Chapter 8
eight
PETER
“Geneva, there’s no way I can wear this,” I say. She’s lost her mind. It takes a lot of work just to get the damn swimsuit on.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asks. I step out of the dressing room.
“If I move too quickly, my junk is going to fall out. It’s at least two sizes too small.” She’s staring at me like I’m her next meal. Her eyes slowly peruse down until they stop at the tightest part. Please don’t pop a chub. There’s no way it’ll survive in this suit.
“I think it’s perfect,” she says.
“Okay, first, my eyes are up here, you perv.” I motion to my face. She smiles at me. “Second, no.” I turn to walk back into the dressing room.
“Damn,” she moans.
Easy boy, she’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Literally.
“You have to let me smack it.”
“Geneva,” I warn, stepping through the curtain. I love saying her name. It feels like a cool breeze on a warm summer night. I say it as often as I can. “Find something else.”
The next one she throws over the curtain looks a little larger, but it’s gray. Who wears a gray swimsuit? I pull it on anyway and step out. Holding my arms out to the side, I do a three-sixty. She has a wicked smile on her face. She’s up to something I’ve missed.
“What?” I ask. “Why would you choose gray?” Why would a store even carry this color? It’s going to look like I’m naked in the water. You can also see every inch of my cock.
Oh. I don’t even argue with her this time. I just return to the dressing room. “Try again.”
“Fine,” she says. I can hear the pout in her voice. It makes me smile. Maybe I’ll take the gray one for later. A new suit shoots over the curtain rail at me. It’s not bad. I pull it on and step back out. This suit is blue with red stripes down the legs. It has a retro-athletic feel to it that I like.
“Turn,” she snarls, like I did with her last suit. That thing made her luscious breasts look amazing. Laying by the pool next to them will be the death of me. I do a slow turn while she appraises my trunks. They’re still tight, but not uncomfortably so. “These are nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They hug everywhere they should but still look classic. I say yes.”
“Shall we check out then?” I ask.
“We shall.” She precedes me to the cashier. We pile our suits on the counter, and I notice out of the corner of my eye that she’s decided to buy the Brazilian anyway. Fine by me. Rand has a house in Austin with a private pool. I wouldn’t mind seeing it make an appearance there. While he and his wife are back in Dansboro Crossing, of course.
We stroll back through the shops and head up to our rooms. Geneva decides I need to pick her up at her room in fifteen minutes to head to the pool, so I hurry into my room.
Shedding my clothes, I pull on the new suit and throw a T-shirt on to walk to the pool area. I don’t have anything but tennis shoes in the room, so I pull them back on. I’m knocking on her door in exactly fifteen minutes.
“May I escort you somewhere wet?” I ask when she opens the door.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” She steps out in one of the hotel robes.
“I can’t. I might have to throw that rule out.”
“Good. Now I just have three to work on.” She smiles at me. I cock an eyebrow at her. You would think I’d be so over this trip already. Geneva taunts me at every turn.
Except I’m not. I love sparring with this woman. I hate to tell her she broke the nudity one also. As long as she doesn’t remember (she’s at least not mentioned it), then it’ll be my dirty little secret.
I have kissed her before, in case you’re wondering. Last night wasn’t our first one. The last time I was fifteen though. We were in the basement of my house playing truth or dare with a couple of friends over the holidays. I chose dare, and my older brother, Tim, dared me to kiss her. He knew I had a crush on Geneva already. I was so nervous my palms were sweating. It wasn’t very memorable.
Last night’s kiss, however, was one for the record books. Even inebriated, she kissed like a rock star. With her naked breasts pressed against my chest, it was all I could do not to throw her on the bed and strip her out of those barely-there panties.
Fortunately, common sense took over. I can’t strip off the barely-there panties of my best friend’s sister. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Over and over.
“Come on, the pools are heated,” I say when we step outside. She shivers in the cold air. The pools may be heated, but it’s still late fall. I lead her to the nearest deck chair, and she slides out of her robe and dives into the pool. I peel off my T-shirt and shoes to follow her. The water feels amazing.
“Do you remember the time you came with Rand to California for spring break? We kept getting paired up to chicken fight in the pool?” she asks.
How could I forget? I had to threaten half the neighborhood kids so I always got Geneva. She sat the entire week with her pussy pressed against the back of my neck. I was in heaven. I was also in hell knowing that was as close as I’d get to it.
“Yeah, I was what, sixteen?”
“That sounds right. I would have been fifteen. I’m surprised you didn’t drown.”
“If memory serves, we ruled the pool that week.”
“We did.” She floats closer to me. It’s cold enough outside that we hunker in the water up to our necks. Suddenly, she pushes out of the water and forces me underneath the surface. I come up sputtering.
“Here’s where you die, Randolph,” I say.
Diving under the water, I grab her good ankle and pull her under. When I resurface, she’s laughing. I don’t remember a time when I’ve seen Geneva this relaxed. She’s always had to wear a tough shell around her. First to survive her father. Then to keep the world from closing in on her. I like this carefree Geneva.
“I’ll race you to the end,” she says before diving. I grin before diving after her. We spend the rest of our time racing around the pool until we’re both spent.
“We should head to our massages,” I suggest. We climb from the pool quickly. It’s colder than when we dived in. She pulls her robe around her; I towel dry. We both hurry inside to the spa.
The attendant trades us for new robes. Geneva disappears into the women’s locker room. I spin-dry my suit and then shower off the chlorine. Placing the suit inside a locker, I tighten the robe around my naked body and walk into the relaxation room.
“Close your eyes,” Geneva says when she joins me. She places cucumbers on my eyes. I feel her sit on the lounger next to me. “I’m looking forward to this,” she whispers. Me too, but it’s going to be awkward. All they had available was a couple’s massage room. I guess the nudity rule is about to go out the window.
“Mr. and Mrs. Winsloe, we’re ready for you,” an attendant announces from the doorway. Geneva cuts her eyes at me. I shake my head in apology. I’m sure I’ll hear about this later. We follow the woman to the treatment room. “I’ll leave you to get comfortable on the tables.” The door closes, and I turn to Geneva.
“I think I would remember getting married last night,” she says.
“Sorry, this is all they had. I just booked it under my name. They must have assumed we were married. I’ll turn my back so you can get on the table first.”
“Why bother if we’re already married?”
She slides the robe off her shoulders, and my mouth goes dry. Perfection stands in front of me in all her glory. Best friend’s sister, best friend’s sister, I chant in my head.
Oh, fuck it. I slide my robe off and raise my arms partway in an aggressive gesture. She takes her time perusing my body. I’ve got to get on this table before I have a full-blown kickstand to fight with.
We’re both lying under the sheets when the therapists enter the room. It’s a man-and-woman team. The woman moves to Geneva. I’m good with that. I might have to rip the man’s arms off if he touched her. I know he’s a professional, but just no. They go over the rules and whip the sheets down to our waists. A moan escapes Geneva when the therapist presses up her back. This was a horrible idea.
“Oh my god, this was a brilliant idea, Peter,” she moans.
“Maybe you should stay super silent to get the best experience,” I suggest. The moans are going to kill me.
“Problem?” I hear her laugh.
“When you’re involved, always.” Geneva releases a drawn-out moan worthy of an Academy Award. “Funny.”
“Are you okay?” the therapist asks.
“She’s just torturing me,” I say. “She obviously needs to be committed.”
“Don’t make me come bite those glutes,” Geneva says.
“You’re likely to break your teeth on these things,” my therapist points out. “What have you been doing?” His knuckles press deeply into the muscles.
“Owww,” I whine. The next time he presses against them, I manage just a wince. It’s the one area I wouldn’t let Geneva use her magical muscle balm on me. Now I regret that decision. “Jesus,” I huff the next time. Who knew your ass could take such a beating climbing down a mountain trail?
At last, the torture ends. Pulling our robes back on, we leave the spa for our rooms. We get curious looks in the elevator. Geneva doesn’t comment on her obsession with biting me this time at least.
“You want to throw on pajamas and come watch a movie in my room?” I ask when we reach my door. “I’ll order in.”
“Sure. Give me ten minutes.”
I prop the door open with the safety bar so she can let herself in. I’ll put off taking a shower for a little while so the oil can soak in. My butt muscles are finally starting to loosen. I guess that’s good news. Pulling on a pair of flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt, I return to the living area just in time to see Geneva step through the door.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask, picking up the phone.
“Salad.”
“Yes, I’ll take a Cobb with the dressing on the side. I’ll also order the filet cooked medium rare, fries, and two Negra Modelos.” I raise an eyebrow in question at her. She nods her consent. This isn’t our first rodeo. I know exactly what salad is her favorite, that she’s going to steal half my fries, and that she likes dark beer.
I don’t remember exactly when Geneva and I started hanging out together as friends. It crept up on us slowly. I do know that since Rand moved, she’s been a fixture in my apartment most nights. Often, she swung by after martial arts practice. She’d shower while I cooked. We’d eat and find a movie we could both tolerate.
“Any movie requests”” she asks. She flops down on one end of the couch, and I join her.
“Surprise me.”
“You know I’ll make you sit through cheesy B-rated rom-com if you say that just to be mean.”
“Fine. Psychological thriller.”
“Ooh, good choice.” She flips through the online movies until she settles on something we haven’t seen yet. She curls up against me, and I throw a blanket over our legs to keep us warm.
I know we look like an old married couple already. Except, I can’t keep Geneva the way I want to. A romantic breakup would destroy this. I’m living in a quandary. I don’t want to give her up, but I can’t keep her either. Life isn’t fair.