Chapter Twenty-Two
Jenna
It’s strange being more nervous about putting clothes on for him than taking them off.
But here we are. And by here, I mean washing my hands in the bathroom after my third nervous poo of the morning and it’s not even nine o’clock yet.
Goddamn my sensitive bowels. Considering I skipped dinner again last night and couldn’t eat much of the breakfast that my brother sent to my villa – this time unaccompanied by his lovely self as he had a wasps’ nest emergency or some other implausible drama to attend to – I have no clue where this is all coming from.
And yet I do, because it’s the first time I am going on a date with a man I have a real attraction to. It’s hard not to make it into a big deal when I’ve spent the last year questioning if such a thing was even possible again for me.
I comfort the nerves by reminding myself about last night. About how good it was. About how hard I came. About how he looked in the shower, between my legs, on top of me.
These thoughts are what keep me going as I pull out most of my clothes and try them on in rushed, stressed movements that make me sweat despite turning the AC temperature down.
I realise quickly it’s going to have to be a case of choosing something that makes me feel comfortable even if it doesn’t make me look my best. I wonder when exactly the balance tipped in that direction, because ten years ago I would have gladly suffered blisters on my heels, rib-compressing underwear and an all-day wedgie for a date with a man who looks like Marty.
But not today. Today I want to be comfortable, so my final outfit choice is another oversized T-shirt dress with Breton white and navy stripes paired with my sexiest black halter-neck bikini – the one that makes me smile at myself in the mirror because of the way the top cinches my cleavage and the bottoms accentuate the roundness of my butt – and I pull up a pair of denim cut-off shorts over the bikini bottoms just in case he has me doing anything more active than lying on a beach.
Then I blow-dry my hair, run some product through it, and make sure I have a hairband on my wrist because I rarely get through a day without wanting to tie it back.
As for make-up, I make do with my industrial strength waterproof mascara that costs more than a week’s worth of take-away coffees, a light dusting of bronzer and a generous coating of SPF lip balm for my lips because I hope to get at least ten kisses today. Maybe twenty.
I look at my reflection as I brush my teeth and a rush of unexpected questions charge in.
Am I trying to look younger than I really am?
Am I dressed too casually? Or not smart enough?
Will this dress show sweat marks? Should I pack another bikini in case we do go to a beach and this one gets soaked?
Does Marty prefer my hair up or down? Would Marty rather see more skin, or less?
As I spit and rinse, I laugh at myself because I didn’t worry half as much as this about any of the few dates I’ve been on in the last year, and maybe that should have been my first sign.
I make a silent promise to myself that when I get home I will not go on another date until I have a swarm of butterflies in my stomach like I do now.
When I get home... Fuck. I really don’t want to go home.
I blink that thought away and fill a beach bag with a towel, my sunglasses, deodorant, sun cream, my purse and not at all as an afterthought, a couple of condoms. I spray far too much perfume all over my body and rub my wrists together – just like my mother used to.
Doing this, I catch the time on my watch and see I should have left five minutes ago, but now I need to go to the toilet again.
I groan and rush there. Once finished, I wash up quickly, check my reflection again and then do something I started doing once I left my husband. I talk to myself.
“You look good, Jenna. Just have fun, Jenna. If in doubt, drag him back to your villa and ride him until you get friction burns, Jenna.”
With a nod of agreement to myself, I walk out and hurry down the path towards the main entrance, with far too much of a bounce in my step.
I’m just deciding what I will do if he isn’t there, but Marty is exactly where he’s supposed to be outside the main building’s entrance, looking up at me as I walk down.
“There she is! Looking fucken edible!” he says, so loudly a couple walking out of the main entrance turn and give him and then me a disapproving look.
“Hi,” I say. I want to say the same thing back to him.
He looks like he was made to be on holiday, with his simple white T-shirt and khaki shorts that end above the knee, making his lean and sculpted legs look at least a foot longer than they really are.
He’s wearing the same style Birkenstocks as me – although mine are gold and his are black – and I smile at this because it’s like another brick in that bridge that connects us over our age gap.
As I approach him, I have no idea if I should shake his hand, lean in for a hug, or push up for a kiss. I’m grateful when he decides for me, grabbing my hands and pulling me against him where he pushes his lips on my forehead.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say and I suddenly really, really am. I want any second with him that he will give me.
“I’m glad you are. We’re still waiting on...”
“Well, bugger me senseless, that was hard work.” I hear my brother’s voice and turn to see him marching out of the building’s double doors, two phones in his hands. “The sooner I can speak Greek, the better. Good morning, Jenna. You look nice. Ish.”
“Ish?” I give my brother a look.
“Well, you could have made a bit more of an effort.” His index finger wags up and down in time with his eyes as they assess me.
“She looks great,” Marty says.
“You clearly have sex tunnel vision,” my brother says. “Anyway listen, Yiannis fucked up, royally. They thought you wanted a scooter, not a car. I’ve called and their last car just got picked up so it’s a scooter or nothing. How do you feel about that?”
“We’re going on a scooter ride?” I am suddenly very grateful I put those shorts on. But a scooter will be fun. With a grin on my face, I look up at Marty and see he looks a little ashen, almost shocked.
“There’s really only a scooter?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s their mistake but when they’re communicating with me in English and I’m the bossy foreigner I don’t really feel in a position to complain.”
“A scooter’s fine,” I say.
“Actually...” Marty begins and his eyes lower to mine. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable driving a scooter.”
“I can drive then,” I say. I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope my smile is comforting.
Marty turns to Jake. “Are there any other hire car companies you can call?”
“I could... But the chances of you getting anything in the next hour are as good as my hangover magically disappearing.”
“Right...” Marty bites the side of his lip between his teeth.
“I don’t want to be a pushy dick, but I think this really is your best bet because I’ve already sent Lionel off with the...”
Marty holds two straight fingers up in front of Jake. “Ssshh, Sweet Cheeks.”
“Huh, so that name is staying, is it?” I say with a small smile.
“I shouldn’t like him calling me that, should I?” Jake says and then one of his phones starts ringing. “That’s Yiannis. I’ll go meet him.”
He walks down towards the main entrance talking into his phone like the caller is a long-lost, much-loved friend.
“Hey,” I say and give Marty a little nudge. He still looks lost in thought, so I wait for his eyes to find mine. “Are you okay?”
His hand comes to the back of his head, rubbing. “Yeah, of course,” he says, then closes his eyes. “Actually, no, not really.”
“Never ridden a scooter before?” I ask.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just I...when I was abroad...”
“Oh, is it a you and Arnie thing?” I say wanting to kick myself that I didn’t think of it sooner.
“No, well, yes it was, but no... I just. I had an accident once and now... now...” He trails off, his cheeks hollowing as he bites them in his mouth.
“Well, then we can just skip the scooter ride and we go back to my villa and we...” I bob my eyebrows, almost pleased. One whole day with this man in bed. What could be better?
“No,” he says, and he shakes his head roughly. “No, I want to do this.”
“Then great! We’ll do it.” I find his hand and give it a squeeze.
“Fuck me, I’m such an eejit,” Marty says and he’s looking away, out in the direction of the sea, like he wants to run away there.
I smile and push up on my toes to press my lips to his. “I will fuck you, you eejit. Later. But first, we scooter!” I smile against his mouth when I feel his lips do the same.
“But could you... would you mind driving? I think that would help a lot,” he asks.
“Of course, I can.” I sound a lot more confident than I am.
“Grand,” he says quietly.
Our heads turn in sync when we hear the approaching roar of an engine and we turn to see a muscular dark-haired man wearing aviators driving towards us with my brother’s arms wrapped around his waist, like he genuinely fears for his life.
.. or maybe, like he wants to grab handfuls of that stocky torso. I bite back my smile.
“He could have your brother arrested,” Marty mutters under his breath to me and it’s good to hear him making a joke again.
Just over ten minutes later, we are ready.
We look ridiculous on a battered old scooter together, wearing helmets that my hair is not going to enjoy.
Marty has his thighs flanked against the back of mine and my bag is wedged in between us on his lap.
The feeling of Marty’s firm legs against the back of my own is the one sensation that has me keeping my laughter under some control because it feels good; grounding and sexy, and just good.
So good it makes me realise just how touch-starved I’ve been in the last year.
My fat cheeks are squeezed tight in the helmet and I am grateful Marty can’t see me, until I realise he actually can, catching a glimpse of me in one of the side mirrors.
I hear him chuckle and he tells me I look like “a cute little hamster storing food for winter.” I swipe at his leg, which makes him squeeze his thighs around my butt.
We descend deeper into laughter together. We haven’t even switched the engine on.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” my brother asks as I turn the key.
“And Jenna, if you must crash make sure it’s a total and you end up in hospital so you can claim it on your insurance rather than me having to pay off Yiannis in free meals for his family for the rest of the season. Please, and thank you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, brother dearest,” I say and then I rev the engine once, twice, and give myself a moment to feel a sliver of fear about driving this thing.
And then I do what I’ve been doing with all my negative thoughts in the last year, I push it to the side and focus on the good.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell myself again.
And I believe it. How could I not? I’m on a scooter, with a sexy young man who has his hands on my hips and a plan for a day together. A day in the sunshine. A day on a Greek island. A day in paradise. A day I never expected to happen. But it’s happening...
I’m at the road entrance to the resort when I slam on the brakes, and this forces Marty’s body to shift into mine in a way I don’t mind at all. I make a note of that.
“Sorry, just testing the brakes,” I call out.
“Fine with me,” he says, and I feel his arms snake around to grip my waist.
“But also,” I say. “Which way? Where are we actually going?”
He laughs and then tells me to turn left and to follow that road until he tells me otherwise, and while part of me hesitates at not knowing where we’re going or what we’re doing, I lean back against his embrace, turn left and wait for him to show me the way.