23. Paige
23
Paige
I t’s been eight minutes since ending my call with Rhodes.
Eight minutes since he looked at me like he hadn’t eaten in years.
Eight minutes since I decided I want him.
My stomach dips again, and a demanding pulse beats between my legs. I haven’t felt this much anticipation in a while, and it’s killing me. After I said goodbye, the water got too hot just thinking about how he’d answer my simple question.
What would you do if you were ?
Who am I? I can’t even believe I said that. Those words came out of my mouth, eliciting a response in my body I’m wholly unprepared for here. I’m lying on one of the benches outside, relishing the feel of the sun on my skin and the need in my body, wondering if my feelings are obvious to anyone but me.
Can other people hear how fast my heart is beating?
Do they know how turned on I am?
Are my pheromones evident to anyone else but me?
I hope not.
I close my eyes and then quickly open them to check the time again on my phone.
Two more minutes .
I smile at the thought.
Maybe I should go somewhere more private, like my van, the bathroom, or possibly a secluded corner. But there’s no time. It’s not like anything is actually going to happen. These are just words. Ones that are no longer stuck inside a text exchange like they had been when Rhodes was Roger Who Cleans . Instead, they’re being said, roaming around like a wild fire in and outside my body.
On second thought, I think this might make just words more dangerous since we decided not to entertain anything yet. Am I any different? Have I changed? I feel like I’m starting to. And other than needing to feel his lips on mine again, I find I really want this. I don’t need him to fulfill me, but I definitely want him.
“Excuse me,” someone says from beside me. “Do you know where the towels are—”
The woman talking to me gasps, and so do I.
I immediately look down at my body in case I’m somehow naked after all these thoughts about Rhodes. I’m not, thankfully, but I know she knows. She has to. Why else would she react like this?
I swallow but don’t say a word.
“Is it you?” the woman with tightly coiled curls asks, dripping water beside my pool chair.
“No?” I’m so guilty.
She clutches her chest. “The singer from last night.” She starts wiggling her thick hips covered by a barely-there wrap and singing part of a song I’m not familiar with. “You look just like her. It’s okay if you’re trying to be coy.” She leans in and whispers. “I’m good at keeping secrets if you want to be incognito.”
I swallow again as she flips her sunglasses down and waggles her brows.
I’m not hiding a secret identity, just harboring really intense feelings for my best friend. So why does it feel like I’ve committed a crime?
“You sure you’re not with the band? Oh, what were their names…Al—no. Trig—not that. Damn it, I can’t remember.”
I peer up at her, using my hand to block the sun. “I just got into town an hour ago—” My phone starts ringing, and I know it’s Rhodes without even looking at the screen. “I’m sorry, I should take—”
“Misfits!” she yells. “It was the Misfits. God, I thought it would never come to me.”
I’m waving my phone in front of me. “I’m glad you figured it out, I have to go—”
“Where are you from then?” she asks, all genuine and kind, like she really wants to know.
I’m finding it hard not to match her energy and deny her a simple answer to her question. It’ll be quick anyway, so I let Rhodes’ call go to voicemail, knowing he’ll never leave me one. “Washington State,” I say, ready to leave it at that and make my own excuses. But decorum and my people-pleasing tendencies don’t allow me to stop there. “And you?”
“Florida.” She waves a hand in front of her floral one-piece. “I know it doesn’t look like it, me being so pale and all, but I was born and raised there. What brings you to Montana?”
She peers beside me at the empty chair.
Oh no.
My phone starts ringing again just as she asks, “Mind if I sit?”
Yes. “Not at all.” She sits, and I ignore Rhodes’ call to respond, knowing I might get rid of her faster if I do. “I’m on a…trip.”
“A vacation?”
“Not exactly.” I tip my head.
“A work trip?”
Still not it. “Like a journey.” I really need to figure out a better way to explain this. So, I try again. “Like a self-discovery kind of journey. It doesn’t really have an end date.”
She clutches her bountiful chest again. “That is so inspiring.”
I nod, peering down at the incoming text.
Rhodes:
I’m back. Call when you can.
A part of me wants to say screw people pleasing and get up and walk away. I really want to talk to Rhodes. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and the friendly dynamic of our relationship is taking on something entirely…feral. I want to see where it will go. But I can’t seem to make myself get up now that I’m locked into this social obligation.
And maybe this was the pause I needed to think before acting. Rhodes was dead set on us waiting, even if he seemed to have abandoned all reason on our call today. Maybe I need to be the one to slow things down this time. I don’t want to. I don’t like it. But I can see the wisdom in it. Plus, starting anything, including some kind of pseudo-physical relationship while I’m hundreds of miles away, doesn’t make a lot of sense.
With a new resolve to give some space to my conversation with Rhodes, I ask, “And what brought you here?”
She formally introduces herself as Samantha before she goes into a lengthy description about her sister’s husband’s brother, who tried to hit on her at the family reunion, and she ended up making out with him. They both booked this trip to be together, only for her to find out he was engaged.
“Oh no ,” I exclaim, fully invested in this daytime who’s the father Maury TV special. “That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs and leans back against the chair, closing her eyes. “It’s okay. He was a great kisser and most men who are have had a few side pieces. If you don’t have to teach them even a little, you should run.”
I sit stock still and consider this.
Rhodes was a great kisser. Like how-are-you-this-good kind. He hasn’t had many relationships from what I know, which means…
Shit .
I stare down at his text and reread it.
No.
Rhodes isn’t like that. He wouldn’t be sleeping with people on the side while saying he liked me all this time.
But that kiss.
I’m immediately transported back to that moment outside Smith’s Burgers, where his hands seemed to know the landscape of my body, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming it for his own like he knew how to do it.
I touch my lips again, then look over at Samantha, who still has her eyes closed, chin tipped toward the sun as she talks about the prairie dog town she visited yesterday. I steal the opportunity to respond to Rhodes.
Me:
Got held up in a convo at the pool. I’ll call you later!
The part of me that questions whether Rhodes has someone on the side is small enough that I’m not sure I should even entertain the idea for long. But then again, I’ve been on the receiving end of a cheater, and it’s terrible. I’d run so fast.
I need a second to think. There are too many competing emotions bouncing around inside my gut and thoughts skating along the synapses of my brain that aren’t firing properly.
“We should go out together tonight!” Samantha says exuberantly, flinging her eyes open wide to look at me. “I’ve been wanting to check out downtown Bozeman.”
I really wish I possessed the ability to say the word no . “Yeah, we should. It’s my birthday tomorrow.”
Did I just agree?
“Your birthday?” she screeches. “We have to make this big. Get dressed up, wear heels and lipstick.”
I try to kindly back out. “It’s only my thirtieth. I was just planning to eat—”
“YOUR THIRTIETH?” Now she’s yelling. “That’s the biggest birthday you could ever celebrate.” Her eyes are wide as she stares at me, placing a solemn hand on her chest again. “It would be the greatest honor to take you out and celebrate your birthday with you.”
With this kind of confession, I can’t just explain how I was planning to eat Pop-Tarts for dinner and watch a show on my laptop. And maybe it would be kind of fun.
“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” I find myself saying.
“Great!” Samantha dives headfirst into a story about how her friend also kissed the engaged dude she was with and how meeting good people is so hard, but she thinks I’m one of them. I can’t break her heart by backing out, but maybe I can fake an illness later.
For now, I listen attentively, only letting my thoughts linger on the kiss with Rhodes every few seconds.
The one that has completely changed my entire brain chemistry.
CALLING RHODES BACK before saying goodbye to Samantha became impossible.
Mainly because she gave me a tour of her campground after the hot springs.
The fifth-wheel trailer she’s renting locally is ginormous compared to Vincent VanGo. It has four slide-outs and a satellite dish bigger than my windshield. She said someone from the rental company set it up for her before arriving, which also included a full outdoor oasis complete with a full-size barbecue, patio furniture, outdoor rug, and tiki torches.
It’s a five-star resort, not a campsite.
We parted ways to change before agreeing to meet outside and get a rideshare to head downtown. She told me not to worry about a thing, and she had everything planned out. Since she literally never had a phone in her hand once, it makes me curious about what she’s put together.
There’s a part of me that thrills at the idea I won’t have to celebrate my birthday alone, even if it is a day early. When I planned this trip, it was the one thing that made me reconsider since I’d be missing out on all of my favorite things.
My family usually takes me to the small Italian restaurant in the town over with red and white tablecloths and low lighting. They’d follow it up with a lemon meringue pie at home, where I’d be forced, regardless of my thirty years on this planet, to make a wish and blow out the candles after they sang a very off-tune rendition of the Birthday song.
Rhodes and Amber would surprise me with an iced coffee and a trip to every thrift store in a thirty-mile radius—and there are a lot—to go shopping. We’d go out to lunch at the all-you-can-eat Mongolian restaurant with mini egg rolls, gyoza, and every sauce imaginable. Some years, we’d all go on an overnight trip, but mostly, it was the simple stuff that made it special.
I won’t have any of that this year, which made me want to forgo celebrating.
Until Samantha.
I can’t say I’m entirely upset about the plan. It’s different, but I think it could also be fun. We really hit it off at the pool while we chatted about ex-boyfriends and our love of thrifting. She seems so wholesome and kind, and what started as an obligatory conversation ended with a familiarity I miss from back home.
If only finding something to wear were as easy as saying yes .
I settle on a cropped tank that looks more like a bra with skinny straps and a ribbed texture as well as my Cupid underwear and black denim shorts. My tall brown boots would go well, and I can always bring my longer red blazer to go over it.
Dropping my outfit in front of the kitchen counter, I position my phone on top of the automatic coffee maker to call Rhodes back.
He answers right away. “Paige.”
Is it just me, or did he sound out of breath?
“Hi.” I squat a little lower, sitting back on my heels and looking more like a floating head while I nervously fidget with my fingers. “I met a new friend, and she wouldn’t stop talking to me at the pool. But she actually turned out to be really nice, so we’re going to grab some food downtown together—like an early birthday celebration—but I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to talk. I did want to talk— do want to talk. I was just caught up in this conversation.” Up until Rhodes told me how he felt a couple of weeks ago, I would have started changing. It’s not like he can see anything, but that doesn’t feel right. So, I twist my tank around my wrist.
And second-guess everything.
“Paige,” he says again but with a terse tone.
I stop rotating the tank, searching for the elusive tag, and look at him.
He’s leaning forward, arms spread wide on his counter like an upside-down V. “Are you wearing a shirt, or bra, something? It’s really distracting.”
I look down at my swimsuit, my peaked nipples visible through the fabric. “Oh, no. I mean, yes, I am. I was going to change, and then…”
And then remembered I have no idea what I’m doing anymore or if I should give into these whims or not. Keep us firmly in the friend-only arena, or offer more. Damn, do I want more.
He nods slowly, methodically, like he’s thinking about something but hasn’t formed the thought enough to say it.
I consider untying my swimsuit top at my nape, but I don’t. I wait. I think. I watch.
“I’ve seen your bra before, but I haven’t—” He stops himself, or maybe the dark gleam in his eyes does. “This is different.”
It is. He’s right. This territory is so new and foreign in ways I want to know intimately. “Alfredo,” I whisper.
Our safe word has always been to trigger the real, unfiltered thoughts we might be thinking but haven’t said. In this case, I’m suddenly so curious. I have to know what’s going on in his head. I need his words more than anything.
“You…and me. God, Paige, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.” He sounds pained. “Seeing you in the water…your swimsuit.”
I exhale, my shoulders falling slightly with the action. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
“My thoughts haven’t exactly been…friendly,” he clarifies.
“Not in a friendly way for me, either.” I nod. “But this trip—”
“I know,” he says, eyes taking an extended blink. “We shouldn’t.”
“Or…” I offer. “We should.”
He studies me, his mouth in a hard line. “What do you mean?”
Before I know what I’m doing, instinct takes over, and I untie the straps around my neck and let them fall. My shoulders and collarbones are the only things visible on the screen, but it’s suggestive enough to tell him what I’m thinking.
He stands straighter, bracketing his hips with his hands while he stares me down through the camera. “Your top…Paige.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. I want this,” I say, nearly breathless.
He drops his palms back to the counter, hovering in front of the camera. “Are you sure?”
I don’t know if this is a path we should take—if I’m figured out to be enough for him. But I don’t see how that wouldn’t be possible with how he’s looking at me. He doesn’t just see me as enough, he sees me as everything . Like I could somehow stop the earth from spinning or at least his heart from beating.
“I’m sure.”
He licks his lips, studying me for all of my tells he knows to see if I’m lying. But I don’t bite my lip or fiddle with my glasses. Assured that I’m not feeding him a line, the grooves between his brows soften, and his expression darkens, voice thick. “Have you used it?”
“Used what?”
He clears his throat. “The vibrator.”
My lips part. “How did you—”
“I saw it in one of your bins I carried out. I’ve been thinking about it every day since.”
I’ve never heard Rhodes talk like this before. Unabashed and so… blunt . It’s weirdly hot, and I don’t want him to stop. I want to know what else he's thinking. I don’t want to put my shirt on. I want to take everything else off. I don’t want to tip-toe around my feelings while I’m trying to figure out my life.
Maybe I want him in it.
Maybe I want him in me.
“I’ve used it,” I confirm.
He leans forward on his forearms, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Have you thought about me while using it?”
Heat pools between my legs at the thoughts I haven’t had but am most certainly conjuring now. “Maybe.”
“Paige.”
“Rhodes.”
“Do you want to? Use it, that is…with me?”
I look down at my half-naked body, the measly bathing suit bottoms covering my lower half that could easily be removed. I could touch myself. He could watch. The van has curtains that are all closed, and the door is already locked. It would be so easy, and by the heat flooding my veins, so right.
But then I think about what Samantha said at the pool.
If you don’t have to teach a man how to kiss, he’s been kissing too many people.
This isn’t just a random FaceTime hook-up. This is Rhodes , and I care about these things. I care about who we are and what we become tomorrow.
“I want to,” I say quickly, “but Rhodes, why are you such a good kisser? Do you practice…like with other women? You told me you haven’t been with a lot of people, but if you have, it’s okay if you are. I just want to know.”
After hearing Samantha’s story, I’m more on edge. I like to think I know Rhodes better than I know myself, but what if I don’t? What if…
His brows dive together. “Paige, no. I haven’t been seeing anyone. I don’t want to see anyone else.”
“Even casually?” I ask, staring at my lap. "Hooking up—"
“No. I swear to you. I'm not hooking up with anyone.”
“Then why are you such a good kisser?” I press, suddenly so desperate to know why this man is so good, so true, so seemingly perfect for me. There has to be a reason.
The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile, and he stares at me with so much longing, so much desire, I squirm through the camera lens. “Because I was kissing you.”
My mouth is suddenly filled with rocks, and I can’t manage to say a thing.
Instead, all I want to do is jump him, leap onto his person, and kiss him some more. There isn’t a question I’d let him muss me up beyond recognition if he were here.
But we aren’t even in the same state.
“And you really think that?” I ask.
“I really do.”
I peer at the small bin beneath my bed with odd knick-knacks and random items. “Okay.” Searching for the tiny but powerful toy amongst the items, I rummage around and pull the vibrator out, holding it up between two fingers in front of the camera. But I don't use it, not yet.
“ Shit ,” he says on an exhale, visibly squirming but never looking away. “How are you going to use that?”
I snap my gaze to the screen. “I think you know.”
The next thing I do surprises me. I trail the vibrator across my collarbone and down my neck, further over the plain of my now quivering stomach, pretending it's his hand I'm moving around my body in all the places I crave him most.
"It's you," he says, the words grating on his vocal cords. "Only you."
Flicking it on to a low vibration and lowering it down between my legs, I use my other hand to play with my nipple, tossing my head back as though he's the one touching me. I know what his hands look like, his fingers, too, what they would feel like flitting over my slick center.
I'm already so turned on, a mess of need for him, with only the familiar resonance of his voice filling my van and my veins.“Tell me what you’re doing,” he says gruffly.“It’s on vibrate. I’m touching my—”
There’s a knock on my door, and I startle. I meet his wide eyes through the screen, and it seems all we can do is stare blankly, waiting for the person on the other side of the door to ruin everything.
“Don’t. Go,” he says quietly, then adds, “Please.”
His steely eyes keep me rooted to the spot, but I flip the vibrator off, and it’s the loudest noise in the whole van. I don’t know how he liked me for so long and said or did nothing about it. We probably could have been doing this a lot sooner. But now, an interruption has stopped us once again.
“It’s Samantha!” the voice calls.
“Just a moment,” I say.
Rhodes shakes his head and bites his fist.
The heat between my legs has already turned to pounding. Rhodes did this, and I don’t want to leave this van without finishing.
“I’ll be over in ten minutes!” I call back.
“I can just wait here,” she says.
I shake my head, biting the sides of my tongue. “That’s okay! You don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind.”
Rhodes shakes his head, and I give him an apologetic look.
“Please, Paige,” he mouths, trying to stay quiet.
“Tonight. Later,” I tell him, then end the call before I decide to give him a show with Samantha’s voice as background music.
I’m still topless, halfway to getting dressed before I was interrupted. I have an idea that is so High School Paige, I barely recognize it.
I could send him a picture.
I’ve done it before, and Rhodes won’t share it with anyone.
It would probably make up for the cock block from seconds before.
It’s brilliant, really.
I position the phone just so, turning the camera on and pointing it at me. I try a few positions until I feel like one sticks. One hand cups the opposite boob with my forearm just blocking the other nipple. I set the timer for three seconds, then hook a thumb in my bottoms and tug them down a little.
It isn’t magazine-worthy, but it’s the raciest Rhodes has ever seen me.
I check the picture and debate taking a couple more to test the lighting and angle again, but I decide not to edit myself and send it off as is. Even I’m a little hot thinking about what he’ll do with this picture. Maybe I should make it a requirement that he tell me.
Sending it off, I also add:
Me:
I want to know exactly what you do with this.