Page 55 of The Beach Trap

Laughing, I type my reply:Stripping WALLPAPER, Noah. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Noah:It’s your fault my mind went there, so now you have to face the consequences

Noah:So... what are you wearing?

I stare at the question on the screen and decide to play along.

Blake:You want to see?

Noah:Absolutely I do

I glance in the mirror. I’m wearing a T-shirt I bought at Goodwill that features a purple wolf howling at a glittery moon. My face is shiny with sweat, little strands of hair stuck to my forehead. No way in hell I’m sending him a picture of that.

Instead, I take a video as I remove a strip of wallpaper—showing only my hand grasping the edge, pulling with a slow, sensuous flick of the wrist—and send it.

Noah:Damn, that looks satisfying

Blake:Oh yeah. So long and thick.

I may have crossed a line. When I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror, my cheeks are so red they look like they’ve been slapped.

Quickly, I type:The wallpaper, I mean

Then I set my phone on the bathroom counter out of reach and continue steaming the opposite wall.Focus, I tell myself. I am definitely not thinking about Noah. Nor am I wondering if he’s thinking about me.

I’m such a liar. The instant my phone pings again, I launch across the room and grab it, breathless as I read his response.

Noah:Is it nice and wet?

I don’t know whether to burst out laughing or splash water on my face. Noah just pushed right on past flirty into dirty. Putting a hand to my forehead, I take a deep breath and ponder my response. But then another text comes in.

Noah:The wallpaper, I mean

Noah:When you strip it

I stifle a laugh. For heaven’s sakes. I am getting turned on, standing alone in a half-demolished bathroom, texting about wallpaper removal. I wonder if he’s in bed—shirtless, maybe even naked? Does Noah Jameson sleep naked? Has he been thinking about me, in bed, while he is naked? My Lord.

Grinning and flushing, I type a reply.

Blake:What are you doing right now?

Noah:You want to see?

Blake:Absolutely I do

He sends me a picture of a deep-dish pizza, the top of which is entirely covered by a massive sausage patty.

Noah:Trying to figure out how much I can eat without bringing on a heart attack

My laugh dies in my throat as I study the picture. Next to the pizza are a bottle of beer and a glass of white wine. He can’t be on a date, can he? It’d be shitty of him to text me while he’s out with someone else, but then again, I don’t know him that well. He could be that kind of person. My stomach goes sour.

Is this why he’s been so evasive about his past, and about this trip he’s on? Because he’s got a girlfriend—or God forbid, a wife—somewhere else? Biting my lip, I shake my head. Justbecause my father did that doesn’t mean it’s standard practice for all men.

My granddad was loyal and faithful to my grandma for more than sixty years. They were high school sweethearts. They had coordinating shirts, his with the words “She’s my sweet potato” and hers with the words “Yes, I yam!” He took care of her selflessly for the last months of her life, barely leaving her side. I know that kind of love exists; it’s what I want someday.

Shaking my head, I type a response.

Blake:Have fun at dinner with your friend. Gotta go.

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