by Nina Strych
Thirteen
Mike didn’t know what to think. Did she or didn’t she like him? There were moments when he felt like their chemistry would cause the world around them to spontaneously combust, but then she would pull away. He had to ask himself, was this one sided? Was his intense desire for this woman making him interpret that chemistry incorrectly?
Did she feel at all…even the smallest bit…like he did?
Left on his own for the afternoon, he lounged in bed and ignored the glorious world just beyond his windows. The day was beautiful, a kind of balmy softness in the air that begged for a swim in the ocean, but it held absolutely no interest. As he watched the ceiling fan spin lazily above him, he couldn’t stop himself from going over every minute of the day, looking for and evaluating every moment for a clue as to what Amy really felt.
When he’d lifted her onto his back, her thighs clenching around him and her fingers spreading against the skin of his chest, he thought he might go insane from the electricity between them. He’d wanted to turn her, settle her onto the front of him and join with her so tightly that they were no longer two people. He knew the ecstasy of that moment was just waiting to be unleashed.
If not for the pack on his front blocking the view, she would have seen how much he wanted her.
And when he’d let her down and come close to her ear, the scent of her almost made him lose himself. What would she have done had he given in to his desire to simply nuzzle her neck? To lick the salty sweetness? To kiss that curved lobe of her ear? To bite the curve where her neck merged into her shoulder?
He didn’t know and he hadn’t done it. He might never know.
And now she was resting and he was alone in this room trying not to run across the beach to knock on her door and find out. His belly rumbled in hunger, cruelly reminding him that dinner would be separate tonight. He didn’t know if it was because she was really tired or simply tired of him. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Mike dreaded going out into the main hotel area to get dinner, but ordering room service didn’t seem right. This was on her tab and he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. Changing into a basic t-shirt and pants, he sighed and left his room, hoping he was early enough that the pavilion for casual dining would be empty.
He had no such luck. That same woman was there, this time with a man he guessed was her husband. He had his nose in a book and she—glass of wine in hand—was watching everyone come and go. And when she saw him, her eyes glinted and that predatory gleam from before returned.
“Oh great,” he muttered, and asked the server for a table for one.
Thinking it might be safer if he wasn’t in the more isolated corners, he asked if a small table near the railing was available. It made him conspicuous, but it also meant she might be less likely to say anything to him with so many others around. He felt it like a pressure on his back when she turned in her chair to stare at him.
Shaking his head, he ordered a sandwich and fries. He’d eat quickly and then be gone. When his food arrived, he tucked in, wolfing down the food and avoiding meeting anyone else’s eyes. He could feel her back there, the soft sound of turning pages breaking through the clutter of noise as her husband remained engrossed in his reading.
As he signed the bill, a hand touched his shoulder from behind and he jumped in his seat. Flinching away, he turned his head to see her bent close to him, a devilish smile on her face. “You’re not busy tonight, I see,” she purred.
Her confidence in her right to touch him, to approach him like he was nothing more than a piece of meat for sale, rankled him. It also shamed him. And that made him angry.
“Excuse you,” he said, standing up and backing away from her. “I don’t believe we know each other.”
She seemed unperturbed by this, leaning back on one hip and sipping her wine. He wondered how many of those she’d already had. Glancing over at her table, he saw her husband with his nose still firmly in his book.
Eyeing him over the rim of her glass, she swallowed her sip then dipped the glass at him, as if making an imaginary toast. “Oh, I think we know each other well enough. I know what you are and you know what I am. Isn’t that the only thing that matters?”
Clenching his jaw, but not willing to make a scene, he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me.”
She stepped neatly in front of him, effectively blocking his escape unless he wanted to draw attention to them by shoving past her. Lowering her voice, she said, “You’re too old to be doing this to pay for college, which means you’re a professional. A professional wouldn’t pass up a good opportunity.”
Her nearness was repulsive. He did know her type, if not her in particular. They bought you and then didn’t ever let you forget you were bought goods.
“Listen, I don’t know—or care—what you think I am, but my girlfriend isn’t feeling well and I’d like to go check on her. Please, excuse me.”
She stared at him for a moment, her gaze hardening, clearly not used to being turned down like this. She stepped aside just enough for him to squeeze past and made a gesture as if to say, “Be my guest.” Squeezing by her made his teeth clench and the look on his face must have been telling, because the server at the podium gave him a concerned look as he quickly left the restaurant.
That was it for going outside the room without Amy. How much gall does a person have to have before they can walk up to a stranger and say something like that? It wasn’t like he wore a sign that said what his profession was. And if it was that easy to tell what he did, then he’d been doing it too long.
Back in his room, he gazed out at the sea as the sun set over the calm water. It was glorious, but all he could think of was that woman and how cheap she’d made him feel. Running the numbers in his head, he realized he was at least a year and a half away from freedom. Eighteen months before he could get far enough ahead that he could stop this and go for a regular job in his field. And even then, he likely wouldn’t have enough to get new source stock, new seedlings to take the place of all those burned trees.
And he wanted to re-engineer the orchards too. Drought and a more careful use of limited water had to be accounted for. Gone were the days of spraying precious—and diminishing—groundwater into the air like rain. He wanted to make his family’s place sustainable, yet productive.
He was nowhere near that in terms of earnings. His parents had been good people. They had been the kind of people who would be appalled at what he was doing, but they had also wanted those orchards to carry on and be there for him to make his life on. He couldn’t do the latter without the former.
But how much more could he take? Being with Amy had been such an eye-opener. He hadn’t been able to look at a woman the same way he had before he took this job. She was different, and even if that unpleasant encounter in the restaurant hadn’t happened, he might be thinking like this. He wanted something real and even after just two days and one brief round of drinks and chat before that, deep inside he knew he wanted that with someone like Amy.
Exactly like Amy. With Amy?
Sinking down onto the bed as the sun said goodbye for the day, he sighed. She had hired him too. No matter what he wanted, she wouldn’t want him. It was hopeless. This wasn’t a movie and there was no happily ever after in real life. Not for guys like him. She would no more want a relationship with someone as well-used as him than she would with a giraffe.
Actually, she’d probably think better of the giraffe.
Without even undressing, he pulled the clean white sheet over him, letting the air trapped inside sooth him as it fluttered down. That clean laundry smell, of sunshine and heat, brought her vividly to life inside him. Earlier on the trail, when he’d held her close, things had been perfect. Even if he was only assisting her down from the trail, it had been perfect. The way her cheek brushed against his, the sound of her laughter as it vibrated from her chest to his back and connected them, that curl of hair bouncing against
his shoulder as he carried her down the trail.
Even if she rejected him outright, Mike knew he would try to win her. Not as an employee with a very particular set of duties, but as a man who was rapidly falling in deep like with a woman.
Fourteen
Room service was probably a bad idea, Amy thought as she surveyed the disaster that was her suite. Two half-eaten dinners, a bowl of ice cream that had not a drop left in it, and cold pots of tea and coffee lay scattered about like she’d had a party.
There were even chip crumbs in her bed.
Marion had been no help at all. Her advice was consistent, if rather single-minded. Fuck him! As in, go right now and jump him and fuck the holy bejesus out of him.
Can’t say that girl didn’t have a healthy appetite for something other than food.
The coffee was also a bad idea, because she was wide awake and it was already past nine in the evening. Throwing a jacket on over her pajamas, she decided a walk on the beach might be what she needed to finally unwind and hit the sack.
Her feet had bruises along the sides, up near her little toes. They were sore when she walked, but not so bad that she couldn’t do it at all. A little stroll through the wet sand where the surf ended might feel good. Walking through that warm, salty water might even make her feet heal faster if what people said about the sea being a healing thing was true.
Amy glanced at the hotel, at the many lights on in the rooms, and wondered which room was Mike’s. She hadn’t wanted to intrude so she hadn’t even been to his room. It was one thing to hire him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve privacy when not working.
She made a face at that. Hired. Working. Those were clinical terms and she felt very uncomfortable with them. The whole thing was starting to seem like a mistake, something she’d jumped into without thinking, morally ambiguous if not wrong. What was wrong with her that she had to hire a companion with the intent to have sex with them if she could get comfortable enough to do so?
Women didn’t need to do that. They got in the mood and let their hair down a little. They went to bed with someone, let all of their body show, and simply enjoyed the feeling of being with another person close to them. They opened themselves.
Why couldn’t she do that? Why was her mind always churning? It was not normal to have a constant litany of—what does that look like to him, is that normal, should I do this—in her head. And it had seemed like a good idea to hire a stranger, someone she didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed to see the next morning.
But it wasn’t like that. Not at all.
Mike was beautiful, yes. His body was a work of art, sculpted to make the female heart flutter. Everything about him was sexy and attractive and made her knees weak if she thought about it too long.
But he was also kind, courteous, generous with his attention, and funny. He was—for lack of a better word—great. How was she supposed to get around the simple fact that when she looked at Mike, all she could think was, Please, don’t let this end.
The water was warm around her ankles, the foamy barely-there surf tickling as it touched her bare feet and retreated once more. She stood and let her footprints deepen as the water shushed in and out, pulling the sand out from under her while she remained still.
That was what this week was like. All the sand she had thought was firm ground was being slowly pulled out from under her with each tide. Practicality—gone. Distance—gone. That firm belief that relationships just weren’t for her—going, going, gone.
Raised voices in the distance put a stop to her ruminations. It was dark, the moon a waxing crescent low in the sky. A shadow further down the beach seemed to be the source of the disturbance and if Amy had to guess, she would say it sounded like a standard lover’s squabble. It was too bad.
She hoped it wasn’t one of the honeymooning couples, though that was probably the most likely scenario. Her friends had been marrying—her circle narrowing as they paired off and socialized with other couples—but Amy still heard all about the stress. The anxiety of a wedding suddenly lifting could bring that sort of spat on.
But they always described the make-up sex as something very worthwhile, so there’s that.
The couple was moving her way, still arguing, and she didn’t want to be that unpleasant surprise listener. Regretfully, Amy left the shallows and took her bruised feet toward her cottage, thinking to sit for a while until the couple passed before returning to the water.
Their voices rose as she sat and there wasn’t any way not to hear them. The man shouted, “You think I’m blind? I won’t have it. Not here, not now. You save that for when we’re at home and only our friends will laugh at me behind my back.”
The woman responded with a bitter, “Everyone laughs at you no matter what I do. You’ve taken care of that yourself with your bouncy young things. I’ll take my fun where I want to. After thirty years of waiting for you to come home from your mistresses, you should be glad I’ve found something else to occupy me. No more waiting. No more looks that make you walk out the door again.”
They sounded older to Amy’s ears. And very bitter. It was a shock to hear it. That’s not what she wanted in her life, to wind up with a marriage clearly divided by infidelity.
They stopped at the end of the beach and stood not thirty feet from where Amy sat, trying to be small and invisible on her little porch. After a silent moment, the breeze carried the man’s words to her. “Sharon, just do me this favor. Not here. Let’s just enjoy ourselves without any of that. We were supposed to be trying. That’s why we’re here.”
Amy waited, hoping to hear the woman say something equally kind, something that would make things alright. How she got so invested in a conversation not even meant for her ears, she didn’t know. The woman didn’t give him that kindness though. Her words were sharp when she said, “I am trying. I’m just not trying for the same things you are.”
With that, the two forms separated and the woman walked back the way she came. The man stood there for a long while. Giving up any notion of going back into the warm water, Amy got up as quietly as she could and went inside. After showering, she climbed into the wonderful bed between soft sheets and thought about what she should do.
I have to decide. Do I tell him I can’t go through with this? That I’m paying him for the week and sending him home? Or do I just tell him that everything other than simply hanging out together is off the table? What would be right? She knew which one it should be.
The question was whether or not she could do it. He made her body respond in ways she hadn’t ever felt, not once. Not even once. And he’d not even touched her in that way. What might happen if she did let those accidental or innocuous touches go further, go to places she yearned for them to go, to reach all those spots on her skin that simply ached for him?
As she hugged her pillow to her stomach, trying not to think of his arms or the way his hands wrapped around her thighs, she wondered what tomorrow would really bring.
Fifteen
“So, I’ve been thinking about something,” Amy said and Mike’s stomach flipped in his body. Please be thinking about something that involves me kissing your neck.
His fork dinged on his plate and he put it down, not wanting her to see the reaction she caused in him. “What were you thinking?”
She stopped buttering her toast for a second and brought the butter knife up to her lips, tapping the plump, pink skin there with the dull side and cocking her head to look at him. “Well,” she said, smiling a little, “what do you think of snorkeling? There’s a cove that’s highly recommended with lots of fish to see.”
He almost blew out a huge sigh of relief, but stopped himself by clearing his throat. Picking up his fork again, he scooped up some eggs liberally doused with hot sauce and cubes of tomato. Trying to sound like his heart wasn’t pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, he said, “I think that’s a great idea. Snorkeling isn’t exactly great in central California where I used to hit the b
eaches.”
“Yes! I’ve never been!” she exclaimed, giving a fist pump with the butter knife that was almost a hazard to the people at the next table. Again, her butter knife swung as she checked the time. “We should go soon. I’m told it’s best early and then again, later in the day.”
Mike folded a piece of bacon into his mouth, perhaps causing a bit of the hamster cheek effect to appear. She snorted, but all he said was, “Eat up! Time’s a-wasting.”
Speed limits are sometimes mere suggestions when two people need to get somewhere to snorkel. As Mike drove, he noted Amy watching him and he couldn’t resist resting his hand on the console between them, his fingers just off her seat, but still very close to her. She gulped and looked out the window. Slowly but surely, her legs moved over to the side of the seat closest to him.
He couldn’t help the smile that rose on his face when she looked at him. He felt those strange tingling jolts in the pit of his stomach and this little car was not the place for him to try to hide an erection. He put his foot to the pedal until he had to focus on the road and not the way her legs curved at the thigh a mere arm’s reach away.
As they pulled into the dirt parking area, a cloud of dust rose around the car and they sat for a moment, letting it settle. He looked at Amy and saw her biting her lip, her eyes moving as if she were thinking hard about something.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
She gave him a rueful smile and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go enjoy this.” With that she hopped out of the car and fished her bag from the floorboard. Mike saw a man also heading away from the lot toward the water stop and stare at the no-doubt delightful view Amy accidentally offered. He scowled and the man moved on, then quickly wiped the frown away when Amy popped back up.