. The water is deeper and larger than it appears from the shoreline. Zane is on his feet, paddling farther ahead. I test out my balance, noticing the board is wider and sturdier than I expected. I’m proud of myself when I’m able to rise to my feet without falling in.
“Look at you,” Zane says encouragingly, the deep timbre of his voice echoing off the surface of the water up ahead.
I follow Zane along the lake until it narrows, and we keep going. It’s peaceful out here. Occasionally, we can hear people talking along the trails and hear kids laughing as they wade into the cold water along the shore. Zane uses his paddle to slow down, allowing me to catch up. We float side by side.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“About paddleboarding or about Spring Lake?” I counter.
I take a deep breath of the pine-scented air. Every time a cloud appears, the temperature drops by at least ten degrees. And when the sun reappears, it warms back up quickly. The pines are interspersed with vibrantly colored leaves, breaking up the green monotony along the mountainsides with crimson, orange, and gold.
“I think I love both,” I say contentedly.
“Is the water cold?” Zane questions with a sinister look.
He knows I was worried about falling inbecauseit’s so frigid.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. “I don’t plan to find out,” I say, pointing at him when he moves his paddle. “Don’t you dare!”
He splashes me. The cold droplets land on my skin, and the chill bumps form immediately after. I drop back to my knees, afraid he’s going to push me into the water next.
Zane laughs. “I wouldn’t push you in.”
“How do I know that?” I spit while feigning indignity, though I’m not really mad. “I don’t trust you.”
“I barely splashed you,” he protests with a smirk.
I flick some water on him with my hand.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Now, that’s a war you don’t want to start.”
And I think he’s probably right.
We call a cease-fire and spend another hour on the water before making our way back to our little stretch of shore. Zane tosses me an extra sweatshirt he brought, and I bypass my own to wear his, snuggling up in the soft cotton material that smells like him. We sit on a thick wooden bench facing the water.
