Left Drowning(93)

I would know him from any distance. I’m confused as to why this phrase recurs to me obsessively as I finish my quick laps. I’m convinced that I’m missing something in this thought, but I don’t know what.

I lift myself onto the end of the dock, emerging from the water chilled to the core but energized all the same. I take my towel and wrap it around me, taking in the scene on the lawn ahead of me. Sabin is fiddling with perfecting the outdoor lights as Jonah sits poised by his side. Estelle and Zach are having some sort of wild dance-off on top of the picnic table; James pulls himself away from staring entranced at my former roommate to throw another log into the fire pit. Zach and James spent an afternoon last week making it, and now we have a great spot to hang out after dark. Chris is standing on the rocky shore, a few yards from the start of the long dock. I start the walk over the weathered wood.

“Good night for a fire,” I say. The music blaring from the outdoor speakers and the group’s noise make me have to raise my voice.

Chris doesn’t answer me, although he follows me with his eyes as I approach him.

“Chris?”

He is staring intensely at me. “Yeah.”

“You all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that you look cold.”

“I am. I’m going to take a hot shower.” I gesture behind me. The outdoor shower is probably my favorite thing here. Before this summer, I’d never showered outside, but there’s nothing like it. It took three rounds of scrubbing the wood walls with bleach and then going over them with a coat of sealer to make the shower feel truly clean, but now the roomy enclosure is heaven.

I start to walk ahead, but then turn back. “Hey, Chris? I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Are you worried about Sabin at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s … he’s been drinking a lot.”

“Yeah.” Chris sighs. “I know.”

“So are you concerned?”

He shrugs. “I think he’s just a little lonely. You know, for female companionship. He loves it here, obviously, but it’s not the college scene that he’s used to. He wants to go out tonight and pick up a tourist.”

“Okay. If that’s all you think it is.”

He takes a step into me. “Don’t frown. I don’t like to see you unhappy.” He touches my face for a second.

Without warning, the energy and the sexual tension between us erupt and eclipse the background noise.

“I missed you,” he says. “I don’t know how to tell you how much.”

It’s not just what he says, but the way he looks. I take his hand and walk him to the shower. He steps in behind me and shuts the door. Immediately, his hands touch the top of mine, and the back of his fingers glide up my arms, making me shiver.

“Still cold?” he whispers.

I turn around and shake my head. We lift his sweatshirt over his head so that he is in his swimsuit, too. I put my hand on his chest and push him to the bench that runs against one side of the shower. “Sit,” I tell him.

The music and laughter from the others fill the air, and we both smile when Sabin yells, “What do you mean we’re out of graham crackers? How are we supposed to make s’mores?”

I turn on the faucet and stand under the hot water while Chris watches me. Moving slowly, I take my time, wanting him to be sure. There is no way we can take this step and not have it mean something. Plus, I don’t mind teasing him because fair is fair. I’ve spent the past month enduring his running around the property in shorts and nothing else. He’s even more toned and strong now than he was in college. All the hikes that we’ve done on Cadillac Mountain combined with the laboring on the house have cut more lines into his body. Just because I haven’t thrown myself at him doesn’t mean that I haven’t noticed. I rest my foot next to him and cover my leg with shaving cream. I shave more slowly than necessary, and Chris doesn’t look away for even a fraction of a second. When he slides his palm up my leg, I let him get as far as midthigh before I remove his hand and step back under the water. “You’re killing me,” he says.

“Good.” I wash my hair, arching my back and lifting my ass in his direction. When I inch a soapy hand under the top of my suit, he practically growls.

Chris reaches for me. “Come here, beautiful. I can’t keep my hands off you any longer.” I allow him to pull me in, and I straddle him, sitting up so that I can look at the person who I have ached over for all these months. Getting to feel his body underneath me again is electrifying. I run my fingers through his hair, and he does the same as I let my head fall back. He caresses my back and arms, moving to my waist, up the front of my suit and over my breasts. I move my hips slightly against him, feeling him get hard, while my fingers graze over his chest. For a while, we do nothing but touch each other like this, gently and slowly, starting to explore each other again.

“Chris?”

“Yeah, baby?” He places a finger on my face and traces it over my jaw, down my neck, distracting me from what I want to ask.

“You really haven’t … since us? With anyone else? With her?”

He smiles softly. “No.”

“Why? From what I’ve heard, you used to”—I smile flirtatiously—“get around enough.” I touch my fingers teasingly to his lips, and he sucks on them. The shock that tears through me at the feel of his mouth makes me inhale sharply. “You seem to like sex enough.”