Ground Rules: Rewritten

by Roya Carmen

  He smiles. “Just remember, don’t focus on your breathing. Just think about what I just did to you.”

  I trail behind him, not really wanting to go in the pool. But he’s right, if I can wear the gear outside of the pool, it shouldn’t be any different in the water.

  He takes my hand and pulls me to the steps. “Remember, it’s all in the head,” he reminds me. “Just take the focus off your breathing.”

  I put on the mask and the tube, determined to do this. He gives me a thumbs-up and a big smile. I inhale deeply, vowing to make it all the way to the other end of the pool. Of course, the pool is one of these long narrow rectangles. But I tell myself I can do it. I slide into the water, and let my body fall and float.

  And off I go.

  I keep my attention on the memory of Weston’s hand on the inside of my thigh, the sensation of arousal, of anticipation. I let out a breath through the tube and take another deep one. I pull myself through the water, in long strokes. I see the far wall, and I feel so proud of myself.

  I stick my head out of the water and grab on to the edge of the pool.

  Weston is sitting up on one of the lounge chairs. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

  I pull the tube from my mouth. “I did it.”

  All afternoon, I practice my snorkeling, while everyone else lounges around the pool, drinking, chatting and playing backgammon. At first, I swim the length of the pool and stick my head out when I reach the edge. But then soon enough, I go back and forth under the water. I do it until I’m comfortable doing endless circles and circles. I even start to have fun, and imagine what it will be like when there’s actual stuff to see.

  Later in the afternoon, Gabe and I go to the beach and “brave the elements” with our snorkeling gear. We don’t stray too far from the edge of the water but I still manage to see schools of fish; shimmery, almost transparent silver-yellow angel fish. It’s so neat.

  Even the slow languid sensation of floating above the sand starts to relax me.

  Why haven’t I ever done this before?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isn’t that sweet?

  THE NEXT DAY IS amazing.

  We start the day with a delicious breakfast on the beach. Kalei, Weston’s chef and his staff have set up a table right on the beach, complete with linens and place settings, and a gorgeous tropical centerpiece bouquet. Exotic fruits abound, and the guava juice is to die for.

  “We have a big day ahead of us,” Weston tells us.

  And he’s not kidding.

  After breakfast, we all hop in his Escalade and make our way somewhere. Weston won’t tell us where we’re going. Bridget smiles at us, they’re in cahoots.

  When we get there, I realize it’s a heliport. I almost hightail it out of there when I see the huge white and red chopper. But Weston pulls me against him—against my will. “It’ll be fine,” he assures me.

  I throw Gabe a wide-eyed look, silently begging him to help me, but he doesn’t come to my rescue, he just smiles at me.

  The helicopter is huge. There are six posh leather passenger seats and the cockpit has so many buttons and displays, I get a headache just looking at it. As Dan, the pilot, goes through all the pre-flight orientation and safety procedures, my mind is consumed with working out a really good excuse to get out of this. But my brain’s just not working right. Not only do I not come up with an escape plan, I haven’t heard a single word Dan has said.

  Just great, I think, when the chopper goes down in a deathly spiral, I’ll be the only one who won’t know what to do.

  I still try to protest as gigantic headphones are put on my head, and belts are buckled. No one is listening. The pilot seems nice enough, but he’s no help. And my damn heart won’t stop pounding in my ears.

  I’m seriously thinking I might have some kind of nervous breakdown, when I spot Weston and Bridget, sitting across from us, completely calm, like they’re waiting for their two o’clock at the spa. Weston shoots me a wicked smile. He seems to be amused. I want to kill him.

  “Breathe,” Gabe tells me. Yes. The last thing we all want is a panic attack scenario. I close my eyes.

  And after what seems like an eternity, we take off. Rising in a vertical line, the motion is surprisingly relaxing. I open my eyes. Weston smiles at me. His sweet grin calms me.

  We coast over Maui, drifting and lingering over the beautiful valleys and mountains.

  And it’s astonishing.

  We’re so close. We’re part of it. From this angle, one can really appreciate the beauty even more. It reminds me of Jurassic Park, but seeing it on the screen was never quite like this.

  All my fears and worries disappear. There’s nothing but the amazing vibrant moss greens and cerulean blues under us. Gabe takes pictures, clicking away, but I just want to take it in; the majestic waterfalls, the bodies of water, the mountains.

  I turn to look at Weston. He’s not even looking at the amazing view. He’s watching me with a hint of a smile on his face. I smile back at him, silently thanking him.

  Weston tells us we’re having lunch somewhere special. He asks us if I’m feeling well, if my stomach feels unsettled at all, after the chopper ride.

  I wonder what he’s planning. “I’m good. The ride was pretty mellow. I’m fine.”

  “Great,” he says as we drive off.

  Again, Gabe and I have no clue where we’re going. This unnerving secret-keeping habit of Weston’s is seriously starting to grate my nerves.

  We turn into a marina, and I finally realize what he has planned—a snorkeling excursion. My stomach drops a little and I take a breath. I’m prepared for this. I suspected this was going to happen when he told us to pack bathing suits. I packed my safety suit, the black tankini.

  Our guide Kai, a big jolly guy greets us and helps us all on the boat. Weston has arranged for a private excursion for the afternoon. It’s just the four of us. I’m relieved because if I have a major snorkeling meltdown—which is very likely to happen—I really don’t want a bunch of strangers feeling sorry for me. Kai brings us to the back of the boat where he has a barbecue set up. He’s making us gourmet burgers for lunch. “You’re a real jack-of-all-trades,” Gabe tells him, “a boat captain, a snorkeling guide and a cook.”

  Kai smiles at him. “Well, wait until you taste these. I am not so sure if I’m a cook,” he jokes.

  Obviously, he’s just making up stories because the burgers are delicious. Despite my nerves, I manage to wolf down a whole one. And a little tropical punch, but not too much. The last thing we all want is me drunk snorkeling. Sober snorkeling will be challenging enough.

  The moment of truth soon arrives after a breezy ride to our destination. I put on a black snorkeler life vest, grab my gear and take a calming breath.

  “You can do this,” Weston reminds me. He says it with so much conviction I think he wants this more than I do. I can’t disappoint him.

  “But I’ve never snorkeled in the open sea like this,” I remind him.

  He gives me a reassuring smile. “Well, there’s always a first time for everything.”

  It’s so true. There have been so many firsts with Weston.

  Weston tells Gabe he’ll stay by my side and help me.

  “Good luck,” Gabe says and he and Bridget are off together.

  I grumble, thinking these two would probably go off and have sex in the ocean if they thought they could get away with it. I make a mental note to keep an eye on them.

  I slide into the water with Weston and Kai. I take in a relaxing breath as I put on the gear. Weston helps me, a big smile on his face. “There are sea turtles down there.”

  “No way. Are you joshing me?”

  “Well, perhaps yes. Perhaps no. You’ll never know if you don’t go see for yourself,” he teases.

  I stick the tube in my mouth and give him a thumbs-up. I can do this. I did it in the pool. I did it at the beach. I take a breath as I stretch my body into the water and focus on what I’m seeing; colorf
ul coral and orange sea urchins.

  So amazing.

  I focus on remaining flat on top of the water, and my body feels so light.

  It’s so beautiful. He was right. It was worth it, getting over my fears. I think back to the very erotic snorkeling lesson, and I almost want to smile.

  Weston, who swims beside me, shoots me a thumbs-up and I mimic his actions, telling him I’m fine. I’m really doing this, I want to scream. He points in front of him, and it takes me a second to see the transparent eel-like fish.

  The girls would love this, I can’t help but think. We definitely need to this with them one day.

  I swim through a school of glittery zebra-like yellow fish. They scatter away as I swim through and I’m almost afraid that I’ll hurt them. I bring my arms to my sides, trying to make myself as small as possible. I spot another school of larger black fish deep below me and a pretty blue fish, which kind of looks like the one in Finding Nemo.

  I’m so focused on what’s beneath me I don’t even look in front of me. Weston grabs my arm and points in the distance. There’s a gorgeous sea turtle, just as he’d promised. We swim over it. The feeling is so surreal. Weston grabs my hand, and we swim together, side by side. And I just know this is one of those moments I’ll remember on my death bed.

  I’m reeling, thinking about everything I’ve done this week—stuff I thought I’d never do—snorkeling, flying in a chopper. Weston pushes me, it seems. For him, I want to be a better person; more interesting, fearless. I want to take risks. Or maybe he just has a way of being very persuasive. No one has ever pulled me out of my comfort zone like he has.

  He stands at the kitchen counter, mixing some drinks, focused on the task at hand. He doesn’t realize I’m watching him. Neither do Gabe or Bridget, who are stretched out on the sleek sectional, seemingly in deep discussion.

  Weston, in a thin light blue V-neck tee, looks as delicious as the drinks he’s mixing. Although, I love the sight of him in a nice suit, I also love him like this—laid-back. I could stare at him all night, for the rest of my waking hours.

  Dinner is wonderful, as it has been every night; grilled tilapia, wild rice and tropical fruit salad. And a delicious strawberry shortcake for dessert, heavenly.

  I’m still nursing my margarita. I’ve been drinking it slowly, savoring it. Tonight is not about getting wasted. This is one of our last nights here and I want to enjoy it, with all my faculties intact.

  The sun has already set, quite a few hours ago. The sky is dark. The beautiful space we sit in is wrapped in the warm glow of the dimmed lights. There is soft acoustic music playing in the background. The male voice is smooth with a touch of nasal twang. He sings about love. Isn’t it always about love? Not taking my eyes off Weston, I listen to the words. He wants someone, but can’t have her.

  I know how he feels.

  This is undue torture.

  I catch Gabe, from the corner of my eye, watching me. He fixes me with an uncharacteristically serious expression. He’s caught me.

  He stands and joins me on the ghastly palm tree covered slipper chair. I move over to make room for him. He leans in to kiss my neck.

  “You seem distracted,” he whispers against the lobe of my ear.

  I laugh a little.

  “You’ve kept your hands off him all week. I’m impressed.”

  It’s true. I have kept my hands off him. His are another matter though.

  “I have self-control. We’re not animals.”

  “But we are. Humans are animals.”

  I look at him with a sly smile. “Some, more than others.”

  He laughs as he wraps his hand around my waist. “Guilty.”

  “You’ve been looking at him like that, all week,” he adds, his words deliberately slow.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you just want to eat him up, for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

  I don’t say a word. He knows he’s right.

  “But don’t forget, you’re mine this week.”

  I smile. “You own me?”

  He nibbles at the lobe of my ear gently. “I do. And no way in hell, am I sharing you.”

  I smile. He’s starting to get my blood flowing.

  I look up to see Weston standing there, with two green martinis. He looks rather serious. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, his mouth a hard line. “Care for a drink? I made these for you and Bridget.”

  I don’t dare refuse. “Looks delicious.” Our fingers make light contact as I delicately wrap my fingers around the stem. I take a breath. Even this almost indiscernible touch has an effect on me.

  I take a sip, staring at my half-full margarita on the coffee table. Well, it looks like I’m getting a little tipsy tonight, whether I want to or not.

  The mood is dark, warm, silky…pure velvet. Alcohol coursing through our blood, we are languid, relaxed. We’ve been talking for a while now. It started out with small talk, as it always does, but along the way, transitioned into the more intimate, with a daring question here, a personal observation, a look, a playful smile.

  “Be honest,” Bridget says, “Tell us what you really thought of us when you first met us.”

  “I thought you were a knockout,” Gabe says, without inhibition.

  I smile, replaying that night’s events in my head. That night which seems so long ago now. “I thought you were two stuck-up jerks,” I confess, without apology. “The kind of people I hate.”

  Bridget seems surprised. She’s speechless. Weston smiles at me, a playful smile.

  “But very soon,” I go on, “I realized you were really nice, Bridget. I couldn’t hate you.”

  She smiles, clearly flattered.

  Weston’s expression is resolute, determined. “What about me?”

  I need to answer. But should definitely answer carefully, or will otherwise suffer the wrath of Weston Hanson. He’s so sensitive, so easily offended. He has very large toes—it’s almost impossible not to step on them.

  “You scared me,” I admit. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol weaving its way through my body, or the velvety quality of the room, but suddenly, I feel loose. I completely lose grasp of my reticence, and the words pour out of me. “It was your eyes. It was like you could see inside me, almost like we knew each other in another life. There was a softness about you. I was drawn to you at that moment. I didn’t know if I liked you or not, but I knew whatever I felt was beyond my control. And I knew it meant trouble.”

  The room is suddenly eerily quiet. Bridget is slack-jawed, and Weston fixes his gaze on me, almost without expression. I’m not sure what he’s thinking.

  “And when I said good-bye to you, sadness washed over me, but I did say to myself, ‘thank God I’ll never see that guy again.’”

  The eerie silence has not left us…yep…still there.

  And I know I went too far. Poor Weston doesn’t know what to say—not in front of Gabe and Bridget. I shouldn’t have told him this in front of them. I shouldn’t have told him this at all.

  “But then I got to know you,” I add on a lighter note, trying to backtrack. “And I realized what a pain in the rear you are.”

  Bridget laughs, easing the tension filling the room. “Yes, he can definitely be.”

  Weston doesn’t smile. He still wears the same intense expression, and I want to crawl under the sofa cushions.

  “So what’d you think of me, Bridget?” Gabe ventures, all smiles. I’m surprised he hasn’t reacted more strongly to my words. He’s probably too inebriated to fully grasp the meaning of them. “You wanted to jump me, didn’t you?” he teases.

  Bridget laughs. “Guilty as charged. I thought you were so ruggedly sexy. You looked like the kind of man who could really pin a girl up against a headboard.”

  My jaw drops in shock. I can’t believe the gall of her. But who am I to judge? I’ve just practically poured the entire contents of my heart at Weston’s feet.

  Gabe’s face nearly splits in two. He’s clearly tickled by
Bridget’s answer. “I am,” he gloats. “Aren’t I, Ella?”

  I don’t dare say a word in front of Weston who shoots me a little smile.

  Gabe kisses my neck and slips his hand under the cotton of my white summer dress. “She’s being shy,” he says as he grabs my thigh. “I rock her world.”

  I watch Weston’s reaction. He doesn’t seem too amused.

  “So, Weston,” Bridget chimes in. “We’ve all had our turns. Tell us what you thought of Mirella.”

  Oh God, she didn’t? Why did she? I feel my body spasm, locked in sudden anxiety.

  Weston doesn’t say a word, looks away, in deep thought.

  He turns to me and remains quiet for a beat or two. I just want him to say something…anything.

  “I thought she was beautiful,” he starts, a soft smile in my direction. “There was something unique about her, a sweetness. I liked her, but it seemed she couldn’t quite look at me, and couldn’t quite smile at me either, and I wanted to see her smile. And I wanted to know her.”

  My breath catches and the room seems to close in on me. Suddenly, the large space seems too small, too quiet, and too real.

  “Aaaahh,” Gabe says, his tone mocking. “Isn’t that sweet? You thought she was cute.”

  Weston smiles, a whisper of a laugh. “I did.”

  “So it was like a school boy crush?” Gabe goes on, not letting this go.

  “Kind of,” Weston says, biting at his bottom lip. He seems amused.

  “You’re so full of it, Hanson,” Gabe scoffs. “You wanted to fuck her. It was written all over your face.”

  Weston smiles that delicious naughty smile I unfortunately don’t get to see too often. “Well, I admit…” he starts, his words slow and deliberate, “I am a man. Yes. If I may put it in your words, Gabe, I wanted to fuck her.”

  Somehow, the expletive sounds so sexy on his lips. God, his words turn me on. I’m not sure if it’s the intensity in which they’re delivered, the economy of words, or the passion behind them.

  Damn. He has to stop doing this to me.

  “Well, there you go. I just wanted you to keep it honest,” Gabe replies.