The Paradise Problem (34)
West sits on the bench and pulls a shoe off. I set my clutch down on a shelf in the open closet. “I’m thinking Alex will take a keen interest in exactly how happy we seem.” I narrow my eyes, staring into the distance. “West… this assignment is no longer just ‘show up and wear a wedding ring.’?”
West is still holding the shoe he took off, and he stares down at it in his hand. “I think you’re right. I was hoping it would be enough to show up, but it’s going to take more than that.”
“This is actually kind of fun!” I walk over to him, taking the shoe and then his other one, and setting them near the wall. “I realize incomprehensible sums of money are at stake here, but for me, it’s like a murder mystery party.”
Finally, he blinks out of his trance, looking up at me in silent question.
“You know,” I say, waving my hand forward. “Being suspicious of everyone. Wearing costumes. Getting progressively drunker as the party goes on.” I walk to the bathroom area. “Don’t peek.” I sip my drink. “Or do peek. What do I care?” I peel off the itchy cocktail dress and reach for one of the fluffy bathrobes, muttering, “These robes are the shit.”
“They are really soft,” he agrees.
Bending to wash my face, I say, “You going to be okay sharing a bed?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
I scrub the soap into a lather. “Sure. I basically fall asleep and don’t move an inch all night, so it doesn’t matter to me where you are.”
Patting my face dry, I walk behind the half wall to where our clothes have so helpfully been put away, pull out a pair of very silky, very skimpy pajamas Vivi packed for me, and hold them up. “Fuck me.”
“What?” he asks from the other side.
“I let Vivi shop for this trip and she got me slutty pj’s.”
“You’ll be under the covers,” he says.
“With you,” I say with false misery, and he laughs that low, seductive sound.
“You just assured me you’ll stay on your side of the bed.”
“True. Will you?”
His laugh is confident. “Yes.”
I slip out of the robe and pull on the tiny shorts and tiny tank, and then brush my teeth. It’s only ten, but I’m wiped.
I don’t meet his eyes as I walk to the bed and climb in, and I’m not sure whether I love or hate that he doesn’t seem to look at me at all as he gets up to go get ready for bed. A handful of minutes later, West shuts off the lights, climbing in beside me.
My brain screams: WHAT IS HE WEARING?
Clearing my throat, I say, “No hands or feet or boners on my side, sir.”
Another laugh. I really like that sound. “If my boner could reach that side, I think you’d be intrigued.”
I ponder this. “I would be. You’re right.”
The thing is… half of his family sucks, but this, right here, isn’t all bad. I like hanging out with West Weston.
The ocean stretches outside, the waves falling back before rushing forward again. The calming reflection of water dances along the ceiling. I listen to him breathe along with the waves. A person could get used to this, I think, my eyes growing heavy.
“Good night, Anna.”
“Night, West.”
He sighs. “Liam.”
I roll over, laughing. “Night, Liam.”
Twelve
LIAM
Arms, legs, lips, heat.
My feet pound against the sand, each step sounding out the rhythm like a song looping in my mind. I can’t get the four words out of my head.
Arms, legs, lips, heat.
“… and of course, Gary Petersson gets hard the second we start talking about merging, but I string him along because…”
Not even my father’s voice breaks cleanly through; it’s just a vague drone in the background.
I woke up around two this morning to find Anna wrapped around me. Despite what she’d told me about sleeping in one place all night, at some point she’d migrated across the massive bed to throw a leg over my hip, send an arm over my torso, and press her face to my neck. It took monumental focus to not go hard against her inner thigh, and because of it, I’d slept like absolute shit.
Our running route has circled the beaches of the main island before switching to marked trails that cut through the lush forest. At various points, a spotted lizard darted across the path, a nest of baby birds squawked from a nearby tree, a sea turtle sunned itself on a rock in the foamy sea spray, but I barely lingered on the magic of any of it. With every blink I see the curve of Anna’s hip where the sheet fell away, feel her firm breasts pressed against my ribs, hear her warm, sleeping breaths so close to my ear.
Arms, legs, lips, heat.
Arms, legs, lips, heat.
“… some hot piece on the back nine, and I said, ‘Steve, I’ll let you take a shot at…’?”
We reach the end of the main beach again and I bend, cupping my knees, trying to catch my breath as my father finishes whatever one-sided conversation he was having.
“… Doug Krantz all over my jock, and that’s where I need him, because he’s got that connection to the dairy lobby.”
Should I bring it up with her? One night in and I already feel like Anna and I need to set clearer boundaries.