Not Up for Debate

11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Now

W hat the hell am I supposed to do? The door to my room clicks shut behind me.

My body feels heavy as I plod my way over to the bed. Before I get there, I catch sight of my reflection in the floor-length mirror on the opposite wall.

Sliding over the coffee table, I move to the mirror and stand for a moment really looking at myself. Starting at my head, I slowly move down, observing every little detail.

This red bikini is, honestly, doing wonders for me. The color is sassy and fun, and my boobs look totally awesome. I turn, peeking behind my shoulder and yeah, my ass looks pretty darn awesome too. A satisfied smile creeps up on my face as I think about Noah seeing me in this suit.

I’ve changed a lot since we last saw each other. When we were younger, I was severely lacking in the curves department, but that hasn’t been a problem since my freshman year of college.

I don’t know if it was the late-night pizza-fueled study sessions, or all the early morning sugary coffees, but my curves came and definitely stayed. I happily welcomed them with a much-anticipated shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret. Looking back, that’s probably where my unhealthy obsession with pretty lingerie began.

There’s nothing I love more than the feeling of silky panties against my bare skin. It’s made even better when they match perfectly with my bra. It feels special, like a beautiful little secret that’s only mine to know. I mean, I’m not going to lie, it also feels incredibly sexy when a man takes my clothes off and gets to be let in on my little secret. When he steps back to see the whole picture and takes a heavy sigh, I think in that moment, we both feel powerful.

I don’t know if it's the tropical atmosphere or the complete lack of anything even remotely sexual happening in weeks, but for some god forsaken reason, images of Noah suddenly pop into my head. Him looking me up and down, eyes wide, and breath quick. A bite of his bottom lip, a small smile appearing just enough to see his dimples peeking through… Nope. Nope. Not doing this right now…. I hurriedly step out of view from the mirror and jump-dive onto the bed.

Covering my face with the pillow, I try to erase the troublesome feelings emerging from inside of me. The thoughts of Noah being turned on, the blood moving through his veins going toward… It’s not working . I squeeze the pillow harder into my face, hoping that maybe I can just squish the thoughts out of my head. After a while though, I start to feel lightheaded, and I question if a person could smother themselves to death or if it requires someone else to do it. I add this to my things-to-Google-later list.

Throwing the pillow off my face, I again find myself staring up at the ornate ceiling above me. The last time I was looking at this ceiling I was happy and full of gratitude, but this time, it’s pure desperation. The absolute desperation of trying to cool the steamy feelings currently attempting to rip themselves free from my body. It takes a bit, but after a minute, I resign myself to just re-work the thoughts instead of trying to get rid of them completely.

I close my eyes and start with trying to turn Noah into a different man. I change his dark brown tousled hair into dirty blond beachy locks. I change his sultry, brown eyes to moody hazel ones, and his sharp chiseled jaw into one covered with long sandy facial hair.

I can feel it starting to work, so I keep going. I imagine this new mystery man coming out of the foam-tipped waves holding a surfboard and making his way toward me. When he finally reaches me, I can see the water trailing lines down his tan chest and disappearing into the band of his swim shorts. He’s so close to me that I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips.

This is good. I can work with this. My fingers find themselves lazily dipping inside the seam of my red bikini and find the slick wet warmth that’s there. I slowly begin teasing myself as I keep the fantasy of my Hawaiian surfer-boy playing in my mind. I work myself for a moment and find an all too quick but pleasurable release. Afterward, I feel myself being pulled into a deep, content sleep.

I shoot out of the bed, and my eyes are heavy as I scan the room. Where am I? What day is it? Why am I only wearing a bikini? This is how I know I just had a really solid nap. You know those deep naps where you wake up and don’t even remember your own name? This was one of those naps. I honestly can’t even remember the last time I had a nap, let alone one this good.

I smile and stretch my arms up wide above my head. A big, satisfied yawn escapes my mouth as I roll my head from side to side.

Brief images of Noah try to wiggle themselves into my mind, but I quickly shoo them away, because I don’t want them anywhere near me. I have to keep my head on straight, and when he’s in my mind, all semblance of reasoning and rationality go straight out the window.

Moving my legs to the side of the bed and shoulders in small circles, I try to wake up my body. I move my neck up and down, stretching my spine while repeating some happy little mantras.

I’m not usually one for self-help, but my therapist pointed out that’s exactly part of my problem. I proceeded to argue with her, saying that I didn’t need to say silly little things to myself, especially if they aren’t true, but she just shook her head and passed me the list.

I am thankful for today.

I am proud of myself.

I deserve to be happy.

I can do whatever I set my mind to.

I am enough.

This last one is extremely difficult to say. It’s just three little words, but I can rarely get them out. Never in my life have I felt enough . Never.

I’ve always tried so hard to do everything right, to make all the right choices and never do anything wrong. But it’s hard to feel like I’ve ever done enough. It’s hard to understand that just existing is enough.

Truthfully, I think a lot of women feel this way. We’re constantly trying to do more, trying to be more. Running around like chickens with our heads cut off, trying to rise to these invisible expectations that no one is even holding us to except for ourselves. It’s a race that we all enter, but no one ever wins. It’s exhausting.

So, I’ve told all of this to my therapist, and she told me that I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself. She said I need to repeat these mantras twice a day until I actually believe them. Until I feel they are true.

It’s actually sort of funny because I only started saying them after I was told to, not because I actually thought they would do any good. I was sure I would be the one stand-alone case in which mantras and positive-thinking wouldn’t work. I was sure that after a few months, I would waltz right into my therapist’s office and proclaim, “See! I told you! I told you I’m a loser! See! I told you I’m not enough! See! I failed again!”

But, if I’m being one-hundred percent honest, I think I can feel them starting to work. I can feel the little nuggets of truth that they hold. The beauty and magic of each word. I can feel my thankfulness for each little moment of my day. I can recognize the accomplishments that I’ve made and feel the pride in what I’ve achieved. It’s taken some tough self-evaluation, but so far, it’s been worth it.

The air in the hotel room is chilly, and I can feel small goosebumps start to prickle up on my skin. I realize I need to pee, so I find my way to the bathroom. I quickly look in the mirror and cue jump scare. Holy shit, I look like a hot freaking mess. All pre-nap sexy thoughts have completely disappeared.

My hair is sticking out at odd angles. My mascara is smudged all around my face, and I have a visible crusty line of drool dried on the corner of my mouth. How long was I out?

The shower head spurts to life as I try to find the correct temperature. I sit on the side of the giant bathtub and wait for the water to warm up.

The hotel phone rings, and I rush to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Aloha, Miss Jane! This is Melani from the front desk, calling to remind you of your massage in fifteen minutes.” I turn to the clock on the table and again am shocked at how long I passed out for. It’s already almost four o’clock.

“Massage? I’m sorry, I don’t think I scheduled a massage.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t. Mr. Dumont ordered a massage package for you down in our spa.”

I don’t say anything. Fifteen minutes for me to transform from looking like I just completed a frat party walk of shame into someone ready to meet another living human being is cutting it close.

“Of course, if you would like to cancel, you’re more than welcome to,” Melani says in her beautiful sing-song voice.

Again, I’m silent. I’m thinking of something to say. Do I go down looking like the walking dead, or do I skip it and risk it getting back to Mr. Dumont and him thinking that I think I’m too good for his resort? I drum my fingers on the phone receiver debating what I should do. When was the last time I got a massage? I move my neck from side to side taking inventory, and I hear a little pop as the bones move together. “Okay, I’ll be down there in fifteen. Thank you for the reminder.”

“Perfect. I’ll let them know. Enjoy your evening.”

I hang up the phone and strip down. The water better be warm.

I wash, I scrub, I lather, I rinse (I do not repeat), and I, again, thank Past Jane for already shaving her legs. I jump out of the shower, put on a comfy little two-piece set, and some sandals, then hurry down to get my massage. That was the fastest shower I’ve ever taken in my life. I deserve a medal.

By the time I reach the spa, my hair seems to be wetter than when I left my room. I’m used to the dry air of Denver, so this humidity is a whole new ballgame. I bend over and flip my hair over my head. I do my best at trying to wring it out, but it’s not doing much. Oh well. Maybe it looks like I just took a dip in the ocean. I shrug my shoulders and fling my head back up and put it into a messy bun on top of my head. I open the giant glass doors that say, “Dumont Luxury Spa,” and that’s when I see Noah sitting in the waiting room, his head in his book.

I’m just about to run as fast as I can back up to my room, because who needs a stupid massage anyway, when I hear an adorable little voice from the front desk say, “Aloha! You must be Jane! We can get your massage started now.” My gaze switches from the front desk girl to Noah and notice his eyebrows raise slightly, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. I wonder if he’s even heard this little exchange. Maybe I can just slip right into my massage without even having to talk to him at all.

I whisper, “Yes, um.. Hi! Sorry I’m a bit late. I was… um… working.” I see her eyes shift and look at my very damp hair as it drips onto my shoulder.

She smiles and says, “Oh, it’s totally no problem at all. Your husband hasn’t been waiting long. I’ll just go ahead and go get the couples’ room ready for you two.” I don’t even have time to catch my breath from the spit that I’m currently choking on before she turns and walks away down the hall, leaving me in the waiting room.

As soon as she said the word husband , I heard the distinct sound of a book shutting coming from behind me. I turn and see him glaring at me with wide brown eyes and eyebrows raised so high they practically disappear into his hairline.

“What did you do?” I say as I narrow my eyes and point my finger at him.

“ Me ? Nothing! What about you? What did you do?” His eyes drill into mine. “When I got here, she just told me we needed to wait for the other member of the party before we could begin. I thought she was talking about the massage therapist, I definitely didn’t think it was you .” Ouch. Again. He stands and moves closer to me.

In the past few days since our reunion, we haven’t both been standing at the same time. So, it’s at this precise moment that I remember just how much taller he is than me. I suddenly feel very small.

He stands still, staring me down, not moving a muscle. I do my best not to break my neck while staring right back up at him. Being this close to him, I notice lines on his face that weren’t there when we were younger, lines that have appeared during all our years apart. My heart is thumping out of my chest. We’ve reached a stand-off. I really want this massage, and I am not going to let him ruin this for me.

I break first. I close my eyes and feel the air rush into my lungs as I take a deep breath through my nose. “Ya know what? It’s okay. When that nice girl comes back, we’ll just tell her that she’s very mistaken, and we’re definitely not married. In fact, we will tell her that we’re the most not married people that have ever entered this spa. We could even tell her that we don’t even know each other. Better yet, we could tell her we despise each other and want our massages to be in the farthest rooms away from one another as possible. That’s perfect. That’s exactly what we’ll do.” I nod, satisfied. “You’re going to say it to her though, because I feel bad that she just got the couples’ room ready, and we’re not even going to be using it.”

He doesn’t move, but a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “I heard you tell her you were working. Why is your hair all wet if you were working?”

Before I can explode, the spa girl comes back into the room. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Schwartz, your spa suite is ready. I just have to say that this is going to be the best spa experience of your lives. I wasn’t, like, really sure what kind of massage you were going to want since the reservation literally just said Schwartz, Jane and Noah. It literally didn’t have anything else. Usually it says something like, ‘Couples’ massage/facial/oils’ etc… like usually it has a ton more information, but yours has basically nothing.” She wrinkles her perfect non-wrinkled forehead. “But, since your reservation was created by Mr. Dumont himself, I knew that meant that you two must be, like, totally special.” I nudge Noah with my elbow to say something, but he just stands by my side, smiling like a big ol’ idiot.

“This is only my third, no fourth, real day working here, and I just really want to make sure that I make a good impression. So, I’m rolling out the red carpet for you guys! It’s so totally cool that you’re friends with Mr. Dumont.” I see her cute little face light up, clearly pleased with herself. “Okay, so you two are in for a serious treat. I told Sven and Anya that you guys get it all. Seriously, I want you to get everything,” she says animatedly. “Basically that means you’re going to get a mixture of the light and slow Swedish massage, we’ll throw in some aromatherapy, then continue with some deep tissue work, scalp massage, and of course, hot stones as well.”

Hot stones? Oh God, I love me some hot stones. Did she also say deep tissue? It’s like I can feel the knots in my neck turn to butter with just the mere mention of the words. I feel my knees start to buckle themselves and reach my hand out to steady myself on Noah’s forearm.

He looks down at it, and I see a pleased little smile growing on his face. “Oh, that all sounds so wonderful, but Ashley, is it?” He says, glancing down at her name tag. She grins and gives him a cute little nod. “Awesome. Ashley, you see, Miss Jane and I aren’t actually…”

“No!” I yell, much too loud. They both turn their heads to me in shock. I clear my throat and add, “The couples’ massage package sounds perfect.” I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of me looking back at him, so I just continue staring straight ahead at Ashley, hoping he gets the hint.

“Oh my God, yay! I’m so excited for you guys! I’ll show you where to undress.”

Our new friend Ashley turns to lead us into the spa. She keeps listing all the wonderful things that are going to be taking place, but of course, I can’t hear a single thing she’s saying, because my mind is now fixated with the realization that I’m going to be butt-naked in a room with Noah Riley.

As she continues chatting away in front of us, I turn to him and whisper, “I need this massage, okay? But no funny business, you hear me? No peeking. I swear, Noah, if I catch you sneaking a peak at my ass…Oh, you’ll be sorry. I’m only doing this for the hot stones. Got it? The hot stones!”

He nods his head and smirks, “Sure, Jane, hot stones .”

Just then, Ashley opens the doors to the most serene room I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Warm, dim lights, gorgeous stone floors, a trickling water fountain in the corner. Ambient music encompasses the entire room, and I feel it start to take hold in every part of my body.

Noah pauses at the threshold and with an outstretched arm, he ushers me into the room. “After you, Mrs. Schwartz.”