7. Living The Dream, Cara.
Living The Dream, Cara.
Cara
My word, he’s possibly the grumpiest man I’ve ever met, but, my word, he’s attractive. That backside in those jeans, well, even I can appreciate that, and I’ve never appreciated a bum in my life.
I don’t mean to drop back behind him as we walk toward the cabins, but he’s left me to pull my heavy case while he carries everything else, and his long strides are carrying him a lot faster than I seem capable of walking right now.
‘This is you.’ He comes to a stop in front of a cute little cabin in much better shape than the house I came here for, and I sigh, relieved. ‘Anything you need, call Zoe, or go down to the bar.’ His brow furrows a little. ‘It gets a little rowdy after five, so you’d be better off calling.’
‘Oh, I’ll be fine, thank you. I’m knackered, to be honest.’
‘Knackered?’ he grumbles, and I chuckle.
‘Tired, very bloody tired.’
He lifts his chin in acknowledgment of my translation but doesn’t smile, or say anything more as he hands me the key, puts down my bags, and turns.
‘Um, it’s Doug, right?’
He stops, and I see the rise and fall of his shoulders before he turns to face me once more.
‘Sorry, I just, I was wondering if you might know of a general contractor locally. Someone who can carry out house renovations?’
A little crease appears between his brows as they pull together at my question.
‘I might know somebody.’
‘Oh, amazing. Could you give me their details, maybe pop them under the door if you need to check with them first, or something? I’ll probably be asleep for the next day, so there’s no rush at all, but I’ve just moved here, and I don’t know anyone.’
‘Moved here?’ He tilts his head a little with the question that creases those brows even more. If I weren’t practically dead on my feet, I’d be positively swooning at how attractive this man is. Not my usual type at all with his unfairly broad shoulders and that beard, but for those caramel eyes and tattooed, muscular forearms, I could happily make an exception.
He clears his throat.
‘Oh, shit, sorry.’ I realize I’m staring and internally smack myself in the head. ‘Yeah, moved here. I own a house here, but I didn’t realize it was in such a bad state, so I need to get work started fairly quickly.’
I’m impressed that even in the cloud of exhaustion, I still manage to see the moment it dawns on him the house I’m talking about, and for some reason, the confusion morphs quickly into frustration. No, that looks distinctly like anger, and I instinctively take a defensive step back.
‘The Reynolds farmhouse?’
I was right. He knows the place. ‘Yeah, it’s mine, but…’
He huffs out a laugh, but it’s completely devoid of any humor. He shakes his head and turns, then starts walking away.
‘Uh, the contractor?’ I call after him weakly.
‘Can’t help,’ he snaps, and then he’s gone.
‘ Okay .’ Confused at his reaction, I sigh into the distance before turning, letting myself into my cabin, dumping my bags, and falling down onto the bed.
I need sleep, lots and lots of sleep.
‘Oh god.’
I groan as I stretch out in bed. My body is stiff as I reach for my phone, expecting to see that I’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours, but no, just a solid nine. Unfortunately, that makes it just after midnight.
I flick on the bedside lamp and sit back against the headboard. My stomach grumbles, and I look around the room for the bag of snacks I bought for the flight, then didn’t need, thanks to Doris and business class.
Pushing out of the bed, I rifle through my bags, sending up a silent thank you when I find what I’m after before sitting back on the bed. I open a bag of crisps, then chuckle. Cara McKenzie, eating crisps in bed and not giving a passing thought to crumbs… unheard of . Who says I’m boring?
My gaze moves around the space. I chose the cabin that said it had a bathtub and a kitchenette. That made it the most expensive of all the ones available, but I might be here a while. I need to be able to soak my bones and make myself some food. I didn’t get a chance to have a look around when I first came in, as I was focused only on sleep. Now I take it all in. It’s nice. To my surprise, it’s very white. Whitewashed wood-paneled walls and furniture with navy blue soft furnishings. It reminds me of a little beach cottage we used to stay in when I was small. The bed isn’t huge, but big enough and really comfy, and the linens are clean and soft. The kitchenette is small but functional.
In the bathroom, there’s more white and blue, and the décor is nautical, beach-style, with framed ropes and knots and strategically placed shells. It’s very cute. I release a relieved sigh. I could have ended up in some dirty hovel of a place, but no, it’s lovely.
Finding my way back to the bed, I startle at the loud laughter outside my room. It’s deep, a man’s voice, and then another. I check the time again—almost one in the morning.
I head over to the window to see two men approaching my cabin, and my heart races, then, one of the men taps the other’s chest and redirects him to the next one down. I breathe out a small sigh of relief, then the music starts. Loud music, coming from the cabin they just walked into.
I’m probably not going back to sleep just yet, but that’s not the point. I’m paying to be here just like they are, and I shouldn’t have to put up with that in the middle of the night—nobody should.
I think about going over to the bar, then realize it’s probably closed. I remember that Happy told me to call Zoe if I need anything, but I don’t want to wake anyone. No, I’ll just go and ask them to turn it down.
As I slip my feet into my trainers, I hear more voices and more laughter and look out of the window to see more men heading into the next-door cabin, and my self-preservation kicks in. I can’t head over to a cabin full of intoxicated men alone and potentially piss them off.
I’m sure they’re all nice guys and wouldn’t hurt a fly, but this is me: risk-averse, remember.
I turn on my TV instead, louder than I’ve ever had it in my life, and settle onto the bed to eat snacks and watch infomercials. Living the dream, Cara.
After just over an hour, a whole bottle of water, and another bathroom break, I realize I’m not getting back to sleep and decide to run a bath and make a list. Heading into the bathroom, I turn on the hot water and let the tub fill while I find my notepad and pen.
I don’t have any bubble bath, I think, as I watch the water rising. That needs to be the first thing on my list. I sit on the closed toilet and turn to a new page of my pad.
Groceries . I write as the first heading, then start to make a list.
Bubble bath.
Milk.
Sugar.
Tea (if it looks decent… otherwise, coffee will do) There’s nothing worse than bad tea.
I consider what else I need before getting up to turn off the taps. I put down my pad and pen, head out to make sure the door is locked, and the curtains are closed, then undress and sink my body into the warm water.
‘Mmm.’ I moan aloud at the sensation of the warmth wrapping around my body as I lean my head back and close my eyes.
What do I need to do today? I think, unable to fully switch off as I reach for my pen from the side of the bath and add another header on the other side of the page.
To Do.
Get American sim card.
Find the bank.
Familiarize myself with the town.
Find a contractor.
I find my brow furrowing at that last one, and I press my lips together. What was grumpy Doug’s problem? I mean, granted, he wasn’t exactly friendly before that part of our short conversation. He didn’t say hello in the bar, didn’t even want to look up from under that cap of his, and definitely didn’t want to carry my bags, but his already standoffish demeanor dropped to downright anger when he heard the farmhouse was mine.
I wonder if it’s my accent. Maybe he doesn’t like outsiders in his town. I remember Doris’s words, you’re one of theirs , and I suppose, technically, I have a small claim to this place, to that house, but not really. I’m not from here, and I guess I have to accept that they have no idea who I am or what I’m about.
He was very nice to look at, though. Even with that permanent scowl on his face, perhaps more because of it. I would never have imagined I’d look at a grumpy, bearded, muscular man and like what I see, but I definitely do.
I don’t generally find myself looking at men with those sorts of thoughts. There aren’t that many men to look at in my little village. The boys I grew up with were awful to me and definitely not the thing of teenage fantasies, and the older men in the village are like surrogate fathers or even grandfathers to me. Jamie moved there for work and was the first new face any of us had seen in years. He was handsome enough to catch my eye, but part of me wonders if it was just his newness that attracted me.
I drop my head back and close my eyes. Arousal is unfamiliar to me. I’ve been having sex semi-regularly for almost a decade, but it’s never been the knock-your-socks-off experience you read about in books or see on TV.
The number of times I’ve read a romance novel and the woman talks about her knickers getting wet at the mere sight of the man. I’ve always rolled my eyes and tutted. That doesn’t happen, not to me, at least. My body knows how to get to the right point to make sure sex doesn’t hurt too much, but I always knew without a doubt that all this talk of wetness and throbbing was for dramatic effect—to make it all sound more appealing than it is.
Until a couple of months ago, I was having missionary sex a maximum of three times a week on my back, without foreplay, until my ex had finished, and never, ever completely naked. I truly believed I was incapable of getting turned on. Sex is fine, but I can go without.
I can’t lie, though, when grumpy Doug looked at me for the first time, I felt something in the pit of my stomach I’d never felt before. When I watched his backside in those jeans as he walked me to the cabin and his muscles as he carried my bags, I liked that a lot. And when he tilted his head and scowled at me, God, I… wait , what is that?
I press my thighs together, and my eyes snap open. I pressed, my thighs, together ! Another cliche I always followed with an epic eye roll after reading, and now I’m doing it, without even meaning to, but I felt it again, that drop in my stomach—more than that, I fluttered down there , just remembering him. What is wrong with me? It wasn’t even a nice memory—it was him being mean. Oh god , there it is again.
‘What are you doing?’ I say, looking down my body toward my lady parts. ‘You just decided twenty-nine years old is the perfect age to start doing what all those books say you can do?’ I shake my head, thinking back to the things I’ve read, and start making a mental list.
Arousal:
Flushed cheeks.
Racing pulse.
Feeling of dropping/twisting in lower belly.
Flutters/throbbing.
Yes. I have all of those. What’s next?
Wetness.
I swallow hard. Something definitely feels a little different, but of course I’m wet. I’m in the bath.
In a rush, I push myself up and stand, then climb out and grab a towel. Too much unfamiliar for one day. New town, new home, new sensations… too much.
I pull on my pajamas, noting that the music next door has stopped, and I can no longer hear laughter. I lay on the bed, the TV still on but not watching anything. Instead, I stare at the ceiling feeling a little out of sorts. I don’t understand what just happened. I spent five years with Jamie and had sex with two men before him, but never felt aroused, not really. I mean, once I get into it, it’s fine, but have I been missing something and writing it off as a myth?
I grab my phone and open the search engine, relieved this place has Wi-Fi.
What does arousal feel like for a woman?
You will experience different stages of arousal. At first, you’ll become excited to be with your partner, perhaps you just started kissing or touching, or you find yourself in the same space as a person you’re physically or sexually attracted to, and your body responds. You will start to think a little differently. Your senses will heighten, taking in their appearance, their scent, and the feel of their skin. Your heart might start to race, and your breathing might start to quicken—note, this feeling of sexual excitement is not limited to time with a partner or with only one. You can feel this with multiple partners, and you can feel this alone and may start to think about masturbation at this point.
Oh god. I don’t. I mean, I haven’t. I swallow hard. I’m not an idiot or some na?ve village numpty who thinks that women don’t touch themselves, but I just haven’t ever done it—haven’t ever thought about doing it.
As you move from excitement to arousal, the blood flow to the vagina increases. This makes the area swell and become more sensitive to touch, and this is where you will feel yourself getting wet.
I swallow again. Then read on.
The vagina produces lubricating fluid to prepare you for penetration by a penis, toys, or fingers.
Why am I reading this? I raise my hand up to feel the heat in my cheeks, but I’m too far down the rabbit hole to turn back now.
As you approach orgasm, pleasurable sensations will wash over you. You’ll notice your muscles tense up in preparation for release. The muscles in your vagina will contract, and your body will tense and release, spasming for the few seconds that the orgasm lasts. You may feel hot, out of breath, and dizzy and will feel a welcome release that can leave you feeling happy, calm, and even sleepy afterward.
Well, that doesn’t sound nice. Hot, dizzy, out of breath?
I don’t like the sound of that at all, I think, as I drop my phone to the bed and then my shoulders drop, and I feel a frown creasing my brow.
I’ve never had an orgasm. I mean, I knew that, obviously, but the realization hits me with a sadness I’ve not felt before. I’ve never experienced any of that, any of it. Sex has always been about making my partner happy. I’ve never really considered that I might have needs that weren’t being met. I’m almost thirty, and I’ve never had an orgasm. I’ve never even gotten close.
I turn onto my side and pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them to make myself into a ball. Risk-averse in every aspect of my life, including taking care of myself. I never asked for more because I thought everything was just fine as it was. Why rock the boat?
Tears fill my eyes, and I squeeze them out. So many mistakes and so many missed opportunities. I can’t live that way anymore.