Chapter 23
23
Josefine
I kick my cousin beneath the table. “Put your phone away.”
“Sorry.” She types furiously for a few seconds, then places her phone face down on the tablecloth.
“Who are you texting, anyway?” I ask, peering over my menu at her. “Ezra?”
“Nope. Not him.” She straightens her shoulders and picks up her menu without another word.
“What excursion did you sign us up for? And will it just be the two of us, or are we going with a group?”
The resort’s Asian fusion restaurant was a must tonight. Though I love Greek food, we agreed we could use a break from olive oil and tomatoes. Our server sets a pear Moscow mule in front of each of us, then takes our order. Millie chooses a teriyaki salmon dish, and I catch her peeking at her phone while I order two shrimp tempura rolls. The restaurant is covered, but three sides of the space are open, allowing the cool night air in. The orange textiles complement the white and Grecian blue outfits many of the vacationers here are dressed in.
“It’s a monastery hike,” she says once the server steps away. “ With caves and a small gorge. It’s just us,” she clarifies. “The hotel said we didn’t need a tour guide.”
“How long is the hike? What do I need to bring?”
When we were kids, my dad took Millie, Asher, and me hiking regularly, but there’s not a lot of opportunity for hiking in New York City, unless walking along the Hudson River counts, so it will be fun to do it again.
“Um.” She picks up her phone and uses a finger to scroll. “It says here that it takes about an hour to hike down to Katholiko Bay. The ladies at the front desk said to wear closed-toe shoes and a bathing suit because the water is surrounded by rocks and there isn’t an accessible place to change.”
“All right, I can handle that.” I take a sip of my mule and relish the bite of the ginger beer. “What time do you want to leave?”
Turns out we’ll have to be up far too early for what’s supposed to be vacation. Millie swears it’ll be worth it, especially if we beat the heat and the other tourists.
“I guess we better make it an early night if you’re going to force me to get up at an ungodly hour.”
Cam is working this evening, but that doesn’t stop me from shifting in my seat and searching for him on the path outside the restaurant. The sun is at its picture-perfect peak, so I assume he’s busy, but the urge to text him hits me hard. I really didn’t want to leave him this afternoon, but I didn’t come here to do nothing but have sex. I want to explore and enjoy the island the way my dad would have wanted.
“Whatcha looking at?” Millie asks, draining the last of her cocktail.
“Hmm?” I bring my glass to my lips and follow suit.
“Don’t hmm me. You’re looking for him, aren’t you?”
Slipping my fingers beneath the elastic of my tube top romper, I wiggle it just a little higher over my breasts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You like him,” she says, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her fists.
Leaning back in my chair, I fold and unfold the cloth napkin in my lap. “Sure. He’s hot as sin.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says, angling in closer. “It’s okay to like him.”
“It’s just sex,” I murmur, careful to keep my voice low.
“It doesn’t have to be.” She sits up straight again and clears her throat. “I know your ex screwed you over, but Cam isn’t anything like that fuckboy.”
“You’re right,” I sigh. “But still?—”
Millie puts her hand up between us. “I’m not done,” she says. “Between Tyler and your mom’s history with men, I don’t blame you for having your guard up, babe. But…”
“But what?” I ask, lowering my gaze to the table and stirring the ice in my glass.
“I see the way he looks at you.”
That gets my attention. It’s my turn to prop my elbows on the table. “How does he look at me?”
“Like you’ve changed his life.”
After a delectable dinner and no sign of Cam, we snag a couple of bananas and apples from the lobby to snack on in the morning, then head back to our hotel room. We left the windows open, and as we enter, the white drapes billow in the breeze.
In tandem, we remove our makeup and brush our teeth. When I’m finished and in my pajamas, I settle under the sheets, set my alarm, and plug my phone into its charger beside me. Then I set two backup alarms that’ll go off in ten-minute increments, just in case, and flip off the light over my nightstand.
Alone in the quiet, dim room, I can’t help but let my mind wander to our conversation at dinner. Millie thinks Cam looks at me like I’ve changed his life? Doubtful. I’m pretty badass, but not that badass.
“It’s okay to like him,” she said. And I do like him. But do I like like him?
What we have is just sex. That’s all it can be.
And damn, was it fantastic sex. Just the thought makes my blood heat and my pussy pulse. Refusing to overthink it, I grab my phone off the nightstand and prop myself up against the headboard. With my cousin still in the bathroom, I tug the front of my negligee—coincidentally, it’s the “cover-up” I wore the night we met—until just a peek of areola is visible through the lace trim. I wrap my right arm around my torso and lift. One strap falls off my shoulder in the process, but I don’t fix it. With my free hand, I swipe open my camera app and angle it so my face is hidden (rule number one of taking nudes: never show your face) then snap a few shots. Sinking lower again, I examine each one and then open my text thread with Cam.
Me
How were your photoshoots tonight? Anything like this?
When there’s no immediate reply, I switch to my Kindle app. The world may be scary and weird and overwhelming at times, but I sure do love living in an age where I have access to books on my phone.
I’m two chapters into Hannah Bonam-Young’s latest release when Millie crawls into bed, bringing with her a wave of orange blossom. I must remember to snag the travel toiletries from the bathroom before we leave. They’re heavenly.
“What’s wrong, boo?”
She knows me too well.
I’m about to shrug off the question when a text notification appears at the top of my screen. I tap the banner, and my thread with Cam opens.
“Let me see,” Millie squeals.
I tilt the screen away, but she shuffles closer and twists my wrist so she can get a better look. Nosy bitch.
“Don’t you dare,” she scolds playfully when I try to pull away.
Cam
My dirty girl. I knew it was lingerie
He remembers what I wore a year ago.
Me
face blowing a kiss
Cam
Come over
Me
Can’t frowning face Waking up early for a hike with Millie
Cam
I want you in my bed tomorrow
Me
So demanding. What happened to saying please?
Cam
I will not be the one begging, Josefine
Me
And I will?
Cam
Yes. While you’re gagging on my cock
I completely forgot Millie was wedged against me until she gasps and throws her hand in the air in triumph.
“Jesus!” I yelp. “You scared me.”
But she just laughs.
I nudge her with my elbow. “Go sleep on your side of the bed.”
“Not a chance,” she says. “This is just getting good.”
“Mills,” I plead.
“Fine.” With a humph , she scoots over and switches off the light.
When I turn back to my screen, I’m met with a picture of Cam.
Holy . Fuck.
I tap to enlarge it. He has one hand inside his black boxer briefs. It’s obvious he’s hard and that he’s gripping his girth. The waistband of his underwear is slightly pushed down his abdomen, revealing a light smattering of hair.
Cam
That’s what you do to me, baby
Baby.
Me
You’re distracting me. I need to go to bed
Cam
Fine. But I *will* see you tomorrow, gorgeous
Gorgeous .
Me
Yes, sir saluting face
Cam
Fuuuck melting face
The notification at the top of the screen signals that he’s typing, but I need to end this conversation if I plan on getting adequate rest, so I send a quick good night with a kiss emoji, then silence my notifications.
As I settle into the mattress, all sorts of thoughts bubble to the surface. Does he really think some bigger power is at play here? I don’t believe in stuff like that, do I?
My mom is Christian and my dad is Jewish, so I grew up eclectically religious. My parents would cherry-pick holidays. Sometimes we’d get dressed up and go to church for my mom, and sometimes we’d go to synagogue for my dad. But after he died, it was hard to believe an entity like God really existed. How could such a powerful being take away a person I loved so much?
In Jewish tradition, when a person dies, their loved ones sit shiva—a weeklong mourning period following their burial. It’s meant to be a time for mourners to come together for spiritual and emotional healing. At ten, I didn’t understand the meaning behind it but relished the weeklong sleepover with my cousins. I didn’t understand why mirrors had to be covered with cloth or why candles were constantly burning, but I appreciated the delicious spread of tuna, kugel, brisket, and bagels with cream cheese and lox from my dad’s favorite delicatessen.
People loved to pat me on the head and say things like “your dad was such a good man” and “he’s in a better place now” and “everything happens for a reason.” Even now, I hate that last phrase. There should be a law against uttering those words to a person who’s just lost a loved one.
For a long time, I was convinced God took my dad from me to punish me for some unknown sin. It took years of therapy to understand that wasn’t the case and that his death didn’t serve a bigger purpose.
When it comes down to it, bad things happen to good people all the time. Searching for a reason won’t change the facts. It’s what we do next that matters most.
That all leads back to my question about Cam and me. Is this happening for a reason? Is it fate? Destiny? Or is this just life?
I sit up straight when my alarm goes off, cursing myself for not choosing a gentler tone for such an early morning. Snagging my phone off the nightstand, I paw at the illuminated screen to silence the cursed thing and catch sight of the time. Shit. It’s 6:25 already. I unlock the screen and discover that I set the first alarm for six fifteen p.m. Because of course I did.
“Ugh, Millie, we overslept. It’s time to get up.”
When she doesn’t even groan in protest, I swat at her, only to hit the cold sheets where she should still be snoozing.
What the heck? If she’s already up, why didn’t she wake me?
With a huff, I roll out of bed and open the drapes, then make my way to the bathroom. It’s also empty.
“Millie?” I shuffle back to the bed to grab my phone so I can call her, and that’s when I notice the folded piece of paper on the nightstand.
Went for a run. Meet you at the front desk – xo, M
A run before a hike? She loves her fancy Pilates classes, but this is a little overboard.
Sitting on the patio with a coffee in hand, I open my text thread with Cam. My traitorous facial muscles contort into a goofy grin the second our exchange appears. Damn, I wish I’d gone to his room last night. I’m only on this island for a few more days. I want to soak up as much of him as I can, because when we get back to the other island—Manhattan—there will be no more soaking. I made that perfectly clear.
Getting cheated on fucked me up, and I refuse to go down that path again. The path where I lose a part of myself in a guy. I need to focus on my career, and I cannot have any distractions.
Our driver is meeting us out front at seven, so I quickly drain my coffee and get ready for the day. I scarf down a banana and toss an apple into my foldable nylon backpack.
Slathered in sunscreen and with my hair thrown up in a messy bun, I head downstairs and swipe a complimentary bottle of water from the lobby, then scan the open space. Where the hell is she?
I’ve got both thumbs poised over the screen of my phone when a puff of warm air hits my neck and a familiar voice rumbles in my ear. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. You fucking tease.”
Cam’s stubble tickles my cheek, sending goose bumps down my arms and a shiver down my spine. I spin, and when he comes into view, decked out in a backward hat and fitted white tee, my phone slides out of my hand and clatters to the floor.
He bends to pick it up, deliberately dragging his fingertips along the outside of my bare leg on the way up.
“What are you doing here?” I survey the lobby, but besides the concierge, we’re the only people here this early. On the other side of the glass doors, a black car pulls up to the curb and idles. “Where’s Millie?”
“About that.” Cam adjusts his backpack on his shoulders. “I’m taking her place.”
“What?” I take a step back and whirl in a circle. “Where is she?”
“Let’s walk and talk. Our ride is here.” He motions to the door with his chin, and while I’m utterly confused about this little switcheroo, I let him press a hand to the small of my back and guide me to the car.
We settle in the back seat, and after the driver confirms our destination, we turn toward each other, knocking knees in the process.
“Well? Explain to me why you’re here and Millie is not,” I demand, tugging at the hem of my white tank.
“Because I asked her to trade places with me.”
I rub at my forehead and search his face for answers.
“Joey,” he exhales, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You said this thing, whatever it is, between us?—”
“Sex.”
“Okay, sex.” He lets out a beleaguered sigh. “It can only last this week, right?” He frowns, then goes on. “As far as I’m concerned,” he caresses the inside of my thigh, right below my cutoffs, “it’s not enough time. So I asked Millie if I could steal you for the day. She mentioned you were going on a hike, so we switched places.”
“You Parent Trapped me?” I gasp.
“Sorta,” he laughs.
“Why didn’t you say anything last night or just ask to tag along?”
He drops his chin and cocks one brow.
Yeah. He and I both know I would have objected.
“Are you mad?” His voice is low, almost hesitant. “I can ask the driver to turn the car around if you don’t want me to come.”
Damn, this man is thoughtful, even if he’s a little conniving. And he’s gorgeous, even at seven a.m. His sturdy jaw is tight and his eyes are pleading. He toys with the fray of my shorts, peeking up just a little while he waits for my response.
I trace the top of his hand. “No. I’m not mad.”
I’m sure my cousin is perfectly fine, but I text her anyway.
Me
Are you Annie or Hallie in this scheme of yours?
Millie
You know I’m Meredith. You’ve seen Daddy Nick Parker hot face
“Did you put on sunscreen?” Cam asks.
Our driver takes a switchback up the mountain too quickly, and I’m launched into Cam’s side. Instinctively, I grasp for purchase and find it when I dig my fingers into his thigh. With a grunt, I pull back like it’s scorched me.
“You can touch me, you know.”
“I know,” I mumble. “And yes, I put on sunscreen.”
He grasps my hand and sets it back on his thigh. “I like it when you touch me.”
A surge of warmth flows through my veins, so I lean in, bringing my lips to his earlobe. “Where do you like me touching you?” I capture his lobe in my teeth and tug for emphasis.
He groans when I pull away. “Don’t fucking start what you can’t finish, Josefine.”
“Who says I won’t finish?” I wink.
Adjusting his shorts, he clears his throat. “It looks like we’re here.”
The taxi comes to a stop next to a brick wall in an empty dirt lot.
“Are we sure this is the right place?” I ask.
“ Nai ,” the driver says, the Greek word for yes , which trips me up every time.
Cam grabs my bag and climbs out, and I follow. Once we’ve paid the driver, we drop several coins into the donation box, then follow the paved path.
We pass the Gouverneto Monastery, and a broad man, presumably a Greek Orthodox monk, walks past as we peep through the open door.
“Want to go inside now or after the hike?” I ask.
“After,” he decides, clasping my hand and pulling me down the path until we’re met with a rickety wooden gate.
He holds it open for me, and when he lets it go, it slams shut with a sharp clatter. “Oops,” he chuckles.
The world is so quiet this morning. The only sound is the gravel crunching beneath our shoes. When the path at the top of the mountain opens to a clearing, we’re met with an expansive view of the Sea of Crete. The magnificence of the scenery pulls all the air from my lungs.
“Wow,” we gasp in unison.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and spin so I can take a selfie with the sea as a backdrop.
“Here,” Cam says, holding out his hand. “Let me.”
I hand it over. He is the professional, after all. He swings an arm around my shoulder and snaps a selfie of the two of us. Our smiles are wide, and the water is unbelievably blue behind us.
“After you?” He motions toward the path.
“I’d say you’re a gentleman, but you just want to stare at my ass, don’t you?”
“I’m not even going to try to deny it,” he says with a devastating grin.
A few beats later, the gravelly path morphs into slick, wide stones. Cam grabs my elbow occasionally to steady me as we go. Nature’s barbed wire, these short, thorny bushes, are the only things stopping us from going over the side of the mountain. We remain quiet in our descent, taking in the harmonizing symphony of goats, bees, and cicadas.
After about ten minutes of doing my best to avoid a sprained ankle, we arrive at the Arkoudospilio Cave, or Bear Cave, named for the huge stalagmite that resembles a bear bent over a well, and Cam finally breaks the silence.
“Some say this cave was used to worship Artemis and Apollo.” With a grin, he steps inside. “Watch out for goat poop.”
I follow closely, using my phone’s light to take in my surroundings, then follow him back to the trail, where wind-bent trees keep us company, alongside the Cretan goats (a.k.a. kri kri) that scale the mountains.
Now that the sun is rising higher in the sky, Cam pivots his ball cap so the brim shields his eyes. Beads of sweat collect at his temples. While my back is warm from the friction of my backpack, the rest of my body is comfortable.
That is, until he speaks next. Just the tone of his voice is enough to stoke the low flame that’s been burning inside me since I saw him in the lobby this morning. “Can I ask you a question?”
The path is wide enough now that we can safely walk side by side. “Mm-hmm,” I reply.
He side-eyes me. “What’s your book about?”
Ah, the question every writer loves as much as they hate it. While I’m flattered when people show interest in my craft and passion, there’s no possible way to formulate a coherent summary and keep it under three minutes. I once spent two hours spilling my brains out to Brooks when he asked what I was writing, diving into the backstories of my backstories in fear that he’d think my idea was unappealing. So with all that in mind, I give Cam the most condensed version.
“It’s fiction.” I take a deep breath in, willing my heart to steady. It’s always daunting baring my soul like this. “Wait.” I stop dead in my tracks and frown. “How did you know I’m writing a book?”
“You mentioned it last year and Millie may or may not have sent me your Instagram,” he admits with a wide smile. Damn, his teeth are so white he could be in a Crest commercial.
I curse my cousin under my breath. Of course she did. I step away from him so I can focus on the path rather than him while I explain. “It’s a coming-of-age novel about a girl. A woman ,” I correct, “who was raised by a mother who’s addicted to painkillers and how she struggles to find her way in life.”
Cam is silent, studying the ancient steps beneath us. When I don’t offer more of an explanation, he speaks up. “And does she?”
“Does she what?”
“Does the woman find her way in life?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my bottom lip. “I haven’t gotten that far.”