Page 50 of My Lucky Star
Aria:I’d insert a face palm emoji but can’t find it so imagine me going ‘duh’ as I roll my eyes.
Me:I’m imagining you saying ‘ahhhh’ with your eyes rolling back. Close enough?
I watched the three dots appearing and disappearing, until they went away for good. Again, I’d scared her off. Duh, indeed. So far, I’d kept the texting pretty tasteful. We’d been talking too frequently to qualify as casual and flirting more than any platonic friends should, but I’d somehow avoided grossly inappropriate stuff. Like dick pics. When she wasn’t in the same room, I found it easier to behave myself.
I put my phone away and headed to the shower.
Her texts helped me stay sane, but I still felt increasingly restless. Despite its beauty, Napier was an absolute ghost town. Instead of my usual workouts, I ran along the beach, following up with push-ups on the grass. I didn’t hate the weather, or the Art Deco arches and statues, but I needed people. I needed her. Jerking off in the shower was also getting old.
“Emir?” I called, hoping he was back from town with some food.
No answer. He must have still been out. As I ran and trained and stayed away from public places, Emir enjoyed culture, visiting museums and historic buildings. He’d even gone to the aquarium. During his explorations, he’d spotted a couple of Turkish people but hadn’t popped into Kerim’s.
He’d seen the picture on my Instagram and yelled at me about not being included in the plan, but he had little reason to stay angry. The post had been our most successful yet.
The one postwithoutme, I thought with a dose of hurt. Yet, I knew why everyone loved that photo – the same reason I did. Lit by candles, her lips stained with wine, Aria looked at me like no one else existed. Like she trusted me implicitly with her heart and mind and body. No matter how many times I revisited the evening, I couldn’t remember seeing that look. She’d only given it to the camera for that brief moment. Had it been an act? A happy accident?
She had a grounding, raw presence that held my attention for much longer than felt natural. I couldn’t look away. I could imagine that presence carrying a feature film, but not necessarily getting picked for reality shows or gathering millions of views on TikTok. Maybe that’s why she’d found it so hard to break through. Those channels, often our first steppingstones to fame, weren’t built for subtlety. Nobody listened long enough to get to the good part anymore.
I would have missed her, too, I realized, if I hadn’t first bumped into her right here, without my phone or other distractions. If she hadn’t looked exactly like Burcu. I would have passed her by, like everyone else, and missed out on everything.
I peeled off my sweaty workout clothes as I stepped into my room, reaching a naked state by the time I entered the shower.
With the water gushing and gurgling and eventually turning warm, my mind returned to our dinner and that flood of pleasure and excitement when she admitted exactly how turned-on she was. I’d rushed to the door as she’d still been negotiating the stairs in her heels, giving me a moment to look for evidence. Fortunately, Kerim shared the Turkish obsession with elaborate lighting. Mosaic torches and spotlights lined the entryway, exposing the slight darkening of the olive-green fabric between her legs.
I nearly cheered, then spent the rest of the evening in agony until I got back to the hotel and out of my jeans. Not touching her on the way back had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. I’d given myself a metaphorical medal for pulling my hand away from her thigh and getting out of that car.
I let the water gush down my body and stroked myself, reliving the moment, not even questioning why it excited me so much. She’d been fully clothed, yet I found the combination of her brave, husky admission and that visible stain the hottest thing I could think of, one that made me come so fast I could have categorized my shower as earth friendly.
I toweled myself and checked my phone. Still no reply from Aria. She’d sent us the details of our new accommodation earlier. I browsed back to that message, trying to view the new house on the map. I didn’t care about the relocation, but moving house meant I would finally see her again. She was supposed to drive us to the new place that afternoon.
When I heard the knock on the front door, I first thought Emir had forgotten his keys.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and jogged downstairs. As I threw the door wide open, I realized my mistake.
Aria gasped, struggling to keep her balance. She was back in her cut-off jeans shorts, but her hair looked freshly blow waved and her slightly too-short T-shirt bared a slice of tanned midriff that made me swallow hard. She gave my outfit a similar once-over and a smile tugged her mouth. “Is this your go-to outfit at home? Are they designer towels? Do you have shiny ones?”
I took a wide stance, folding my arms. It was one thing to joke over text, quite another to watch her eyes sparkle as she made fun of me. I craved it like I craved a cigarette. Except I craved this more.
“Yes. My number one sponsor is a high-end towel brand, and our agreement specifically states that I need to wear their product to three public appearances each week.”
She bought my stupid fib for about one second, after which her face lit up with mirth. “Do you get to choose the color and style? Do they have to be bath towels, or can you go for something lightweight, like a... Turkish towel?” Her gaze roamed down my body and her eyebrows sailed to new heights. I wanted to kiss her silly face so badly I took a tiny step forward without even noticing.
“I can choose from a wide range. Would you like to see me in their brand-new dish towel?” I mimed the tiny size of the imaginary cloth and her face reddened.
Don’t overstep. She’ll run.
I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here so early? I thought we agreed on four o’clock.”
“We did, but the producer called again and asked me to check the rooms. I think they’re having last-minute jitters.” She smiled apologetically.
“Probably good to check. Some rooms have a funny smell.”
“Have you been farting in there?” she deadpanned.
An abrupt laugh burst out of me. How could she deliver lines like that with a straight face?
“Obviously, I go around the hotel to fart in different rooms, but there are also other... notes. Musty, like an old cellar.”
