Chapter 9
9
Natalie
“ T hank you so much for making time for us,” I tell Rachel Wilder, who, with her husband, Brody, runs Brody’s Boats. It’s the boating-charter division of Wilder Adventures, the business run by Hanna’s husband, Easton, and his four brothers.
“Of course!” Rachel says. “We prepared a sampler for you of what we offer.”
Rachel’s maybe ten years older than I am, with warm medium-brown skin and thick dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wears a pair of mom jeans and a hot-pink T-shirt with purple lettering that says, Sorry if I’m not repressed enough for you . Makes sense, since Hanna told me that Rachel is a certified sex counselor who runs a sex-education nonprofit and still finds time to maintain a small sex therapy practice.
Brody offers me a warm smile and holds his hand out for a shake. He’s wearing motorcycle boots and a ripped T-shirt and jeans, and his arms are elaborately tattooed—rain droplets on glass, fish, waves.
Okay, I get it: water-themed.
“We’re excited about the possibility of a partnership with Hott Springs Eternal,” Brody says. “Did you bring Hanna along?”
“No, I, uh?—”
“She brought me,” Preston says, strolling up. He’d lingered in his car to drop into a “very important phone call with New York”—never mind that New York should have been asleep hours ago—and I teasingly reminded him that on time is late , before I remembered that he doesn’t have a sense of humor.
Still, the scowl was its own reward.
Why is annoying Preston Hott so much fun for me?
Despite the fact that we’re about to board a boat, Preston is still wearing office clothes. In this case, a gray-and-white seersucker suit that on anyone else would look ridiculous. On Preston it’s sin walking.
I swallow saliva that otherwise threatens to become drool. “I don’t know if you heard, but Preston and I are working together for a few weeks.”
Magically, my voice is unaffected by lust.
“Is this will stuff, dude?” Brody asks as Preston does the manly swat-across-the-back/side-hug thing with him.
“Will bullshit,” Preston confirms.
“Ah. Okay,” Rachel says, eyes roving over the two of us with a new spark of curiosity. “This presentation was optimized for an audience of women, but?—”
“But Rachel can improvise like a boss,” Brody interjects. “So no worries.” He casts an eye at Preston’s outfit. “Come on aboard.”
We board his boat—a decent-sized fishing boat that Brody tells us is a “thirty-five foot Scout”—and sets us up in the large open bow on cushioned benches. It’s really nice. Rachel sits down with us, a small crate at her side, while Brody heads into the cockpit.
He cruises us out a short way onto the lake, which is—beautiful. It’s surrounded by mountains, a few of which still boast snow coverage on their highest peaks. The sun is low enough in the sky to barely kiss the tops of the trees at the lake’s edge, and a breeze blows its woodsy scent out to us. I breathe deeply. I can definitely see HSE’s guests loving this.
“Basically,” Rachel says, “we can host just about anything on board the boat. We regularly do book clubs, product parties, wine tastings, bachelorette parties, craft nights, a whole variety of other girls’ nights out. And we’d be happy to do any-slash-all of those things for Hott Springs Eternal.” She spreads her hands. “But I also thought it would be great for us to do something branded specifically for HSE. That’s what I’ve prepared for you. I’m tentatively calling it the Wedding Launch.” She looks from Preston to me and back again, opens her mouth, closes it again, and shrugs. “Apologies in advance if this is”—she looks directly at Preston—“not what you were expecting when you showed up tonight.”
She reaches into her crate and pulls out a bottle of champagne, which she adeptly pours into two flutes and offers to Preston and me. Next she hands us each a small plate on which she arranges a few extremely classy appetizers. And a small cocktail napkin.
She doesn’t take any for herself.
Uh, I see. We’re the newlyweds.
Preston doesn’t look at me. I don’t look at him. I sip my champagne.
“Obviously we’d aim to do it a bit later at night. Under the stars. And we’d go out further on the lake, where the mountains are more visible. It’s basically a honeymoon kick-starter.”
“‘Honeymoon Kick-Starter’ would be a cute name, too,” I say, sipping my champagne and trying as hard as possible to act like I knew I’d be pretending to be Preston’s new wife when we boarded this boat.
“Once the couple is settled in with food, I’d offer a just-for-two version of my classic one-hour presentation.” She leans down again and pulls some items out of the crate. “I start with candles and oils and lotions, and then if people are open to it, we talk about reciprocity and intimacy and…”
Without breaking stride, Rachel takes our champagne glasses and plates and sets them in clever holders clearly optimized for on-board dining, then hands us some of the contents of the crate.
I look down to discover I’m holding a vivid red two-headed vibrator and a set of bright pink Kegel balls.
I check the contents of Preston’s hands.
Yup.
Fleshlight in one, warming gel in the other.
He has a loose, almost panicked grip on his items, like he’s holding two hot potatoes. Like they’re burning his skin.
My eyes rise to his face. A blush darkens his already naturally dusky-tan cheeks. I can’t tug my gaze away from it or the way it spreads down to his neck. I want to trace the line of red with my fingertip and ask him what’s got him so hot and bothered.
But only to annoy him.
He’s given me a hard time since the first moment we crossed paths, and I want to push back.
That’s the only reason I hold up the clit-and-G-spot vibrator and say, “Oh, I have one like this back at the lodge!”
And then turn it on and press the vibrations against my fingertips.