Page 63 of The Rebound
“The zipper’s stuck,” I say as if that weren’t obvious.
“So you were just going to stay in it for the rest of time?”
“Potentially.”
Luke only shakes his head. “It’s okay to ask for help, Abby.”
He takes a step farther inside, closing the door so we can both fit, and I turn in an awkward shuffle, careful not to let my body touch his.
We stay like that for a microsecond, me with my back to him, and I hear him take one perfectly normal breath while meanwhile my entire body seems to hum, vibrating from the very presence of him.
He tugs my hair free and I flinch when his fingers meet my skin.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Cold hands.”
“That’s my line.”
Luke doesn’t respond, pulling gently on the zipper and then harder when it doesn’t budge.
In an ideal world, my fantasy world, he would seductively bring the zipper down, marveling at the hint of my skin as he brushes my wet hair from my shoulders. He’d be overcome by the delicate curve of my neck, maybe even press a kiss to it, which I’d graciously allow before turning my head to face his and then—
“Hold still.” He yanks on it a third time and I yelp as he catches a bit of my hair. “Sorry,” he says. “These things are really old. I’m going to have to get a pair of scissors.”
“No. Just pull it.” I brace my hands against the concrete wall.
Luke hesitates. “I’m either going to rip it or hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me and it doesn’t matter if you rip it. You were going to cut it up anyway.” I close my eyes, concentrating on the cold concrete under my palms. “Hurry up before I freeze to death.”
He holds the fabric in place as he yanks it again, hard enough to make me lose my grip on the wall and we both slip backward, Luke into the door and me into Luke.
For one humiliating moment we’re aligned, his chest hard against my back, his trunks leaving little to the imagination even through the rubber of my suit. I feel his breath on my hair. I feel everything.
“Abby?” Luke’s voice is tight.
“Sorry!” I push myself off him, adopting my previous position as I start to babble. “You know what? It’s fine. Get the scissors. Or I’ll just live like this. I’ll adapt. I’m very—”
I stop talking when his hand lands heavily on my shoulder, keeping me faced forward. His foot taps my left ankle, and I slide it out so I’ve got a steadier stance.
“Let’s try again,” he says, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
It takes two more goes, then another breath, another pull, and this time there’s movement as something aligns and I sigh in relief as cold air hits the nape of my neck.
The zipper gets stuck halfway down my back but it’s enough to free my arms, and Luke helps me as I clumsily peel it over my hips and down my legs while making sure my swimsuit stays in place. I’m covered more than a lot of people on the beach, but he’s still standing far too close and I’m aware of every stretchmark, every pucker of skin and goosebump, as my blood works overtime to keep me warm.
Before I can stop him, Luke crouches to tug the suit free of my ankles. “Is your sting okay?”
“It’s just itchy now. I’ll get some cream.”
He doesn’t say anything and I look over my shoulder to see him examining the rash in a thoroughly unromantic way.
“All done,” I say sharply, and he rises as I face him. “Here.” I hand him the sodden mass of rubber that is the wetsuit. “We can burn it on the bonfire.”
He accepts it wordlessly, his gaze sliding down my body, and this time I don’t think he’s concerned about the sting. As if realizing what he’s doing, his eyes snap back to mine, his neck flushing a gentle pink.
“You should get dressed,” he says. “We’ll be on the other side of the dunes.” And in the space of a second, he slips back out and disappears.
14
