Page 8 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Just as I’m lost in that thought, the steam room door swings open, followed by a bewildered male voice. “What the fuck—?”

I freeze, realizing that some poor guy has just walked in on us, expecting a quiet sauna session, only to stumble upon two naked strangers huddled in the back staring at each other.

Did someone turn down the steam or something?

“Get the fuck out. Now,” the stranger in front of me commands without even glancing in the newcomer’s direction.Guess he isn’t into a ménage à trois.

Whoever it is gets the message and closes the door behind them as quickly as they came, leaving us alone once again.

“Let’s cover you up,” he says once the door shuts, reaching down for the towel I’m still clutching in my hand and stepping towards me. He pauses for a second as if he’s hesitating and I wonder what he’s going to do. My heart races, his smell suffocating me in pleasure and then as if snapping out of a trance, he wraps it gently around my shoulders, down over my hips and waist and tucking it securely in the front. “You should go.”

My brows furrow as I stare up at him.

I should go...?

It’s a bit dismissive, I mean sure, Iamin the men’s steam room and he was just enjoying himself, probably with his eyesclosed, maybe listening to the calming meditative music that they stream through the speakers in here, but how embarrassing for me that he’s just wrapped me up like a tiny towel burrito and is basically patting me on my head after lording his alien dick in front of me, and then telling me to leave.

I should say something witty. Or sassy. Or at least not embarrassing. Instead, I just… nod. A short, jerky nod because damn, that’s not what I was expecting, and then I spin on my heel and move straight out of the dim steam room back toward the locker room to get dressed.

Once outside the club, I find my abandoned bicycle, hop on, and start pedaling toward my cottage on the coast. As I ride, I throw my arms up into the air, letting the cool night breeze brush against my skin, a welcome relief after the steam room debacle.

The whole situation feels surreal, like something that happened to someone else. I laugh again—this time harder—almost losing my balance on the bike. Because if there’s one thing James enjoys more than his obsession with dating older women, it’s going to be hearing the story about the time I accidentally sat on a stranger’s cock in the steam room of the Hampton’s country club...

Chapter 3 – Georgia

Four months later…September??

“I’ll miss you two so much!”

“Will you come visit us in Florida?” Evie asks, her big brown eyes are round and filled with worries that she’s too young to understand. I rub tenderly between her eyebrows, working to ease the tension that’s bunched there caused by her family’s looming move.

“Of course I will. We’ll have beach days, and I’ll meticulously build a huge sandcastle then let you and Ember destroy it. I bet the sand in Florida will be even better for sculpting.” I smile as Ember curls into my side, throwing his little arms around my neck and hugging me tightly.

I sense the tears again, that familiar itch of my nose and burn behind my eye sockets, so I clear my throat loudly and try to pull myself together. The last thing I want is for the two little oneswho’ve been my closest companions these past five years to see me break down in the playroom of their beach house.

That meltdown is reserved for later, back at the cottage with a full glass of red wine, my favorite fleece blanket, and James.

It’s an emotional goodbye, one that I’ve been preparing myself for all summer yet still don’t feel ready to say. Evie and Ember have filled my twenties with purpose, finding me at a time when I was lost and floundering for meaning and direction.

Watching them grow up has been a highlight to my life.

“I’m confident that you’ll love your new nanny but no matter where you go, you’ll always be here, in my heart.” I trace a heart shape over my chest then pull them in for one last hug and sniff of their little heads.

“Evie! Ember! It’s time to go!” I hear Mrs. Smith calling from downstairs.

I stand up, brush off my jeans and walk with them out of the three story, waterfront home that’s now packed up and ready for the movers to take them to Florida. Mrs. Smith smiles at the sight of us three together for one last time. Though she’s been busy these past five years with her own career and supporting her husband, she’s been a wonderful woman to work for and has consistently fostered the relationship I’ve developed with her children.

“Thank you for everything, Georgia. Mr. Smith could have never climbed the political ranks so effortlessly, and I wouldn’t have been able to maintain my law practice in Texas, if it weren’t for your steadfastness and loyalty with our children,” Mrs. Smith says, giving me a quick hug—a rare display of affection in the five years I’ve known her—before briskly turning to usher Evie and Ember toward the waiting black town car.

I stand in the doorway, not quite ready to leave their beautiful Hampton home or say goodbye to this chapter of my life, waving aggressively at the car until it’s disappeared from my view.

Once they’re out of sight, I drop my hand and sigh, turning toward my bicycle parked in the driveway. I hop on and make the short ride through the affluent beach town to the summer cottage I’ve been renting while living in New York.

It’s a strange feeling, watching the homes I’ve spent all summer riding past blur by me. A wave of nostalgia washes over me, as if I’m losing something I’m not ready to let go of. An odd mix of emotions—sadness at saying goodbye to two kids who feel like my own, a job I love, a family that treated me well, and a town where summers felt more alive than anything waiting for me back in Texas.

My bike skids to a stop in front of the cottage with its light blue trim, overgrown bushes and views that people pay millions for. I unlock the front door while feeling the ocean breeze caress my skin like a goodbye kiss. Inside I spin around, taking in the cozy space I’ve grown attached to, and feel the tears threatening to start again.

Don’t do it, Georgia. Not yet.

---