I’m frozen in time and completely at her mercy. This is what it’s felt like, ever since I met her, this desperate need to come inside her, followed by the pain of knowing that the feeling can’t last forever.
She kisses my temple. My cheekbone. The side of my jaw. The top of my shoulder and then wraps her legs tight around the backs of mine, keeping me inside her.
It’s perfect.
My sweet little devil.
I relax on top of her and drift off into some half-waking, half-sleep state that makes me wonder if this is all a dream.
“Is there room service?” I ask. The sun is going down, and we’re still on the bed, wrapped around each other.
“I think we have to go down to the lobby bar for food at this point. We can go for a walk around the property too.”
“Sounds good.”
Neither of us moves.
“Eventually.”
“Yeah.” I nestle my face into her belly and hug her waist while she trails her fingers through my hair. “I really like this place so far,” I say.
She laughs. “And to think I was worried it wouldn’t be your speed.”
I exhale.
“To think I was worried that I wouldn’t be your speed.”
I lift one hand up to hold hers.
“I don’t know how you did it,” she whispers after a long pause.
“Did what?”
“Got me to bring you home with me after knowing you for an hour. I keep thinking about it. It’s like there was one moment in time that I’d be open to something like that, and you somehow found me there.”
“It’s funny you’d say that. Because I’ve been thinking that you’re the one who found me. Or…you keep finding these parts of me that I didn’t know existed.”
She presses her lips against the top of my head, and then I feel her body tremble and know that she’s laughing. “I’m sorry! It’s so sweet that you said that, but—”
“Yeah yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it. You’re like an adolescent boy sometimes, you know that?”
“I’m sorry. I love that you said that. I just…”
I affect a dorky voice. “Hey, what’s this thing hanging off my pelvis? I didn’t even know that was there before—thanks, Nina!”
She mimics the dorky voice. “Hey, what’s this thing behind my forehead? Oh honey, that’s your frontal lobe.”
I tackle her. “You’ve found a side of me I didn’t know I had. How’s that?”
“Your good side? Finally?”
“My best side. Miss Parks, you are a Grade A smartass.” I smack her butt.
She sticks the tip of her index finger in her mouth and bites it, rolling her eyeballs up like the secretly naughty good girl that she is.
“Hey…” I am about to tell her I am so fucking head over heels in love with her, but suddenly the walls shake and we hear a door slam. A man’s and woman’s voices heard through the wall behind our bed, somewhat hushed but definitely an argument.
We both tilt our heads toward the wall to listen because it sounds…not heated so much as mean. A lot of seething anger. Bad vibes.
“Should we go down and get something to eat now?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“What were you going to say?”
“I’ll tell ya later.”
Probably best not to say it on the first night that we’re here anyway. In case shit gets awkward. Things do get awkward for everyone eventually, as our charming neighbors have reminded me.
20
Nina
He left the Rumi book on the bedside table. For a self-proclaimed nonreader, I am impressed that he has respected the spine of the book by not leaving it open facedown. He is in the bathroom, done showering. But I can’t help but pick up the book to check to see if it looks read. He hasn’t said anything since I gave it to him, which is fine—it’s hard to talk about poetry. You either get it or you don’t. I can tell immediately that every page has been looked at. Flipping through it, I see that he has underlined many sentences from the introduction by the translator and earmarked one page.
I hear him talking in the bathroom, probably on the phone. I have to see what page he earmarked. I flip to it and see that it’s my favorite poem, a tiny one. “The minute I heard my first love story…” and he wrote in pencil, on the page: THIS
I put the book back the way it was on the bedside table, smiling and feeling warm all over.
Yes. This.
The bathroom door opens. Vince walks out wearing nothing but his swim trunks, looking all shiny and new, and I feel warm all over in a completely different way. But when I hear Charlie’s voice through his phone, I sit up straight and get into Miss Parks-mode. I’m wearing a flimsy sundress over my bikini and need to make sure I don’t accidentally expose too much of myself.
“Show me the room!” Charlie says. Vince turns his phone around to give him a 360 of the room. I wave at Charlie’s little face on the screen. “Oh hey!”
“Morning!”
Vince brings the phone over to me on the bed. His dad’s face pops into view.
“Hey, Nina. We could use your help with something.”
“Hi, Neil.”
Vince gives me his phone to hold and immediately slides his hand up my dress, between my legs. I try to push his hand away without his dad noticing.
“Charlie here is going to his friend’s birthday party this afternoon, and we haven’t got her a present yet. He wants to get her a book. Thoughts? She’s eight.”
“Oh Charlie, is this the girl who gave you Matilda?”
“Yes.” He frowns. And blushes.
“Did you finish reading it?”
“Yeah, I liked it.”
“Well, maybe you should give her one of your favorite books.”
“She’s already read Harry Potter.”
“Okay, what else do you like? What other books do you re-read when you get the chance?”
“Holes. Phantom Tollbooth, I guess.”
“Great books! I love Holes, but since I don’t know the girl, it might be a little dark for her. You should get her Phantom Tollbooth, and then you can talk about it.”
Vince is snickering, and Neil rolls his eyes.
“I think you should talk to your girlfriend about holes,” Vince says to Charlie.
“Oh my God.” I punch his bicep. “You dork.”
“She’s not my girlfriend!”
“Where’s Gabe when you need him?” Vince shakes his head.
“Okay, we gotta go to the bookstore. Thanks, Nina. Have fun, you guys. Stay outta trouble.”
“Not a chance.”
“Have fun at the party, Charlie!”
Vince ends the call and tosses the phone away before I can stop him from pulling off my dress. My lukewarm complaints about how we have to get out to enjoy the sun and let housekeeping clean the room go ignored.
It took another hour to get out of the hotel room because we both had to ensure that the other was thoroughly covered in sunscreen. My body has never felt so adored and attended to, and seeing the man Eve referred to as “Mr. Seriously Sexy” behave like an insatiable teenager at times is flattering to say the least.
The resort is fully booked, so it is not surprising to find that all of the recliners around the pools are taken by the time we circle the area. I notice about fifty different women of all ages—moms and grandmas, women on their honeymoons—checking out the delicious man I’m holding hands with. I do not blame them. He looks super fine in his swim trunks, tank top, and aviators.
“Let’s go down to the waterfront. There’s a beach, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do that.” He could have said Let’s go to hell—it’s warm there, right? And I would have just stared at his butt and said, Yeah. Let’s do that.
“Hang on. I wanna get a picture of us with this view. Look at that. It’s gorgeous here.”
It really is. It’s a beautiful day, and the location of this resort, in the Adirondacks,
on the lake, is perfect. It’s hard to believe I made these reservations for Russell and me. He probably would have insisted on spending the days seeking out antiques and dining. And I would have made myself believe that I like it.
I feel self-conscious when Vince holds up his camera to take a picture of us. This is the first time we’ve taken an “usie” together. He leans in, cheek pressed up against mine, and takes three shots. He looks at the pictures. “Damn. We look good together.”
Damn. We do look good together. He texts me the pictures, and I try to ignore the sinking feeling that those will one day be the only evidence of our summer together. I shake it off and let him lead me down to the beach, where there are slightly fewer people for some reason.
“Why would anyone want to sit around a pool when they could be by the lake?” he wonders aloud.
“I have no idea.”
We place our towels and things on two side-by-side patio lounge chairs and look out at the lake.
“You want to go in the water?”
“Not yet. Let’s get some sun first.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He lies back and closes his eyes.
It isn’t anywhere near as humid here as it is in the city now, and I love it. I find myself wondering if we can squeeze in another weekend getaway before the summer is over.
The relative quiet is suddenly disturbed when a woman squeals as a man picks her up and hangs her over his shoulder and then drops her into the lake. She splashes him before standing up, casually rearranging her tight little bikini over her lady bits.
As they walk back up the beach, I realize they’re heading for the two empty lounge chairs next to mine. They both stare at us as they slow their pace.
It takes my brain about five long seconds to recognize the man as my former fiancé. He looks like a Mad Man-era hot dad in his slim red swim trunks. Or a vampire principal from a CW show (you know, the kind that can go out in broad daylight). He is frowning and wrinkling his forehead as he approaches, straining to see me in the sun and also probably formulating a strategy for how to deal with me.
The woman reaches for the towel on the chair next to mine, turning her toned backside to me as she dries off.
I realize my mouth is hanging open. Time has slowed down, and I am not aware of anything else in the world except this woman who’s standing next to me.
I have had this image of Sadie the nanny in my mind. In my mind, she is blonde, blue-eyed, buxom, with creamy skin and she smells like strawberries. A sexed-up Julie Andrews. Essentially, the opposite of me (a not sexed-up Julie Andrews)—although I do sometimes smell like strawberries.
The real Sadie is indeed blonde, bleached with hot pink streaks in her hair, a lean, lithe, yet somehow also infuriatingly curvy body, and an elaborate lower back tattoo that basically looks like an exposed black lace thong. I mean. I could see why guys would find that attractive. But why not just wear a black lace thong? They always end up creeping out of the top of jeans anyway. Wouldn’t it look dumb if she wore patterned boy shorts one day and then the tattoo peeked out behind that? And that’s when I realize: she doesn’t wear underwear. Of course. Why would twenty-two-year-old blonde tattooed Sadie wear underwear? Therein lies the main difference between Sadie and me. You take one look at her and start obsessing about her underpants situation. Take one look at me and you think: I bet she’s really good at reading Captain Underpants books out loud.
I feel sick. It’s not a judgment on Sadie. It’s the insidious realization that the two men I’ve most recently had sex with have also recently had sex with this super sexy sexbot. I had somehow managed not to think about it for thirty glorious seconds, and now I can’t imagine ever not thinking about it. I don’t have self-esteem issues, but let’s get real here: I could totally understand why a man would want to procreate with me, because obviously I will be an amazing mom. But why would anyone want to have recreational sex with me after doing it with her? That must be like going from snorting cocaine to drinking a warm can of Coke. There’s no way Vince wanted to have sex with me for any reason other than revenge. It doesn’t make sense.
As he towels off, Russell says, as casually as if he were greeting a stranger, “Hello, Nina.”
Sadie turns her head to look at me just as Vince raises himself up on one elbow, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.
“Vince?” Her voice is deep and Slavic. Also not what I expected. “What the fuck?”
“Shit,” he mutters. He sits up and reaches for my hand.
“Wait, what?” Russell’s voice remains ostensibly calm, but I can see and hear the tension. “What’s going on here?”
I refuse to feel like a couple of kids who have been caught fooling around under the bleachers, because that is the tone he’s using right now.
“Hello, Russell,” I say. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Wait, so…that’s your Nina?” Sadie says to Russell. “Because that’s my Vince.”
“Not anymore,” Vince says, squeezing my hand.
Russell holds his hand up in the air. “What is happening here?”
“Not much. What’s happening with you?” Vince removes his sunglasses and looks Russell straight in the eyes.
“Nina, did you follow us here?”
“Are you kidding me? Did you follow us? Because I made reservations like three months ago. You can ask the front desk.”
Russell’s jaw tightens, but his shoulders relax. “Well, so did I.”
A look passes between us, barely anything, but we silently realize that we both made surprise reservations for our three-year anniversary here. Because we both heard the librarian rave about it.
“Imagine that,” I say.
“So…wait,” says Sadie, dramatically rubbing her temples. “So you guys are together? How did that happen?”
“It’s really none of your business,” mumbles Vince.
“You sure about that? Because it seems like it has a lot to do with me and Russell. Don’t you think, Russ?”
Russ? He doesn’t let anyone call him Russ. He is so not a Russ.
He considers before responding and then comes up with this jewel: “I think it’s their business how they choose to deal with things.”
Vince guffaws. “Wow. You really are a principal.”
“Okay,” says Sadie. “Okay. Whatever. So you guys are together, and you’re here and we’re here. Okay. Hi, I’m Sadie,” she says to me, extending her hand.
I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sadie. I’m Nina.”
Vince and Russell just stare each other down, and I feel like I’m in Call of the Wild for a second.
“So anyway. Good to see you, Vince.” Sadie sits down at the edge of the lounge chair and proceeds to towel-dry her hair. “How’s Charlie?”
“Fine. He’s great, actually.”
“I miss him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I bet he doesn’t even remember me.”
“He remembers you. He missed you for like a week, but he’s okay.”
“I wish he had a phone so I could text him.”
“Yeah, well. He’s eight.”
“Right. God forbid a Devlin man should keep in touch with a girl.”
“Right. That’s the point.”
“We should get back to the room,” Russell states as he’s folding up his towel.
“Yeah. Hey, babe?” Sadie says to Russ. “When’s our dinner reservation for? Seven?”
“Yes.”
“You guys should join us. We got a table at the restaurant here. Out on the deck.”
“I’m sure they have other plans, babe,” says Russell.
“Not for dinner,” someone says, and I am shocked to realize that it is Vince. “Right, baby? We’d love to join you guys. Thanks.”
I feel Vince tighten his grip on my hand briefly. “Sure, why not,” I mumble.
“Cool. It’ll be good to catch up. Clear the air and all that, yeah?” She picks up her flip-flops and starts t
o walk away with Russell. “See you there at seven!”
When they are out of sight, Vince lies back and covers his face, laughing. “What the fuck just happened?”
“Why did you say yes?”
He sits back up and takes my hands in his. “If you don’t want to go, we won’t go. That guy was just so uncomfortable, I couldn’t help it.”
“Vince. I still have to work with him every day starting in September. He’s my supervisor.” I feel sick again. And suddenly angry. Not at them—at Vince. “Is this still all about getting back at Russell for you?”
He seems genuinely shocked by this question. “Are you seriously asking me that?”
“Yes, I’m asking you, instead of wondering about it silently to myself until I throw up.”
“Nina. It hasn’t been about that since I met you. It’s definitely not about that now. I just don’t like the guy, and I wanted to piss him off. I have a thing about principals. Baby, I’m sorry. We don’t have to go to dinner with them. We can leave if you want to.” He rubs his lips together, thinking. “I can try to find another resort around here. I know a guy who owns a resort at Lake Placid. It’s not as nice as this, but…”
“No, I like it here. I don’t want to leave. They should leave.”
“I agree.” He moves over to my lounge chair and wraps his arms around me. “Come on. Don’t you think it would be fun? They’re the weirdest fucking couple ever, and we’re amazing. It’s kind of hilarious.”
“Yeah, but…I just don’t want to make this about them.”
“Nothing’s about them. Everything’s about us. Come on, it’ll be fun. If it’s not, we’ll leave.”
I wrinkle my nose. “It is so weird seeing them together.”
“Right? But what’s weirder is seeing you and him together. I mean, Sadie’s got daddy issues, but you…?”
“I know. I’m not going to explain it again. It made sense when it made sense.”
He kisses my shoulder and then wipes his mouth because sunscreen doesn’t taste good. He puts his aviators back on, resting his hand on my thigh. He’s almost always touching me. I stare at his beautiful face. I love that face. I want that face all up in my face. When he looks over at me, I can tell he’s feeling the exact same rush as I am all of a sudden.
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 15