by Lila Monroe
The events of the day before come rushing back to me. Especially the part where he made me have the kind of orgasm that is stuff of legend. Like a unicorn: you hear about them. See them in in movies, talk to your friends about how elusive they are, but don’t really believe they exist.
Until you experience one of your own and see what all the fuss is about. What you’ve been missing … and are suddenly worried you’re going to spend the rest of your life chasing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had orgasms before. Some even thanks to moderately talented men who take direction well. But I’ve never had a capital-O Orgasm. Where I felt the earth shake and saw stars. We didn’t even have sex, but it was still the most epic night of my life.
As I look at Zach now, I want more. Lots more. And I wouldn’t mind returning the favor, either.
As I look at him now in the light of day, it’s clear something has shifted. How I see him now is completely different from even yesterday when we set out on this trip. He’s a good guy. A nice guy who isn’t lazy or a slob like I’d thought. He’s just coming off a relationship that hurt him deeply and profoundly. He grew a beard out of spite, for God’s sake. That’s a new one: a spite beard. But after what he told me about his marriage, I can hardly blame him.
Careful, Gemma, or you’ll wind up falling for him.
I gingerly roll out of bed and grab my bag before I sneak out of his room—straight back to my one true love, the camp showers. After I’ve dried off and dressed, I balance my makeup bag on the sink, and brush my teeth.
Just as Lisa walks in.
“Hi.” She stops, then flashes me a smile in the mirror.
Awkward.
“Hey.” I give her a polite smile around my toothbrush and then bend over the sink to spit.
“So … you and Zach, huh?” she asks casually.
Since he gave me a unicorn and we’re sharing a trailer (and a bed) it doesn’t feel like too much of a lie to nod.
“You’re a better woman than I am,” she says with a laugh.
“Excuse me?” I ask politely.
She gives me a conspiratorial smile. “You got him to shave that gross beard and trim his hair. Also, I hear you’ve gotten him to start looking at his wardrobe.” She leans in, “Do us all a favor and throw most of it out first chance you get. He’ll be mad, but he’ll get over it.”
Is she serious? “I … I didn’t get him to shave,” I say slowly. “That was his decision.” Because if there’s one thing I know about Zach, it’s that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.
She shrugs like she doesn’t believe me. “Zach’s a good guy,” she says. “But he needs a kick in the pants, or he’ll just sit around playing video games all day. Trust me, I know.”
“His video games are what made him successful,” I point out icily. “It’s not just play.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. He could be really successful if he had some ambition. He was a brilliant programmer back in the day.”
“He’s still a good programmer,” I bite out because WTF is wrong with this woman?
“I wouldn’t know. But you look like you’re up for the task. I do wish him well, you know,” she adds quickly. Maybe because I’m glaring at her. “We grew to want different things. Like, I wanted a grown-up who takes his career seriously.”
I open my mouth to defend Zach some more, but then the door opens and three chatting women come in. Lisa gives me a smile that I’m sure is her version of, “And good fucking luck to you.” Before she turns and heads into a stall.
Angry on Zach’s behalf, I hurry to finish and leave the bathroom before Lisa emerges, because I don’t want to hear any more of her badmouthing and backhanded compliments.
Seriously, what is her problem? I mean sure, the ugly clothes aren’t great, but I already know that Zach is an amazing man, and I’ve barely spent a week with him. How could Lisa be with him for years—married!—and still see him as some overgrown kid?
But am I much better?
I remember the bet, and get a sinking feeling in my stomach. Sure, Zach said he was all in, but still … aren’t they kind of the same thing?
“What’s up, buttercup?” Zach’s voice makes me whirl around. He’s holding two cups of coffee, and is wearing a rugged-looking denim shirt—and an irresistible smile.
“Oh. Hi!” I blurt, feeling self-conscious. Is this going to be weird now, after last night?
Do I want it to be weird?
“They don’t have pumpkin spice, but I loaded it up with sugar and cream for you,” he says, holding out one of the mugs.
“Thank you.” I take a big gulp and promptly scald my mouth. “Mmmm!” I lie. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Didn’t you get the memo?” Zach asks, and then pulls out a crumpled piece of orange paper. An actual memo—well, schedule. “Julie has us scheduled solid all day.”
Part of me is disappointed, since I wouldn’t mind spending all day in the trailer, playing our own kind of games instead. But this is probably a good thing. I came for camp fun—before I came—right?
“Point me to the starting line,” I tell Zach. “Let’s go win this thing.”
* * *
After I did all that three-legged race trash-talking yesterday, Martin added the event to the day’s lineup of games. Maaaaaybe not a good thing.
Because we don’t win. In fact, we fall down right near the start of the race.
“We’re going to lose!” I yell from under him even as I’m laughing hysterically. “Get up! Get up!”
He rolls, pinning me to the ground. “Whoops,” he says, leaning in to kiss me. I lose track of the race for a moment, sinking into his embrace, until I hear whoops of triumph: his friends Brody and Kevin have crossed the finish line.
Zach doesn’t seem at all upset about losing.
And I have to say, I don’t mind either. “We’d better win the balloon toss!” I laugh as he unties our legs.
But we don’t. Well, Zach looks like he’s winning as I fumble several balloons and end up with a soaking wet T-shirt clinging to me. Thank God it’s navy blue this time.
In the end, we win nothing. Well, except for the lame ‘participant’ ribbons that Julie hands out along with her pitying looks.
Zach’s friend, Brody is the overall top scorer. He takes his place on the podium (a milk crate) holding his trophy (a red Solo cup decorated in Sharpie) over his head like it’s the freaking Superbowl. I can’t help but get caught up in the clapping and cheering as he takes his bows.
As he does his little speech filled with Tom Brady and Michal Jordan quotes and clichés, I look around at Zach and his friends. I’m almost tempted to keep the real world on ‘pause’, and suggest staying another night. Keep the city and Styled and Arielle in the back of my mind, and just focus on Zach, and how much fun we’re having instead.
But I need to get back to work.
On him. The clock is still ticking on this bet, and there’s too much on the line to let Arielle waltz off with this promotion.
Also, and maybe more importantly, once the sun starts to go down and I’m faced with spending another night in the trailer with him … I’m worried I’m going to fall even for him even more.
Especially now that I know there are unicorns lurking in that trailer.
Big orgasmic unicorns. With my name on them.
So, after the games, we pack up our bags and say our goodbyes. Julie gives me a big hug. “I’m so glad you came with Zach,” she whispers in my ear.
I pull away from the hug. “I am, too,” I say, trying not to smile. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean that as a double entendre.
“He needed this,” she adds.
Maybe I did, too. But it’s too complicated to get into now. “Thanks so much for including me,” I say sincerely. “We’ll see you guys back in town.”
We hit the road, with Zach behind the wheel this time, leaving me to look at the beautiful scenery as it passes by.
M
aybe I’m overthinking, but it feels like there’s a weird tension between us. Or maybe it’s just me. Because when I look over, he seems happy, singing along with the radio, as the wind ruffles his hair. His left arm is casually perched on the door and his right hand is loosely holding the top of the wheel.
He glances over at me. “Hey.”
Damn, he is handsome. Especially when he’s smiling at me like that.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You in a rush to get home?”
I pause. “Depends. What did you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” Zach says, and a few minutes later, he makes an unmarked turn down a long gravel road.
“If you’re planning to murder me and throw me in the ocean,” I joke. “You should know, I’ve been brushing up on my self-defense skills.”
“Noted,” he says, grinning.
Finally, we pull into a tiny parking lot overlooking the coast. There are a few wispy clouds over the calm water, disappearing into the horizon, but otherwise, it’s a clear, gorgeous view.
“Wow,” I say over the sound of the ocean crashing against the jagged rocks of the breakwater. There is a deserted beach below, the waves lapping at the sand that looks—at least from here—soft and perfect. “This is amazing. How did you even find this spot?”
“Will it ruin the mood if I tell you I really needed to take a whizz?”
I laugh. “Real romantic!”
We get out of the car, and I sigh in satisfaction. It’s secluded out here, we’re the only ones around. The only thing that would make it better would be a blanket and a glass of wine.
He pops the trunk.
Out comes a picnic basket and a folded blanket.
Is death by romance a thing? If so, I’m so dead.
He hands me the blanket as he rummages for a little cooler. “Where was I when you packed all this?” I ask in disbelief.
He grins. “Trash-talking with Brody, I think.”
Zach leads me down to the beach and picks out a perfect spot, not too close to the water, but where the sand is soft and level. He puts the cooler down and we spread out the blanket together beside the low stones of a makeshift fire pit. Zach passes me a glass, and pours the wine.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a delicious sip, then look at him sideways. “You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you? Because spoiler alert: you don’t need to if you want to get lucky.”
Zach laughs. “Good to know. Hungry?”
I guess it is dinnertime. I’d assumed we’d stop somewhere on the way home, but he’s way ahead of me. “I could eat.” I crane my neck to see inside the cooler he’s just opened. “What have you got in there?”
“Nothing too fancy. Fried chicken and salads that the chefs from the camp packed up for me.”
“Amazing,” I say as I take the wrapped plate from him.
I didn’t realize how hungry I am until I take the bite of crispy and delicious fried chicken, washing it down with the wine. “Thank you for this,” I say, surprised by all the planning and thought that went into this pit-stop. “It’s the perfect ending to a fun trip.”
Zach smiles. “I had fun, too. Even with …”
“She who will not be named.” I finish. “
“Thanks,” he says, obviously relieved. “I’m glad you had a good time, too.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure if he’s asking about the whole thing, or what happened in the lake. Or at the trailer.
Twice.
The sun starts to sink lower over the ocean, and Zach somehow magics up a fire from driftwood and kindling.
And then he brings out the marshmallows.
Not a bag of mass-produced, uniform white cylinders of sugar. But two not-quite-square, hand-made, artisanal marshmallows.
I look up at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
The right side of his mouth kicks up in a smirk that says I gave him exactly the reaction he was looking for. “Nope,” he says. “I asked the baker and she made these special for us. After all, I did promise you.”
He grabs a forked stick and roasts them for us. When they’re perfectly golden brown and sagging off the stick, he slides it onto a graham cracker, and adds a square of chocolate.
I put the entire thing in my mouth.
“Ohmigod!” I murmur. “This is amazing!”
“Transcendent?” he teases.
“Absolutely.” I agree, licking some of the sugar off my fingers.
He grabs my wrist and the next thing I know, he’s licking the sugar off my fingers.
Oh God, and now I’m thinking of last night and what else he licked. As I watch, his eyes get intense; he’s thinking the same.
“We can’t have sex on the beach,” I say breathlessly. “Too sandy.”
“You have a one-track mind, don’t you?” he teases. “I only brought you here for the sunset.”
Aaaand now I feel like an idiot. “Right,” I cough, blushing. “Well, thank you.”
“But …” He adds, his mouth curving into that sexy smile that kills me. “That doesn’t mean we can’t … kiss.” His hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
I nod because resistance is futile. The best I can do is make light of it so he can’t see the emotion coursing through me. “I’m pretty sure it’s the law that when you drink wine and eat artisanal marshmallows on the beach, you have to kiss.” I wave vaguely toward where we left the car. “I saw it on the sign by the parking lot.”
“Well, if it’s a law,” he grins. A second later, his lips find mine.
He tastes like wine and sugar, and pure Zach. I sigh in pleasure. This picnic, the marshmallows—everything—just might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.
But that perfect sunset? We totally miss it.
After all, there are better things to do.
16
Gemma
- Day 7 -
The next morning, I wake up in my own bed, back in my apartment. Sadly, I’m alone.
Last night, Zach invited me over to drink the rest of the wine, but I begged off, saying I had work to catch up on. It was true, especially since I’ve been out of the office so much, but it wasn’t the only reason I needed to hit ‘pause’.
I feel torn. We’re having fun—and not just sexytimes fun, but real fun. Romantic fun. Zach is funny and smart and seriously hot … I could actually see a future with him. A real relationship. But does he feel the same? Or am I just another flavor of the week to him—and a mighty convenient one, who lives just across the hall—while he continues to sow his wild oats?.
Plus, my guilt about the secret bet isn’t going anywhere. I know that some people hook up and have sex without catching feelings, but something tells me, it wouldn’t be like that for me.
So, I really, really need to figure out what’s going on or I am going to end up heartbroken. And the loser of the bet and promotion.
Speaking of, my phone buzzes. A text from Arielle. I can even hear her smug voice in my head when I read it:
“How’s your loser client? Get ready to report to me!”
So much for friendly competition.
Then comes a head shot of her messenger dude looking—damn—surprisingly good. The scraggly beard is gone, he has a neat undercut hairstyle, and she must have taken him for tanning because his complexion is even and flawless. I can’t tell what he’s wearing, but knowing Arielle, it’s something very hip and fashion forward.
I need to up my game. Zach’s come a long way, but I’ve been distracted with camp and kisses and orgasmic unicorns, these past couple of days—and the clock is ticking.
It’s time to get back to work.
I grab my keys and head out the door, on a mission for coffee and donuts. If I’m going to ramp up my efforts with Zach, I’m going to need to fortify. Or at the very least, have an arsenal of caffeine and deliciousness with which to bribe him.
When I get back I gently knock on his door with my foot, hands full of breakfast.
I finally hear shuffling on the other side, and the door swings open.
Hello, lover.
Bet, shmet, he looks amazing just as he is. He’s bare-chested, wearing low-slung jeans, with bedhead, stubble, and even a pillow line down his right cheek. The only way he’d look better is if it had been my bed he’d just gotten out of, looking like that.
I give him a bright smile, holding up the goodies. “I brought breakfast.”
“You’re the best,” he says with a sexy smile as he backs up, making way for me. “C’mon in.”
He hasn’t tidied up since I was last here. In fact, the place is even messier, his bag from camp half-emptied on the floor, more beer bottles on the coffee table, and that underlying smell of … frat house?
I remember too late, I was supposed to find a housekeeping service for him. Still, it’s a testament to how sexy he is that I don’t immediately turn on my heel and walk out.
I pull out a glazed donut and hold it out for him. “Maple bacon.”
“Bacon, maple, donut—three of my favorite things!” he takes a massive bite.
I laugh and pull out the PB&J donut I got for myself, eager to dig in. The sweet raspberry filling oozes out down my chin and I have to lick it to keep it from dripping onto my shirt. Then the donut is plucked from my hand.
“Hey, I’m—” is as far as I get before Zach is kissing me. Or, more accurately, tasting me. Maybe even devouring me.
“You had …” he says in between kisses to the corner of my mouth. “… some …” Lick. “… jam …” Kiss. “… right …” Lick. “… here.”
Oh God. This man. Could he be any sexier?
And then he’s kissing me in earnest, the experience all the sweeter thanks to the donuts. And how good he is at kissing. He pulls me down onto the couch with him and we’re nearly horizontal. Which is so not a bad thing. His fingers twine in my hair and I sigh with happiness, opening my eyes too—
“What’s that?” I ask, squinting at a dark splotch on the couch. Right by my face. It doesn’t look particularly fresh, but what is it?
