Wet: Part 2

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  “No Frock,” he grimaced. He wanted her—really wanted her—and he wasn’t used to not getting what—who—he wanted. The irony of the whole thing would have made him laugh if it wasn’t so damned frustrating. His ability to win anyone else was the very reason he couldn’t have her. So he’d taken a page from her book and set his own goal to get his life under control, if possible . . . so far, so good.

  “You’re right. Sorry.” His face twisted up in thought. “First off, I should drink. People expect it.” He hadn’t been drinking his usual amount since the night he kissed her in her bedroom. He wanted to be careful, to ensure nothing like that happened again. He needed to stay clear to keep on track with his new goal.

  “Then, when the sharks start to circle—” It embarrassed him to admit aloud how he knew the girls would compete for his attention, but they would. “—I’ll look your way and pay no attention to any of them, at all. I’ll only have eyes for you.”

  Rhees made a skeptical face, probably not meant for him to see, but he did.

  She doesn’t believe that’s possible, he thought. He’d let the way he’d said he’d only have eyes for her, sound like a joke, but—Shelli knew it was true, several other girls too. They’d said as much. They wished he would just have Rhees so he could finally move on. In the back of his mind, he never allowed himself to dwell on the thought too long. He’d begun to enjoy not moving on.

  “And at some point in the night, I just need to do what I usually do, make my move. We’re talking blatant, over-the-top, gross, non-disputable PDA—typical Paul style, and then I’ll drag you off with me, leaving everyone to gossip about what they’re sure will happen when I get you home.” He watched her eyes, waiting for her reaction, suspecting she’d be uncomfortable.

  Right on cue, she grew anxious, wringing her hands, practically trembling, on the verge of hyperventilating. She jumped up and walked to the far corner of the room. He stood too and grabbed her, putting a stop to her pacing.

  “Rhees.” He kept his voice low and comforting, the tone he used during the night to calm her down when she woke crying and thrashing in the bed. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please?”

  “Paul.” She scrunched her eyes closed and made a pained face. “There’s something wrong with me. I get nervous . . . uptight—scared even—with intimacy . . . I freak out!”

  “No shit!” He chuckled. He’d hoped for an explanation as to why, not an admission of what he already knew.

  She just stared, shamefaced, not saying a word.

  “Yeah! It’s kind of hard to miss . . .” He watched her for a second then glanced down, bashfully. “But it’s nice to hear it isn’t just me.”

  “If you already know the way I am, what makes you think we can pull off what you’ve planned? It’s not going to convince anyone if I panic and start screaming at you to get away from me.” The volume of her voice steadily increased.

  He pulled her chin up with his finger and tilted his head, studying her.

  “Then don’t.”

  “I can’t. Help. It.”

  He stepped closer, reached for her hands and held them. “I know. But you’re letting me touch you now.”

  “You can’t tell how fast my heart is beating.”

  “You kissed me at Ray’s, and it seemed quite convincing to me.”

  “I was just pretending to be grown up. I was making a point. You’re the one who turned it into . . . convincing.”

  “I wake up every morning with you all draped around me like your life depends on being close.”

  “I’m not conscious when I do that!” Her answers amused him.

  “Don’t you see?” Her voice raised a couple of octaves. “This isn’t going to work! No one will believe you could possibly be happy with a frigid, uptight freak like me.”

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

  She took a step back, tried to put some space between them, but he stepped closer again.

  “Paul! The point of this whole idea has everything to do with what everyone thinks.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He pretended to scowl as if his plan had just collapsed. He feigned concern, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. “What shall we do?”

  It was her turn to smirk. “You tell me, smarty pants. You obviously have an idea, or you wouldn’t look so smug.”

  “I think we should practice.” He drawled his sometimes accent on the last word and put his hand over her butt, pulling her sharply against him. He leaned to within an inch of her face and studied her, waiting to see what she’d do.

  She tried to brave through it, closed her eyes. He squeezed, wrapped his other arm around her waist and stroked her back. She fidgeted for a second before she twisted sideways to him, as much as his strong hold allowed. He didn’t allow her to turn too far. Using her elbows, her forearms braced along his chest, she set her hands firmly on his shoulders to maintain some space, unwilling or unable to look him in the eye.

  “See? You can do this.”

  She stopped pressing away from him to laugh. “Yeah, looks like I can’t keep my hands off you, I’m wilting, right in your arms.” “That reminds me—I have a questionnaire I need you to fill out.”

  They both laughed for a second, but as the merriment subsided, without thinking, one of his hands reached up and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before he leaned down and brushed her lips with his. She tensed and tried to duck away but seemed to regret it immediately. “Sorry, reflex.”

  “Relax. Look at me.” She finally met his gaze and he felt her ease in his arms, but the concern lingered in her eyes. “Remember your first dive? You practically tackled me on the shelf. I thought you were going to jump my bones, right there.”

  Her eyes grew wide, full of disbelief at his audacity. He used the distraction to bring her in even closer. “. . . And as we ascended, you clung to me so close—you couldn’t keep your hands off me. Can’t talk underwater . . . or I would’ve said, ‘Rhees, not now, I’m too busy saving your life’!”

  She didn’t seem to notice how intimately he played with her backside. She just gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing again, several times before she finally found her tongue.

  “It wasn’t like that and you know it. I was more afraid of dying than getting ra—” She cut herself off abruptly and looked down.

  “Than getting what?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head, refusing to look at him again. He made a thoughtful face and moved along.

  “Rhees, I’m holding you very close . . . taking liberties with your ass. He’s getting all hopeful and excited, but you haven’t flinched. You’re not tense, writhing, or screaming. You’ve even stopped pushing me away. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. You—you’re flustrating me.” She shook her head again, still looking down.

  “Flustrating.” He narrowed his eyes to think before one of the corners of his mouth twitched up. “Let me guess. Flustered and frustrated. I like how you do that.”

  He gently weaved his fingers into her hair and pulled just enough to bring her face up to look at him so she couldn’t get away. He kiss-bombed her mouth. His tongue pushed its way inside, eagerly. He continued mauling her mouth until she gagged. He threw his head back and laughed.

  “What the crap was that?” She glared at him indignantly.

  “Practice.” He tried to stop laughing, but it took him a second. “You didn’t push me away or crawl out of your skin.”

  Again, her mouth hung open, appalled.

  “You did gag . . .” He feigned serious contemplation with a slow-forming grin. “But that may have had more to do with my germs than whatever it is you have going on about being touched. Did you gag because of my germs? Or something else?”

  “You’re not funny,” she snapped. “None of this is funny.�
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  “If you’re having second thoughts—have you changed your mind?”

  “No.” She’d been a mess since the Mario incident. Panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, paranoia. She couldn’t be alone for very long without driving herself into a hysterical frenzy, but Paul was always there for her, always able to help her through it. He’d become her anchor.

  “No, you haven’t changed your mind, or no, you don’t want to do this anymore?”

  She shook her head, confused. “I haven’t changed my mind, but you’re—”

  “Rhees, you’re tough as nails. You can do this.” He didn’t seem to be going for the laugh anymore.

  “You always say that, but I don’t feel so tough.”

  “You can do this because you’re—we’re making a point, we’re pretending, try not to be so conscious of everything all the time, and maybe think about how much worse it’ll be if we don’t pull this off.” He used every one of her excuses. He still had a hold of her and she still didn’t notice or mind. “You won’t be alone. I’m in this too.”

  He tightened his hold around her waist and leaned in for another kiss, but she tensed, her hands squeezed his arms where she’d placed them, giving a push while she turned her head. He breathed a heavy sigh of defeat.

  “See!” she cried when she realized what she’d done.

  “Okay, plan B. We get you drunk.”

  “I don’t like to drink. It tastes nasty and the last time, it made me sick.”

  “Don’t drink because it tastes good. Drink to relax. And yeah, the last time, you overdid it. You really shouldn’t have inhaled my drink the way you did. I’m talking drunk, not wasted. Do you remember what happened after the dance contest?” She shook her head, embarrassed about being too drunk to remember.

  “I scraped you up off the dance floor and brought you home.” He watched her carefully as he shared the information. “You were awl over me.”

  “I was not!”

  “Oh, yeah. You wawnted me—jumping into my arms, hugging me, hanging on me—of course, you couldn’t really walk . . . so maybe I read a little too much into that.” A serious crease formed between his eyebrows. “But awl that kissing. Well, in retrospect, I might have been the one initiating the kissing, so . . .”

  There were so many holes in her memory of that night, she couldn’t be sure if he was teasing or not. In spite of the shock of hearing about it for the first time, she fought to suppress a smile . . . a laugh. She’d never seen this side of him, keyed up, energetic, animated even, funny and so cute.

  His tone suddenly changed to sound almost fatherly. “I am nawt going to stand here and argue who was all over whom.”

  That tipped the scales and she covered her mouth with her knuckles to hide her smile.

  “I was quite the gentleman. Well, mostly—but my point is, you didn’t wither, cringe, or crawl out of your skin that night. Not once.” He squinted, and his mouth twitched while he watched her process the information. An apparent afterthought made him grin and a look of awe entered his eyes along with a hint of mischief.

  “Your breasts are real by the way,” he said with complete seriousness.

  “Of course they are,” she huffed. “Why would someone like me want to draw that sort of attention to myself?” Horror crossed her face again as she realized. “How do you know?”

  “No scars.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. How would you know I don’t have scars?”

  “I couldn’t let you sleep in that pretty dress.” He seemed to get a kick out of the stupefied look on her face. “After very prudently removing said dress, I asked where your pajamas were. You told me you didn’t have any on the island; that you slept in a bra and panties. I mentioned that didn’t sound comfortable, and you launched into an explanation of how your mother had warned you, girls who are endowed as well as you and her needed to wear a bra to bed or your ‘boobs’ would hang down to your belly button by the time you were thirty.” He couldn’t fight his smirk anymore.

  “So I left your bra on, but when I sat on the edge of your bed to reset your alarm clock—I figured you’d appreciate a little extra time to sleep it off—I saw your sports bra hanging in the bathroom. It looked like you’d washed it and left it there to dry. I thought it looked more comfortable than the underwire bra you were wearing at the time.” He paused. “So I changed it for you and got you into bed.”

  He watched, waiting for what he knew was coming. She turned pale but stared at him with absolute incredulity.

  “Oh, sure! You look at me like that now, but you thanked me that night, said I was very helpful. You told me you were surprised I could be so nice. I can be nice . . . if I want to.”

  She stood frozen, like a wax museum statue, just staring at him.

  “I swear, I didn’t even look,” he insisted innocently, snapping her out of it.

  “Liar! You looked for scars!”

  “Oops. Okay, I looked . . . a little, but I didn’t see anything.” He held his hands up in mock surrender, loving the look on her face. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, except the. Most awesome. Beautiful. Real breasts I’ve e-ver seen in my life. And in my defense, I didn’t know you were keeping them private at that point. Okay, since you won’t let it go, I admit it. Maybe it was a little revenge thing . . . for lying to me, because I still thought you lied to me at that point. If I had to do it again, now that I know you didn’t lie, I would never have taken that revenge look—it was just a revenge glimpse, really. But now, knowing you didn’t lie, it would have totally been all about lust—I would have so taken a lust look, totally. So aren’t you glad I thought you lied to me?”

  She covered her face with her hands in utter embarrassment, and he laughed again.

  “I was drunk,” he exclaimed. “But you were even drunker than I was.” He closed his eyes, but then opened one of them, looking at her warily. “Want me to shut up now?”

  She giggled, too amused by his performance to be angry. “Case in point. You said you have to drink tonight because everyone expects it. If I’m drinking too—”

  “Oh please. I can look like I’m drinking everyone under the table.” He let go of her and leaned against the small desk attached to the wall, next to the bathroom. “I’ve worked very hard for years to reach this level of alcohol tolerance. I only get sloppy drunk if I mean to. Trust me.”

  She nodded. She did trust him. She trusted him more before he’d confessed to his unappreciated peep show. He’d meant trusting him to know his alcohol tolerance, but he didn’t have to stop the night on the deck, the night she’d asked him to deflower her and he . . . didn’t. She trusted him with more.

  “And in spite of your incapacitation, you handled yourself, and me, cussed me out, slapped me around.” He snickered. “You’re tough as nails, you know that, right?” She rolled her eyes.

  “I’ve never known anyone like you, you’re so sweet and nice, and vulnerable—defenseless almost, as if you couldn’t hurt a fly, but man, push you into a corner, you come out slugging. And girl, you pack one hell of a punch!”

  “My mom used to say something like that.” She half smiled. He took her hands in his.

  “I know I’ve been kidding around about all this stuff, but I wanted to cheer you up, make you laugh, because Rhees, I know tonight is going to tax your limits and you’re worried, scared, but we make a good team. You didn’t die at the bottom of the ocean. And you breathed new life into my dive shop with your new marketing strategies. You called me the epitome of everything you don’t want, which really hurt until I realized it was true, and I didn’t want to be the epitome anymore. And the night that creepazoid—we’ve been through some pretty taxing situations, but we made it through, together. I’ll help you through this. We can get through this night, together.”

  She opened her
mouth to say something, but he pulled her close again and put his finger to her lips.

  “But just to tip the odds in our favor, I have a present.” He walked out to the porch where he’d left a bottle of wine and two glasses. He carried it back in and proceeded to open the bottle. He winked at her, first a half wink with his right eye, and then a full on wink with his left.

  “Let’s get you drunk, not wasted, just relaxed. This will get us started, anyway.”

  “Paul? Are you sure you want to do this? You’re giving up so much.”

  He stared at her. Her eyes, her beautiful, honey brown eyes, shined. He turned his attention back to the bottle and concentrated on opening and pouring the wine. He had to clear his throat before he could answer.

  “I’m not giving up anything I care about.”

  Chapter 5

  Paul and Rhees showed up at the shop together but were separated as soon as people started to arrive, demanding Paul’s attention to get the party underway.

  “Have a drink,” he said, pointing to a cooler. He turned to follow Mitch and Eddie, off to help carry tables to the deck.

  She grabbed a beer. She could finally tolerate those after spending time with Paul. She pulled a chair over to her favorite spot on the edge of the deck while she waited for things to get started. She found it fascinating, and lost track of time watching people show up and transform from socially awkward sober to loud, life of the party a few drinks later.

  The deck party had been dubbed in honor of Peder and Assif, who planned to leave the dive shop and the island. They’d heard the next diving destination calling to their vagabond souls and decided to heed the call and move on. Also, the shop’s most recent guests, a group of college students who’d rewarded themselves for their recent graduation by coming to Paradise Divers, would be leaving the next morning.