After a brief stop at my cabin so I can change into fresh clothes, we spend the afternoon shopping. We tour the quaint downtown and grab dinner at a pub. It’s after eight by the time we head back to his truck.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” RJ asks once we’re on the way to our cabins. Well, my cabin, his rustic house on the water.
The answer to that question is yes. I definitely do. However, I’m concerned about my ability to manage myself around RJ. I worry that things are moving too quickly, and as much as I dislike my cabin, it might be a good idea to spend the night on my own. “That’s really sweet of you, but I don’t want to impose, and I should probably do some work on my thesis paper, since that’s why I’m supposed to be here.”
“It’s really no imposition, Lainey.” He pauses, and I almost want him to try to convince me otherwise. I don’t think it would take much. “But I totally understand if you need to work.”
We pass RJ’s cabin and continue to mine. He helps me carry all my purchases inside. While I set up the new space heater, RJ helps get the fire going.
Once that’s taken care of, he hooks his thumbs in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Can I call you tomorrow? See what you’re up to?”
I’m still bundled up in my parka, but I’m nervous again, which means I start to sweat—so I tug off my hat, then realize I probably have hat head since I’ve been wearing it all day. I can feel my bangs sticking to my forehead and static working its magic elsewhere. I want to put it back on, but I drop it on the lounge chair and fiddle with the end of my braid instead. “I’d like that.”
“Okay. Well, if you have any problems tonight, I’m just a phone call away.” He scribbles down the number for his cabin on a piece of paper, then pulls me in for a hug. I let my gloves drop to the floor and curve my palm around the back of his neck. I know he’s leaving, so I might as well get in one last good-night kiss. It goes from soft to needy between one heartbeat and the next.
Several minutes later we come up for air.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” This time it’s not a question.
He comes in for another kiss that, once again, turns into a dance of tongues and a grinding session.
“If you don’t go, I’m not getting anything done tonight, and no one gets any kind of reward tomorrow.” I shimmy us toward the door.
“It’d be a lot easier if you weren’t such an active, enticing participant,” RJ mutters as our tongues tangle again.
“It would be a lot easier for me if kissing you didn’t make my whole body feel like it’s been dipped in some kind of sensory-heightening serum.” I fumble with the doorknob, sucking on his bottom lip at the same time.
Eventually I manage to get the door open. The shock of frigid air is enough to finally get us to separate. I pry my fingers from RJ’s neck, and he releases me, taking a step back.
He slips a hand into his pocket and does some blatant rearranging, which both thrills me and makes me blush.
He smirks. “What can I say? We both like you.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “You’re incorrigible. Now go, so I can make an attempt at being productive.”
RJ holds up a finger. “Just one more kiss to tide me over?”
“Just one.”
He leans in, and I put my hand on his chest, allowing only a couple of sweeps of tongue before I step back. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He walks backward to his truck, and I stand in the doorway, staying there until the taillights disappear down the driveway.
I’m probably going to regret not staying at his place tonight, but I think I should at least try to resist him. Besides, this will inevitably heighten the very present chemistry between us. Theoretically, it should. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow if I’m right.
CHAPTER 8
SCAREDY-CAT
Lainey
I can list the things I like about my cabin on one finger: not being in it.
I spend a good part of the evening trying to work on my thesis. Trying being the operative word. Mostly, all I can think about is kissing RJ and the feel of his erection pressing against my stomach through all the barriers of fabric.
While I have spent some time on the water, it hasn’t been studying the animals in it. So I review some of my preliminary research and manage to make notes on the correlations I intend to focus on when I actually put some time and energy into the real reason I’m here. Which is not making out with RJ.
But he’s so good at it.
It makes me wonder how many other women have had the opportunity to experience his kissing skills. It also makes me wonder what else he’s good at. Probably everything, I decide. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing. While I have a master’s in sex therapy, most of my knowledge is theory and text based.
And now I’m thinking about sex for what seems like the millionth time since I fell into RJ’s lap on the plane a few days ago. And I’m thinking about how uncomfortable this bed is in comparison to the one in his spare room. Right next to his bedroom. Where he’s probably sleeping right now. Unlike me.
Instead, I’m lying on a lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling, freezing under a pile of musty-smelling blankets, wishing I’d taken him up on his offer.
I know without an ounce of doubt that I would not be sleeping in the room beside his if I went back to his place. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with people being attracted to each other. In theory, it’s a natural human reaction. But I have never been this wildly attracted to anyone before in my life, and I worry that my lack of restraint may be a problem.
I roll over onto my stomach and pull one of the dank pillows over my head, close my eyes, and try to shut my brain off. It’s pointless, though. I’m wide awake. It’s only four o’clock in the morning, but I give up on trying to sleep.
I make myself a coffee, toast a bagel and slather it in cream cheese, and head outside with a pair of binoculars. While we were in town yesterday I was able to borrow a couple of books on my e-reader, and I picked up a million brochures so I’ll have some reading for comparative data analysis.
I get lost in my reading and watching for dolphins and whales on the water for the next few hours. I would probably spend the entire day sitting outside, despite it being cold and my fingers being mostly numb, just to avoid the cabin.
Eventually I need to use the bathroom, and I could definitely use a fresh pot of coffee, since my eyeballs feel a lot like eggs covered in sand when I blink. The phone rings just as I’m finishing up in the bathroom. I don’t even bother to wash my hands. Instead, I rush out with my pants still half-down and answer the call before the phone stops ringing.
“Hello!” I shout and then cringe because I’m too loud.
“Lainey?”
My excitement deflates like a sad balloon, but I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Oh, hi, Mom.”
“Thank God you answered. I was getting worried. I emailed four times already this morning, and I’ve been calling for the past two hours.”
“Oh, sorry, I was outside and I couldn’t hear the phone, and cell service really isn’t reliable here. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, oh yes. Everything is fine. I was just worried about you since you didn’t call yesterday. I read an article about bear attacks up there in Alaska. Did you know you can’t keep your garbage outside because of the bears? And did you know that brown bears are related to grizzlies? They’ll come sniffing around if you leave any food out. You have bear spray, don’t you? I should have insisted you take shooting lessons over archery when you were a teenager.”
“I know all about the garbage, Mom, and you know how I feel about guns.” I shudder at the thought of ever having to hold one.
“I know, I know. But what about the bear spray? Do you at least have that?”
“I do.”
“Okay. Well, that’s good. How are things going? You know it’s all right if you get homesick and decide to come back early. Your ticket is open
ended, so you can fly home anytime.”
“I’m actually having a great time.”
“Oh. Well . . . that’s good. You’re managing the anxiety okay, then? You have all your visualization techniques for when things get stressful?”
“I’m managing everything just fine, and yes, I know what to do when things get stressful. It’s pretty quiet around here, though.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She doesn’t sound glad at all. “Have you made any friends? You can be so focused on your studies and sometimes making friends is hard for you. Are there any other students there?”
“No other students, but I did make a friend.”
“Really? That’s so wonderful!”
I try not to be affronted by her shock.
“Where did you meet her? Have you done fun things together? If she’s not a student, what does she do? Is she local?”
“I met them on the plane. They’re not local—they actually have an alpaca farm in New York, which is really cool. We went boating yesterday.”
“Well, that sounds fun! Did you wear a life jacket? What’s her name?”
“RJ.”
“RJ? That doesn’t sound like a girl’s name.”
I hate that I’m twenty-five and telling my mother that I met someone who isn’t female is still a thing. “That’s because RJ isn’t a girl.”
I’m met with silence—a long, heavy silence. I’m aware it won’t last. “You’re spending time with a boy? What do you even know about him? And who goes by initials? I don’t like this at all, and I don’t think your father is going to like it either.”
I bite back the scathing remarks I’d like to let fly, aware I’ll regret it if I get into an argument with my mother with no way to patch things up from this far away. “He’s very nice, Mom. He’s been very helpful and kind. He’s taken me grocery shopping, and we had a nice afternoon exploring the town together.”
“Do you really think this is a good idea, Lainey? You know how attached you get to people. You’re only there for six weeks, and you already sound smitten!”
“I’m not smitten.” I don’t like how sour those words are. “I’m only here for a short time, and he’s only here for a few weeks. There’s no harm in spending time with someone I like.”
“Boys only want one thing, Lainey.”
“He’s not a boy, Mom, he’s a man—and I’m not a girl. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman. We have fun together, and I’m going to enjoy my time with him,” I snap.
More silence follows.
“Please, Mom, don’t make this hard for me.”
She sighs. “You know how much I worry about you.”
“I know, but I’m having fun, and he really is nice.” And very good at kissing. “How’s everyone doing? How is Mooreen? She must be ready to have her calf soon. Is Dr. Flood coming to take care of that?” It’s not a subtle shift, but it does the trick.
My mom goes off on a rant about the animals, then goes on to gossip about the neighbors.
Eventually she lets me go so she can get back to laundry. I decide to call my friend Eden, who recently moved out to Chicago for a great job. I miss her, but we still keep in touch through phone calls and email. She’s much more enthusiastic about my new friend.
By the time I end the call with her, it’s already two o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m tired and hungry. I eat a handful of crackers, too exhausted from being up since four o’clock in the morning to be bothered with boiling water and making noodles. The sun is no longer shining, clouds having rolled in while I was on the phone, darkening the afternoon sky.
I decide a twenty-minute nap will do the trick and that I might be able to make it through the rest of the day, and I have half a hope of getting a decent night’s sleep. After my nap I can call RJ and see if he’s still up for doing something.
I put on some relaxing music and lie down on my lumpy bed. The moment I close my eyes, RJ’s toned chest appears behind my lids. I allow the memory of his lips on mine and the way it felt to be pressed up against all those hard muscles to take over as I sink into blissful sleep.
A huge bang startles me awake. I bolt upright and reach for the closest object, which happens to be a textbook on my nightstand. No lights are on, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, since I could’ve sworn they were when I fell asleep. A flash of lightning startles me, and seconds later a crash of thunder makes the entire cabin shake. Shadows crawl across the walls for the short span of time that there’s light, so, of course, I scream.
I hate thunderstorms. The thunder sounds a lot like gunshots, and it reminds me of my time at college in Seattle. That, along with the fact that I’m in a rickety cabin, the fire has gone out, and there are no lights on, sends me right into Anxiousville.
Rain pounds on the roof, and more thunder and lightning have me hiding under my covers. I try to slow my panicked breathing, but it’s coming too fast and I’m already spiraling out of control—all my thoughts are fleeting. I need light.
“Take a breath, Lainey. Take a breath and figure it out,” I tell myself. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out.
There has to be a flashlight somewhere in here. Or some candles. I gave up on charging my cell phone yesterday, since I have one of those cheap carrier services and I haven’t been getting reception at all. Still, it doesn’t hurt to see if it’s holding a charge so I can at least use the screen to find something more reliable. Unfortunately, it’s dead, just like all the lights in this place.
A cold drop of water hits me on the back of the neck—and then another on my arm.
The momentary reprieve in my panic dissolves as I stumble around in the strange inky darkness, searching the cupboards for anything other than the pack of matches I keep using to light the fire. I finally find a lighter, but all it does is spark without giving me a flame. Eventually I manage to find a flashlight, but it flickers once and dies. “Is nothing about this stupid place reliable?” I yell to no one.
The only answer is a strike of lightning and a boom of thunder.
The wind picks up, howling through the walls, making it sound like there are wolves outside my cabin. Which is when I totally lose it. Because here I am, alone in this cabin with no lights, no flashlight, no candles—and the roof is leaking in a bunch of places, based on the number of times I’m getting dripped on.
“You need to get a grip, Lainey,” I tell myself through a sob. I suck in a deep breath and release it through my nose, trying to focus on the visualization strategy my therapist always tells me to use when the panic gets too big.
I go through my senses: five things I can taste, four things I can touch, three things I can smell, two things I can hear—that doesn’t help the anxiety at all, since thunder happens right at that moment.
I work to block out the memories from college. The storm. The lightning and thunder, how they overlapped with the repetitive rat-a-tat. The crashing open of the lecture hall doors. The screaming . . .
I’m startled once again when the phone rings. If it’s my parents, there’s no way they’re going to believe I’m okay. Because I’m not. I’m terrified. But I really don’t want to be alone in this storm right now, so I answer it, even if it’s going to bring me nothing but grief.
“Hello?” I croak.
The line crackles with static. “Lainey?”
It’s not my parents, thank God. “RJ?”
“Hey, I’m glad you answered. I tried to call earlier, but the line was busy—” He cuts out when a huge crack of thunder makes the cabin shake. I also shriek, which makes it hard to hear. “Are you all right?”
“Uh . . .” I consider lying but realize there isn’t much of a point. “I don’t have any power.”
“Yeah, all the lines are down. The summer storms can be harsh here, and we can lose power for a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?” There’s that high pitch again.
“Yeah, I have a generator in case of power failures. I’ll come get you, o
kay? I’ll be there in five minutes, maybe ten at the most.”
“Okay. That would be nice.” I whimper at the next flash of lightning. “I don’t really like thunderstorms.”
“I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Can you bring a flashlight? The ones here don’t have any batteries.”
“Shit. Yeah, of course. I’m already on my way out the door. See you in a few.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I reluctantly hang up the phone. I want to pack a bag, but I can’t do that without some kind of light source.
Minutes drag on for what feels like hours, until a knock scares me—although pretty much everything is scaring me right now. I flip the lock and throw open the door. Standing on the rickety, unsafe back steps, getting pounded by the rain, is RJ, dressed in a yellow rain slicker, holding a flashlight bright enough to land a plane.
I step back, letting him in. His hood falls back, exposing his gorgeous face, flushed and dotted with raindrops. I close the door behind him and throw myself into his arms, not caring that he’s soaking wet. Or that I look desperate. A crash of thunder has me trying to bury my face in his chest.
He stands there for a moment, unmoving, possibly shocked, before he finally wraps his wet arms around me. “Hey, you’re okay.”
“I really hate thunderstorms,” I mumble into his rain slicker.
He runs a soothing hand down my back. “Totally understandable when it’s raining almost as hard inside as it is outside.”
I take several deep, steadying breaths, trying to regain a little composure so I don’t come across as a complete head case, but I’ve been crying, and my face always gets blotchy and my eyes get puffy. At least the lighting is bad.
Eventually I loosen my hold, aware I can’t koala bear him forever. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Thanks so much for coming.”
“I would’ve been here sooner if I’d known it was this bad.” He cringes as drops of water land on his head from the ceiling above. “Let’s pack you a bag and get you out of here.”
A Lie for a Lie Page 7
