Page 113 of Mourner for Hire
“With you? I lost.”
I shrug. “Well, I’m not going to get in the hot tub covered in mud, and we both know these pipes wouldn’t fare well with drywall mud seeping through them.”
He meets me at the door, swinging it open. “Wait,” he says, retrieving something out of the toolbox on the floor. A hammer. With four thwacks, the nail that ripped my arm open yesterday is back in the doorway opening. “Done.”
“Thank you,” I say, passing through the doorway as he holds the door open for me. I take off running; the sand is a mixture of cold and warm under my feet. “I could have taken care of that.”
“But you didn’t,” he argues.
“Touché.” Sometimes, I allow myself to get so weighed down by the large projects that I ignore the small details. “Don’t get used to being right.”
I erupt in laughter and then squeal as my feet hit the cold Pacific Ocean water. Dominic is right behind me. I gasp as the ocean water hits my thighs.
Dominic laughs, ripping off his shirt and holding out his arms spread eagle and flops back, letting the Pacific envelop him.
I scream by association, then dive under the next wave about to break. It hits my skin like ice. Tiny needles of cold pierce the skin and make me gasp for air while also cleansing my spirit.
“God, it feels so good!” I shout, surfacing.
“No, it doesn’t. I can’t feel my anything.”
I laugh now. “Hurry. Scrub off the mud!”
“I’m trying!” he shouts back.
He drifts toward me… or maybe I drift toward him; I can’t be sure. But before I know it, my knee grazes his, and the current makes my body roll toward him. I straddle one of his legs inadvertently.
“Sorry,” I say, a whisper of an apology.
“It’s okay,” he responds, pushing his wet hair back, leaving droplets of water on the curl in the middle of his forehead.
I nod, trying to push away, but the current is stronger than I expected. Or maybe the current is just Dominic. He grabs my waist, steadying me with a protective hand. A slight glimmer of uncertainty runs through me. He’s showing me the Dominic I met, but I don’t know how long the surrender will last before his guard is back up and he’s wishing I’d drift away with the current, never to return. “You good?”
I nod, my body now flush against his. I stare at his eyes. The honey color warms over my cold skin, sinking to my core. My gaze drops to his lips.
I want to kiss him.
I don’t want to want that. But I do.
My mind drifts to last night when his mouth claimed mine. It didn’t mean anything. It was only pent-up frustration between two sexually charged people, but it undid me. It reminded me of who he was once. Or, rather, who I thought he could be.
His gaze drops to my lips, letting me know the same thoughts are coursing through him right now, too. There’s also regret in his expression. Though, maybe it’s just restraint—at this point, I can’t tell. Still, his hands are on my waist, and my hands are now drifting down his chest.
“I’m sorry I kissed you yesterday,” I confess.
“I’m not.”
My hand slides from his chest to his neck, and my fingers tangle in his hair.
Our bodies drift together again. A deep rumbling in the sky makes us both look at the horizon. The light gray is turning an ominous shade of gray. Rain is inevitable. Whether it will come in moments or hours, we don’t know.
But then, just inches away, my teeth chatter, and I ask, “Hot tub?”
We race back to the cottage. I change into a swimsuit, and he wears his boxers. I don’t protest.
As soon as the hot water from the cedar hot tub in the back hits my skin, I breathe in through my teeth. The change in temperature is cutting in the best way.
We both groan and sigh, flopping and sinking into the water until it drifts to our collarbones. We sit for a moment, maybe minutes, before he clears his throat.
