Page 54 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
That does it.
Ben breaks our kiss, and we both gasp for air like we’re oxygen-deprived. His hand stays covering my right breast, though, just above the water’s surface. Then his thumb slowly traces a circle around the hardened peak, evident through the flimsy suit. And god, it would be so easy to slide the straps off my shoulders and be topless in this hot tub in all of two seconds. To let the heat of his mouth replace the heat of his touch.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he says, but his eyes never leave my chest, teeth sinking into his lower lip.
Aroused to the point of pain, I suggestively whisper the first thing that springs to mind, which happens to be Jacklyn’s advice. “We’ve certainly had our share of secret nights before, Ben. What’s one more? It could be a what-happens-in-Iceland situation.”
Ben’s expression shifts in an instant, eyes widening as if he’s been drop-kicked back to reality. His hand falls away from my chest as he sits up straighter, and under the water’s surface I feel the subtle push of his other palm against my hip. “No,” he says, voice low but adamant. “Not like that.”
The heat of desire is instantly replaced with the heat of shame, which possibly burns even hotter. I slide off his lap and move to the opposite side of the hot tub as I readjust my twisted swimsuit strap.
I am humiliated.
“Ems,” he says softly, but I can’t look at him, so I stare at the bubbling water between us instead.
“I don’t get it,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. How am I finding brand-new ways to let this same man reject me? Confusion and hurt and embarrassment interweave like ivy over my heart, spreading up into my throat to try and suffocate me.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Ben pleads. “I want you so bad you have no idea.”
“Obviously not,” I retort. “I’m practically naked on your lap in a hot tub, throwing myself at you. If youwantedit, it was offered to you on a silver platter for your taking.”
“Because I don’t want itlike that, Mona.” His voice rises to echo the same frustration laced through mine. “I can’t do a onetime physical hookup if that’s what you’re looking for. Not with you.”
“Really? That’s news to me because isn’t thatexactlywhat you did before?”
Ben flinches, and I know I’ve gone too far, but that’s the thing about old wounds; sometimes you’ve spent so long patching themup or pretending they didn’t exist in the first place that you forget how deep they cut. I want to take the words back, not only because of the pained look on Ben’s face, but because of the pain the words simultaneously inflict on me, ripping the scab away and leaving the wound as fresh as it was fourteen years ago. Tears seep into my eyes, but I blink them back as I move to the steps of the hot tub, the soothing water now only serving to slow my escape.
“It wasn’t like that,” Ben protests, but I’m already emerging from the water. I don’t feel the cold air on my skin or the comfort of the plush robe as I pull it around me. I don’t feel anything beyond old hurt and new embarrassment.
Back inside my room I march straight to the bathroom and slam the door. I hover over the sink and stare at the woman in the mirror trying desperately to keep it together.
A few minutes later there’s a knock. “Ems?”
“No, Ben. Just leave me alone.”
Despite the door separating us, I hear Ben’s frustrated sigh on the other side. “Sooner or later, we’re going to have to deal with this.”
I don’t say anything back. And after a moment, the door of my hotel room clicks shut.
Chapter 16
Tip #11 when visiting Iceland:Seyðisfjörður is an adorable, must-see town (but watch out for heavy pours on those vodka sodas).
If there was ever a good day to spend approximately six hours in a vehicle with someone, can confirm it isnotthe day following your road trip partner’s stone-cold rejection of you. It just doesn’t make for a fun-filled excursion. Especially following a less-than-stellar checkout experience at the guesthouse where you were rejected, in which the bubbly young clerk kindly asked,Did you all get a chance to try out that hot tub?
Unfortunately,I’d huffed at the same time Ben sighed,It was certainlyan experience.
After that, no words were spoken on the four-hour drive north to Stuðlagil Canyon, which might have had something to do with my earbuds staying in place (Ben didn’t need to knowthey weren’t playing anything) and my laptop remaining flipped open on my thighs (focusing on a screen in a moving vehicle makes me nauseous, butdesperate timesand all that) for the entire journey. Under normal circumstances, I’d courteously offer to split such a long drive, but I’m not feeling particularly courteous today.
Good news, with so much time on my hands, I started work on my article by transcribing the notes from my journal and coming up with a framework for the opening paragraphs. Bad news, none of it will matter if Calvin doesn’t get what he wants from me. And what he wants spent all day in the driver’s seat silently brooding while we both pretended I didn’t throw myself at him last night.
After we’d finished exploring Stuðlagil Canyon—because an 8 km hike in complete silence was just what I needed today—we made another two-hour drive east and checked into our residence for the night in the tiny coastal village of Seyðisfjörður.
By the time I shower and make my way into town to forage for food (alone), I’m exhausted and famished. I walk the streets lined with brightly colored buildings and pass by the Blue Church that I instantly recognize from my research on the town. Leading away from the church, a street painted in squares matching the rainbow—Seyðisfjörður’s own version of Rainbow Street—is flanked with shops and restaurants.
And Ben.
His camera is aimed down the colorful street at the pale blue church, its steeple haloed by the evening’s orange and pink sky. I slip past him without drawing his attention, dipping into a square-shaped building with a painted sign on the front advertising localbeer. Inside, I make my way up to a polished wooden bar, and the person working the counter motions for me to choose a seat. The restaurant is half-full at nine o’clock, and I’m surprised it isn’t busier. Tourists probably outnumber the locals in this tiny village, and with limited options for dining and nightlife, I’d imagined most places would be fully packed. Then again, everyone is probably so goddamn tired from a full day of “moderate” Icelandic activities that they skipped dinner and went to bed hours ago. If my stomach wasn’t screaming at me for sustenance, I would have done the same.
