Page 65 of Backslide
But when I find my hair tie at the bottom of the bag, I also find my muscle relaxers, which I had completely spaced on. It feels fated. I may not be a weed girl, but I am most definitely a fan of benzos.
I pop one, happily, hang my tote under my robe, then head into the sauna. I spread my towel out on the top level and lie on my back, letting the dry heat envelop me.
Yes.This, I think.
I feel like, even through the towel, the wood against my skin is sending healing vibes to my shoulder. I can just sense it getting better.
Only, the tie at the back of my bikini top is stabbing me in the spine. So, I sit up, slip off my top, and cast it to the side.
Free bird!
There is one more problem: no distractions. The longer I lie here, my skin exposed to the warm air, dry heat prickling up and down my body, the more I feel a stirring inside me as my thoughts wander back to Noah. To his arms straining against his workout shirt. To that almost kiss. To what it would have been like if his lips brushed mine, even for the briefest moment. To his tongue slipping into my mouth and…
Suddenly, there’s a rush of cool air and an “Oh, fuck” that doesn’t come from me.
My eyes pop open and I turn to the door to find Noah himself standing there in swim trunks—perfectly fitted, of course—his eyes averted.
“Oh, fuck!” I say too, grabbing the towel from beneath my head and using it to cover my chest.
There’s an awkward pause, as we freeze in our respective spots.
Since I’m the one in the more compromising position and he’s looking away, I seize the opportunity to surreptitiously check him out. And, yes, the six-pack has endured since our teen years. Only now, instead of being willowy and young, he is filled out and cut. It’s a less sharp kind of tone; a more rugged, natural one. I bet he still plays a lot of sports.
I am basically fucking ended.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I had no idea anyone would be in here. I thought the whole group was gone.”
“Yeah,” I say, “so did I. Hence the…” I gesture to my once-bare chest, nowmostlycovered with what turns out to be more of a hand towel. “All clear,” I add, so he can look up.
He allows his gaze to travel to my face, though it flits briefly back to my chest for an almost imperceptible beat.
I guess maybe there is athisafter all.
I should be freaked out. At least more so than I am. Considering that I spent a good portion of the night and much of the morning trying to push similar imaginary scenarios from my brain. But, for whatever reason, the situation strikes me as kind of funny.
I giggle.
“What?” he asks, still lingering in the doorway.
“Nothing,” I shrug, but start giggling harder.
He looks at me impatiently. “Nell.Eleanor. I was going to spend a few minutes in here first, but do you want me to give you privacy? Hit the steam instead?”
I shake my head, trying to suppress my laughter. “No. It’s fine. The more the merrier. I mean, of course this is happening!”
He takes my go-ahead earnestly, and lets the door close behind him, settling his towel on the lowest level, as far from me as possible. He opts to remain sitting up, almost formally, and I can’t help but admire his toned thighs and calves from above, though one leg is bouncing with agitation.
I lie back down, keeping the towel across my chest. But the more I lie there trying to be cool, the funnier it strikes me. I giggle again.
“For the love of God, Eleanor! What is so funny?”
“This!” I say, dissolving into full laughter.
He shrugs, sighing. Rolls his eyes. “I mean, I guess this is better than you freaking out.”
He’s right. I should be in full panic mode. And the thought of that gives me pause. Why am I not also sitting up ramrod straight and ordering him out of here? This is my nightmare—and illicit fantasy come true.
“Oh,” I say, recognition settling in.
