The Trade(42)

“Oh.” Emory rubs her hands together. “Who should we—” She pauses, and a giant smile crosses her face before she elbows Milly in the arm. “You should hook her up with your brother. They’re sharing a room already. God, how easy would it be to share a bed too?”

From the corner of my panicked eye, I see Dottie’s face morph into what I can only describe as a smile the Grinch is famous for. “Oh yeah, you should hook her up with Cory.”

If I could slam Dottie’s head against the side of the boat and get away with it, I would right about now. The temptation is real.

Before Milly can say anything, I say, “No. Not Cory. Not my type.”

Milly’s expression is unreadable while Emory’s brow pinches together in confusion. “Not your type?” she asks, surprised. “How on earth is he not your type? I’m pretty sure he’s Knox’s type.”

Things I don’t want to happen: Milly knowing I actually have a crush on her brother because Lord knows, she’d tell him, and being questioned why he’s not my type, when in fact he’s so my type that it hurts to even look at him most of the time.

“You know, maybe we change the subject. How about all those fish?” I ask. “What are they called? A school, right?”

“Don’t distract us with colorful fish talk,” Dottie says, making me want to take back my blessing of her dating my brother. “Tell us why Cory isn’t your type.” God, she’s so evil.

Clearing my throat, I play with the corner of my towel and say, “Well, you know, I’m . . . a . . . I’m partial to uh . . . you know . . .” I point my finger. “Just too many abs.”

Nothing.

Not one single word from the mouths of the three pair of eyes staring at me. Just the occasional shocked blink, as if what I said was the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever heard.

Because it was.

It really freaking was. Who doesn’t like abs? Whoever complains about a person having too many abs? Me . . . apparently.

Finally, Emory asks, “Natalie, this might be a personal question, but have you ever had sex with someone who has abs like Cory’s?”

I twist my hands together and say, “I’ve only ever had sex with Ansel.”

The girls all gasp, even Milly. “What?” Emory whispers, looking around. “You’ve only had sex with one man?”

“Well, we met in middle school, and we were together until we married. I never had a chance to explore other men.”

“Did Ansel have abs?” Dottie asks, her voice a little softer, possibly more understanding.

“Um, not really. His stomach was flat but there wasn’t any definition. He did have nice knuckles.”

“Knuckles,” Emory deadpans. “He had nice . . . knuckles?” She snorts, before covering it up and shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but did you really say knuckles?”

I laugh too, trying to assure the girls it’s okay to joke around me. I’m a fun person. “I mean, they made his hands look mature. It matters when he was all over me with them. Nothing like seeing a youthful hand on your thigh to kill the mood. Old-man knuckles is where it’s at.”

“Oh God.” Dottie covers her mouth and laughs. “You’re kind of a freak and I like it. Okay, let’s be on the lookout for old-man knuckles for our friend here.” Dottie asks Milly, “Does Cory have old-man knuckles?”

She shrugs. “No idea. I know he has knuckles, at least.”

“Enough with the knuckles, we need to talk about having sex with a man with abs,” Emory says looking me straight in the eyes. “You need to know what it’s like to look down the man who’s driving his pelvis into you and see the flexing and contracting of his tight, perfectly defined abs. It’s positively the sexiest thing ever. Don’t you agree, ladies?”

Given the expanse of sculpted and roped skin that sits only a few feet away, I can only imagine every girl sitting around me having a positive opinion on the matter. I glance behind me to take a quick look at the men sunbathing on the boat. The best bodies I’ve ever seen lined up in a row, neon bathing suit trunks spanning over their crotches, like a sign, pointing at their penises, telling exactly where to look next after you’ve gotten your fill of their corded torsos.

Milly and Dottie both nod their heads at Emory’s question. “Abs aren’t everything,” Emory continues, “but let me tell you, they’re a very nice added bonus.” I shrug, as if it doesn’t matter to me. And it doesn’t, but I mean, if the guy has abs, I’m not going to ask him to put them away either.

Stepping in, Dottie says, “Okay, so Cory is not your type.” She gives me a look, and I know she’s calling me out with her eyes about me being a liar. That’s fine, as long as she keeps using her eyes and not her mouth. “Let’s see if we can find someone on this island who will light up that dusty flower you have between your legs.”

“Can you not call it dusty . . . or a flower for that matter?” Emory says with a disgusted look. “But I do like the idea of finding an island romance for her. There are a lot of employees at the resort we could flirt with.”

I smile at the girls and say, “Or how about we spend our time here, sunbathing and relaxing?”

“Or . . .” Dottie says with a smirk, “we can hook you up with Cory.”