Стейси Кестуик - Wet

Rue perched on her stool, drinking her second up of coffee and scrolling through her phone, while West and I cleaned up the kitchen — which would’ve gone faster if I could make myself stop staring at his rippled muscles as he towel-dried the pans, but I wasn’t complaining.

His hip bumped mine as I scrubbed the skillets in the sink, and suds sloshed over the edge, dripping to the tiled floor. I watched the path the bubbles were making down the cabinet but didn’t move to catch it right away, instead giving him a questioning look.

“I have clients booked all week, but are you free next Saturday?”

I shook my head, my wavy strands falling in my face. “I’m shooting a wedding that morning. I won’t be done until late afternoon.”

West’s face fell. “I wanted to try to take you paddleboarding. I think you’d like it. We could go for a short ride before it gets dark if you get done in time.”

I took a deep breath. The man did not know how to ask.

“I’ve never done that before,” I said.

“You’ll love it,” he promised. “We’ll stick to the creeks where there are no waves. It’s a good place to see dolphins too.”

“We’ll see if I get done in time.”

“I’ll wait so you can come with me,” he countered.

I laughed. “I think you already took care of that last night.”

Rue slapped the counter. “I can hear you, you know.” She shoved her empty coffee cup next to the sink, pausing next to me. “ This is why we have rules!” Shooting a final glare at the bare-chested man next to me, she stomped off to her room, shutting the door. Loud music thumped from that side of the cottage a minute later.

I twisted my lips. “I don’t think the pancake penis was enough.”

He slanted me a wary look. “I ain’t offering her any other kind. She looks like she might bite.”

“Mmm. I wouldn’t mind giving you a little nibble.”

Reaching across me, he turned off the faucet and started pulling me back toward my room, the expression on his face saying it all. I barely noticed my soap-covered hands leaving a trail of puddles behind me as he tugged on the hem of the oversized t-shirt — his shirt — that hung around my thighs. I locked the door behind us and turned up my radio too.

Yeah, rules were made to be broken.

Apparently, so were dates.

I frowned at my phone, looking at the text from West on Friday. Sorry, babe, something came up. We’ll have to reschedule paddleboarding.

The whole week had been an awkward series of mixed signals.

Monday morning, I’d found a paper airplane tucked under my windshield wiper, along with a Starbucks gift card. Unfolding the notebook paper, I’d read his sweet message: Wish I was there to make you breakfast this morning again. This is the best I can do.

I’d texted him a thank you but had gotten no response. All day. I texted him twice the next day. Same thing.

Radio silence.

Annoyed, I’d put him out of my head on Wednesday, squeezing in another boudoir photo shoot after work for the wife of the president of the local hospital. She’d looked fabulous, but I’m guessing that’s one of the perks of having friends who were plastic surgeons.

I assumed Aubrey was responsible for that referral, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask the precious older lady how she’d gotten my name. Betty had been adorable, though, feisty and irreverent and more than willing to follow my directions. She’d even brought along a naughty nurse’s outfit, and her outrageous personality shined through the poses. It was too bad I couldn’t use the boudoir images for advertising purposes — some of my best work recently had come from those bookings.

As I’d slipped into bed late that night after editing Betty’s session, a familiar rapping on my window had my pulse skyrocketing. West slipped into the room and joined me for a sleepover, looking exhausted. He’d stripped to his boxers and then pulled me close, holding my back to his front. Mumbling an apology about the texts, he explained that he didn’t get a signal that far offshore and had just found my messages and come straight over after prepping the boat for tomorrow. He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth before he’d fallen asleep, his thigh pinning me down and his hand cupping my breast. When I’d woken up a few hours later, he was already gone, another paper airplane left behind on his pillow.

You’re fucking gorgeous when you’re asleep.

I didn’t text him this time, knowing he wouldn’t see it. Instead, after work I found his truck at the marina and left a paper airplane of my own for him.

Google it: Marine wi-fi extender.

Friday morning, I unfolded another paper plane, discovering a creased Amazon invoice, his order for the long range device due for delivery next week. I’d smiled all day about that.

Until I saw his text, cancelling our date.

Unsure what that meant, or where to go from there, I kept my distance. I did the wedding shoot on Saturday, which went better than I expected, and had a girl’s night in with Rue, drinking her spiked lemonade, watching Ryan Gosling movies, and talking until the wee hours of the morning.

I refused to think about him that night, even as I stayed on the side of the bed that had become mine, leaving half of it empty.

On Sunday, after texting with my parents and brother back in Tennessee, I logged onto Facebook to check out the video of a new singer they were working with when I noticed a friend request from Aubrey.

Unsure what to think, I stared at it. That little request seemed loaded, and my gut warned me to ignore it, to go back in time and unsee it.

I watched the video, left a comment, scrolled through my feed, and came back to the friend request. I clicked accept, knowing I did owe her for all the photography referrals and couldn’t really afford to snub her.

Curiosity drove me to check out her page. Her cover image was a tasteful shot of her and her parents in Italy, the Leaning Tower of Pisa tipping in the background. The most recent post on her feed was from last night, a shot of her posing next to a palm tree, the ocean in the background.

With her arm around West.

I enlarged the image, dissecting the picture, my stomach churning. Was his stance friendly or affectionate? His mouth was turned up on one side, and he was wearing sunglasses, hiding his eyes, his little smirk the only thing I had to go on. She was leaning into him, showing her teeth, her other arm resting possessively on his chest. West stood straight, no lean. Did that mean something? Nothing? Is this why he cancelled on me?

Yes.

Clearly, it was. I refused to be stupid about this.

I scrolled farther down. Aubrey was a big fan of the selfie. And the toothy smile. And the tilted head.

There. Two weeks ago. Another shot with West — at a deli along the boardwalk.

I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling hot tears sting my eyes.

It was happening again. West was turning out like Asshole, hiding another life from me.

Except — was he? Two weeks ago, we hadn’t even been on a date yet. Maybe I had misread the situation, but I’d felt like things were building up between us.

That picture, though, her putting her hands on him like she had a right to, him letting her…it hurt. I closed my laptop, pushed it across my quilt, and curled into a ball. The faint scent of West lingered on the sheets that I hadn’t changed since last week when he’d rubbed aloe and his tongue all over me. I held on to that memory, even as I wondered where he had slept last night.