Page 32 of Falling Slowly
Bess
“We’re not doing this,” I told him as soon as we stepped inside the cabin. “I’ll just… get changed.” My voice lacked conviction, but I’d made up my mind. As much as I enjoyed the jokes and his poorly disguised interest in my body, I had my limits. Prancing around in ugly swimsuits for Charlie Wilde was not an option.
I ran up the stairs. I couldn’t get changed in the loft as it had no privacy. Even the glass-walled bathroom felt too open to his prying eyes, but what choice did I have? I could fake an illness or cancel, but Charlie had practically announced my arrival and part of me felt stubborn enough to show up as I was to enjoy the hot water under the stars. Where could I experience that ever again?
I grabbed both swimsuits and my towel, and hurried back downstairs. Reaching for the bathroom door, I glanced over my shoulder and froze. Charlie stood by the bed in his underwear, holding a pair of swimming shorts. Earlier in the shop, he’dgifted me with the mental image of his perfect torso, and now his impeccably muscular legs caught my attention.
“Sorry,” I muttered, whipping around, and retreating into the bathroom.
“What are you sorry about?” he asked, his voice carrying through the glass door, clear and loud.
Couldn't they have soundproofed the bathroom a little bit?
“I… didn’t know you were changing down here,” I replied from behind the door, quickly peeling off my clothes and pulling on my black, two-piece suit.
Bracing myself, I turned towards the mirror. It was hung too high for me to see the full ensemble, but I could feel it didn’t fit. The bikini bottoms were originally a pair of modest briefs, but the elastic had given up completely, leaving saggy fabric around the crotch. There was enough loose material to smuggle a coconut. I couldn’t wear them. I simply couldn’t.
I took off the horrible briefs and wiggled myself into the lime-ruffled one-piece. The bottom part of it fit surprisingly well, but the rest was designed for a shorter torso. No matter how I pulled and stretched and adjusted the straps, I couldn’t properly cover up my breasts. The material ended right above my nipples, leaving the rest bulging out, my cleavage so on display I could have held all of Charlie’s credit cards in there. The ruffles that lined the plunging neckline only added to the effect. How had I not noticed this in the shop?
I stared into the mirror, willing myself not to cry.
“You okay in there?” Charlie called from behind the door.
On a whim, I took a breath and opened the door. “No.”
“Whoa!” His eyes went exactly where I knew they would, and I gave the suit another upwards yank, which turned into a wedgie at the other end.
“What’s wrong?” He’d already changed into his own swimming trunks and looked like a male model ready for the beach shoot.
“It doesn’t fit.” My voice wobbled. “And the other one… the bottoms are so loose they’ll flap on me.”
“Does that matter, though? They’ll be under water.”
I sighed. Maybe the ugly bottoms were the lesser of two evils. I closed the door and quickly wiggled myself back into my own two-piece. When I opened the door again, I found Charlie outside, smiling victoriously. “I was hoping for high heels, but all good.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, mortified. I was giving him the exact show I’d sworn I wouldn’t. In ill-fitting swimsuits, no less.
I picked at the loose material sitting on my lower belly and winced.
Charlie cocked his head, still staring at me so intensely my skin sizzled. “So… did you accidentally buy men’s trunks?”
I shook my head, an unexpected laugh bubbling in my chest. “They’re just stretched out of shape.”
“Let’s swap.” Charlie wedged a thumb under the waistband of his trunks and stretched the elastic. “You can wear these and I’ll wear your bottoms.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I’ve got the goods to actually fill that front pouch of yours.”
I stared at the Patagonia logo on the hem of the turquoise trunks. Before I could form an intelligent response, he’d pulled them off right in front of me. I swiveled around, but not fast enough. Not before I registered the sight of his penis. Charlie’s penis. Why was I seeing Charlie’s penis? “What are you doing?”
“Sorry. I’m one-quarter Swedish.”
“How does that explain you stripping in front of me?” I asked, my voice cracking a bit. Were Swedes particularly well-hung, or was he also one-quarter horse?
“I don’t think nudity is such a big deal. I think it’s the sauna culture.” He tapped me on the shoulder. “You can turn around.”
He’d wrapped a towel around his waist and handed me the swimming trunks. They felt silky soft and looked beautiful.
