by Lindsey Hart
Thank goodness Adam knocks on the foggy window over at the driver's side. Once I recover from the mini-heart attack of seeing his face pressed up against the glass, horror movie killer style, I hit the lock, and he slides in.
He’s soaked since the rain is still falling steadily.
“We’re going to have to walk to the cabin, aren’t we? Since you won’t drive? That’s okay. I can handle that. We’ll just leave everything in the car and come back and get that in the morning too. That’s fine. We’ll dry off once we’re inside—”
“I couldn’t get one,” Adam interrupts me. He flinches like I’m going to unleash a new form of violent assistant hell on him.
But I’ve never once been angry with Adam. I’ve never even raised my voice. I’ve been frustrated, yes. Anxious, sometimes. All in all, he’s a good boss, and we’ve always gotten along. He has no reason to flinch. It’s not like I’m going to take my shoe off and throw it at him. I’m not even wearing shoes. That’s how far downhill this whole thing has gone.
“Hey,” I say softly. “What do you mean, you couldn’t get one?”
“The office is closed for the night already. I tried calling since I had my phone, but of course, no one answered. We’re not going to be able to get anything until they open, and even then, I can’t promise that things won’t be booked up.”
I feel like breaking down and weeping, but no. I’m not going to do that. I’m Stephanie. I’m tough. I can do this. I can get through this. I can do it because, at the end of it, I’ll have a new roof. I can get through this night. I can, because in the morning, everything will be better.
“Stephanie…”
“It’s okay,” I say between clenched teeth. I’m clenching them because I need to in order to stop myself from screaming. Not at Adam. Not at anything. Just because I seriously wanted a bed and now I’m not getting a bed, and we don’t even have a tent left, and I’m soaked to the skin, and a warm shower would have been nice, and now I can’t even have that.
But hey, I’ve been through worse, so much worse. And at least we have the car. It’s warm and dry, and we’re safe.
“Are you okay? Is your head hurting?” I deflect because that’s what I do best. Also, not talking about the shittiness of this might make it less shitty because we won’t be thinking about how shitty it is.
“I’m alright. It does hurt, but it’s fine. I’m worried about you, though. I dragged you out here. I thought of this whole stupid thing, and I had something to prove. I must have been listening to my ego and my man balls because, yeah. We’re here, and look at it.”
“Man balls. Hmm, what other balls are there?”
“Trust me. There are a lot.”
Talking about balls makes me think about balls, which makes me think specifically about Adam’s balls, which then makes me think about the hard bulge in his jeans that I was brushing up against all wantonly and desperately before the tent collapsed on us. It makes me feel buzzed and achy and a whole new kind of damp I don’t need because it is never going to happen again because we are who we are, and it just can’t. A few moments of forgetting ourselves because we got slightly drunk can be forgotten. It can be excused. We can not talk about it again. But what it can’t be is repeated because that’s not a chance, that’s not an accident. That would be intentional, and we just can’t go there.
I can’t think about this anymore. I don’t want to think about this anymore.
What I want is just to go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning, and if not, at least it will be one more night down, one more night closer to getting home and calling the roofer to get my roof fixed before it pulls a tent action and collapses in on me.
Yeah, it’s that bad.
I sigh and crank back my seat. It goes back about half an inch. Of course, because even the car wants to thwart me. I then wriggle on the hard as a rock seat, trying to get comfortable. Adam leaves it running. I know he’ll shut it off once we dry out a little. I don’t have to worry about fumes or exhaust getting into the car and killing us, I hope.
I shut my eyes and try not to think about how wet and uncomfortable I am, about how I feel like crying for a thousand different reasons, and how my body aches, also for a thousand different reasons. I feel aggravated, frustrated, exhausted, anxious, spent, but also too exhilarated to sleep. My lips are still tingling from Adam’s kisses. His stubble scraped my chin raw, and it’s burning furiously, not in a bad way. My nipples are two hard and sharp points, and not just because I’m wet and cold.
“Steph?”
“I think we should just get some sleep. At least in the morning, if there’s no available cabin, there’s the beach and a warm, public shower waiting for us. That’ll fix everything, right?”
“I could drive us home in the morning.”
I can’t believe I don’t leap at the chance. Instead, I bite down hard on my tongue. Suddenly, a few days alone with Adam doesn’t seem so bad, and I’m not sure I really want to go home, which is crazy because all I should want is to go home. I was just thinking about having to endure more time and get through a few more days before getting back to the city.
“Let’s just see how we feel tomorrow.”
“Hungover as fuck, I’m going to bet.”
“Hmm.” I keep my eyes closed and pretend like it’s easy to fall asleep.
I just don’t want to talk anymore. What I want is to leap across the middle console. I want to straddle Adam and kiss him until we both nearly smother. I want to make these windows a little foggier than they already are. I want to touch him, taste him. I want to make him feel good. I want him to make me feel good.
And that is exactly why I need to pretend like I’m sleeping and hope I can fake it until I make it because the Christmas wish list is exactly that. A wish list. And unfortunately for me, there’s no sex Santa or magical elves that can ever make it okay for either of us.
CHAPTER 10
Adam
As soon as the sun comes up and I can unfurl my large frame from the car, I do so. I crack the door open and almost fall straight out onto my face. I catch myself with one hand on the car door while the aches and pains in my legs sort themselves out. I feel a little like something that death inspected, decided was too horrible for it to even eat, but it ate anyway, then pooped out, and left there to rot. Yup, that’s me. The death shit.
I’ve pretty much dried out from last night, and I can only hope a hot shower will sort out the shooting pains I have going on in every limb and muscle. My neck and back are wrecked, but my legs aren’t much better. There’s a low-key ache pounding my skull from the terrible lack of sleep. I think I did doze off a few times, but I was so uncomfortable even when I was sleeping that it was like I was still awake.
I could dig through the stuff in the back of the trunk to try and dry it all out, and find a change of clothes and my shower shit, but at the moment, just standing under a nice hot spray seems like a far more attractive option.
I stumble off to the public shower house, for once uncaring that it’s public, which is kind of gross, and also that I don’t have a towel, which I figure out after I stand under the spray until it runs cold. Lukewarm was fine, but I can’t do cold at the moment. I stand there behind the slightly disgusting, thick plastic yellow curtain that separates the stalls from the others and let myself drip dry before I put on the same t-shirt and shorts from yesterday. I don’t even turn my underwear inside out. I just put it on as is. Whatever. Camping is camping, right?
I feel marginally more human by the time I get back to the car, and Steph is up now. Maybe she was up the entire time and just didn’t feel like talking to me, so she didn’t let on that she was awake. Maybe I woke her up, or maybe she has a giant pain in her neck and a headache pounding through her temples and behind her eyes to match mine. Maybe sleeping in a sports car in rock-hard seats just isn’t comfortable for anyone, and she was damn glad to get out the second she could.
She’s all bright-eyed and bushy-taile
d. She has her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her eyes aren’t as bloodshot as mine. She even manages a smile. I manage one too, especially when I see she’s laid everything out all over the campsite to dry. The barbeque pit and picnic table are full of our sleeping bags, pillows, clothes, and packs. It’s not all of it because some of it obviously stayed dry. I imagine she put it all back in the trunk since I can’t see any of it.
I stare at the ruined state of the tent in dismay.
“As soon as the office opens, I’m going to get us a cabin. I promise.”
“Okay.” She’s cheerful. Too cheerful.
If I didn’t know Steph, I’d say it’s almost suspicious, but I do know how much she can put up with, and clearly, even this hasn’t triggered her breaking point.
After laying everything out while I stand there, feeling as useless as ever, she assembles a cold breakfast out of the cooler. I’m more than happy to accept the PB and J sandwich shoved my way. After I’m done with that and my attempt to sort out some things in the trunk, it’s late enough that I figure the park office will be open. I go for a walk while Steph gathers up her things and takes her turn in the shower.
Thankfully, the office is open. Just my luck that it opens at seven and not later. I didn’t even look at the sign last night. I just noted that it was all dark, and there was no way anyone was there to help me.
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
Stephanie
“Oh shit.” I know that’s not a good way to wake someone up. In fact, it’s probably a guaranteed way to really worry them, but I can’t help it. This is truly an oh shit kind of moment.
Adam jerks awake. His eyes flutter open, and he squints up at me. I think I’m blocking most of the sun, but I probably look like a shadowy
apparition to him. He blinks hard. It’s bright out—retina scalding bright. I can tell he’s momentarily disoriented, then he props himself up on one elbow and looks around. He realizes we’re on a beach. That we fell asleep because we had what was possibly the world’s worst sleep last night.
“What’s going on?” His eyes move back to me, and his pinched frown tells me he’s worried we’re being mugged or that there’s a hurricane bearing down on us.
All I can do is to point at his chest. He slowly follows my finger, his head tilting down, and then he lets out a sigh. He pokes himself in the chest and winces before letting out a hiss of breath.
“Oh shit,” he states flatly.
“Yeah. You obviously fell asleep before you spread the sunscreen on. It’s crazy hot out here, and the sun is really strong.”
“Strong enough to burn.” That’s stating the obvious.
Adam’s face, chest, and legs that weren’t covered by his shorts are pretty red. Not nearly as red as my dress, but an angry pink. In the middle of his chest is literally a big, not pink but not white either, glop mark, and part of a handprint. Like that’s the only place the sunscreen ended up. He likely lathered up his hand, slapped it there, and promptly fell asleep without working it in anywhere else. That has to be what happened because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise.
Adam pokes his chest again. His forehead crinkles, and he lets out another hiss of breath. “Ouch,” he says, even though it’s obviously redundant.
“I bet.” I study him sympathetically.
I haven’t burned that often, at least not that bad, but I remember the few times I did, it really hurt. It’s an annoying kind of pain that keeps buzzing along all your nerves since you have to carry it with you wherever you go. You can’t just put some ointment, wrap a bandage around it, be careful not to use it, and call it a day. Not like when you burn your finger or give yourself a papercut.
