Chapter 24
twenty-four
CARINA
We packed Sienna’s last day with as much wedding planning as possible while nursing our slight hangovers. We’ve been partying together since we were eighteen, but I should’ve learned by now I can’t do it the way I used to. Hangovers feel like I’ve failed at holding my alcohol.
I try hard to stay in control. When I was younger, I’d let loose. I have enough regret about the stupid things I did to not make those mistakes anymore. I couldn’t risk drunk texting Orion and asking for a repeat.
I shake off the feeling that my life has drastically changed, and I can’t do anything about it.
Haley and Sienna kept asking me about the flush on my cheeks. I swore to them it was the heat. I wasn’t about to admit I’m sleeping with Orion…if twice in a week counts as an ongoing thing. It’s not going anywhere. So they don’t need to know.
We dropped Sienna off at the Sarasota airport since Beckett had to deal with a resort emergency. I waited for her to say something negative about him, for her to be bummed he couldn’t get out of work, even for the hour round-trip drive. But she doesn’t. Instead, we get a wink and a nudge about the amazing morning they had together. I won’t judge if she’s happy.
I’m finally feeling better, cleaning up after dinner, when I hear a knock at my exterior office door. After last night, I figured Orion would go cold again. He agreed with me that we aren’t hooking up again. Even if it was my idea, and I didn’t like it.
He pushes past me into the kitchen before I can react. He’s limping and grimacing. “You broke me. You need to fix me.” He leans against my counter.
“What’s wrong?” I reach for him but I don’t know where to put my hands. I can’t cause him more pain.
“You did something to my back and now I can’t walk properly.”
“You walked fine yesterday.”
“It didn’t start until later,” he answers.
“Did you call a doctor?”
“It’s Sunday. The only places open are urgent cares on the mainland. I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I’m your problem until then.” He complains about the mainland being such an inconvenience the way we all do. It’s just a ten-minute drive over the bridge if there’s no traffic. But on a Sunday evening, it’ll be backed up for ages with people headed home from their weekend stay here.
I can’t help it. I laugh.
“You think this is funny?”
“It kind of is. You have a sex injury.”
“Which I’m very excited to tell a stranger about.” His eyes crease like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“If it helps, I’m also quite sore.” It’s not a lie. I thought I could handle him. But no amount of yoga push-ups can match him.
Orion glares at me. But his smile threatens to break his mask. He likes knowing he wore me out.
“Where does it hurt?” I ask.
“Right above my hip on the left side.” He turns and shows me, lifting the hem of his shirt so I can see his tanned skin.
I run my hand over his muscle. I know a lot of anatomy but I’m not a doctor. If I was teaching yoga and someone came to me with this, I’d tell them to see a medical professional. “I’m not qualified to treat injuries.”
“Don’t care. I’m your problem.”
“How does a hot bath sound? I have some bath salts to help you relax.”
He faces me. I’m close to him. In his space. We’ve obviously been closer. This feels more intimate. This won’t lead to sex. It isn’t a challenge. It’s need.
He nods. “Any chance you have a tub on this floor?”
“I do. But it’s a small one. The primary is much bigger. It’s worth it, I promise.”
He nods, resting his forehead on mine for a second before turning toward the stairs. He hasn’t been anywhere except my office and kitchen. But it feels like he belongs here. He stops and considers the stairs like climbing them is Everest. They are steep and narrow, and I go slow when I carry my laundry down because I’m afraid I’ll trip.
“I got you.” I place my hand on the center of his back. I can’t carry him up, but I’ll make sure he knows I’m here.
The fabric of his shirt is soft. I smile, realizing it’s one of mine.
We make it up the stairs. I point to my bedroom at the end of the hallway. He scoffs when we enter it.
“What?” I ask.
“It looks exactly like I pictured.”
I keep it neat and tidy. My bed is made with white linens and my laundry is tucked away in the closet. He pauses before we enter the bathroom, staring at a picture hanging on the wall. It’s me doing a handstand in front of a waterfall.
“You remember my favorite yoga retreat was Thailand,” I say. It’s risky bringing up the game we played on his boat. But he stays silent.
He whistles when we enter my bathroom. “This is home remodeling porn,” he says.
My house needs updating. I’m doing it slowly, room by room. After the yoga space, I did my bathroom. I need an oasis at home. I turn on the taps for the soaking tub and adjust the temperature. I find a eucalyptus bath bomb in my cabinet and place it on the side. “You can get in whenever. Once it’s full, drop this in. It should help ease any muscle soreness. Those towels are clean. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
He stares at me. “I’m not doing this alone.”
“What?”
“You’re getting in with me.”
“No I’m not. Friends don’t take baths with each other.”
“Friends don’t let friends recover from sex injuries by themselves. Especially when the friend caused the injury.”
I bite my lip, which I’m sure doesn’t help because I’m absolutely thinking about his naked body against mine and what would happen if I kissed him. “Fine, let me grab my wine. I’ll be right back.” My will is weak.
“Get me one too,” he calls after me.
I run downstairs before he can ask for anything else and gather my nerves. I want this. I want to spend time with him. I want to know his moods better than anyone else.
I’m so happy he’s here and he needs me.
This is temporary, I remind myself. I’ll enjoy him a little longer and I’ll end it before he does. My mother was humiliated when my father served her divorce papers. She complained about it for years. That won’t happen to me.
I refill my chardonnay and grab a glass of water for him.
When I get upstairs, he’s lounging in the filling tub. God, his naked body is something to be admired. He’s tanned from the hours he spends in the sun, somehow avoiding any lines or pale spots. His chest and arms are defined by the hard work he does.
“No mixing alcohol and painkillers.” I hand him the water. I strip my clothes out of sight and take a deep breath. He’s seen me naked before. But this is different. He’s not consuming my body this time.
He looks up at me as I approach the side of the tub. I see hunger and lust in his eyes. I’ve never doubted he’s attracted to me, but it’s humbling to see it so evident.
He reaches for my hand, helping me step into the water. I turn off the taps and drop the bath bomb in. He touches my shoulder and pulls me against him. I’m between his legs and my back rests on his chest. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.
The lights are on and he’s in pain and this isn’t romantic. But it’s caring and intimate and so very trusting. His lips brush my temple and I close my eyes.
“Thank you,” Orion whispers.
I hum a response. This feels amazing. I’m taking care of him. We’re both stripped raw. It was never like this with Hamilton. But this isn’t even a relationship. It’s not heading anywhere.
We lie like this for a long time. The water fades to warm, then cool. I finish my wine and he drinks his water. I tell him about my day. About the prep work we did for the wedding. He tells me about the repairs they have to do on the boats.
“It’s late,” I say when we’re drying off and the tub is draining. “You should stay.”
I hope he doesn’t notice the quiver in my voice, giving away how scared I am he’ll decline. I’m not ready for the calm between us to end. It’s a risk letting him this close. But I’ll take it this one time.
He cocks his head to the side. The bath must have helped because his attitude has returned. He knows I only have one bed on this floor. I’m asking him to sleep with me. In my bed. For him to invade my space further.
“Yeah, I don’t think I can make it down those stairs.” It sounds like a lie. I’m sure he does this often—says one thing but thinks another.
He puts on his boxers while I retrieve a clean men’s shirt from my pile of samples. “That’s a rare shirt. I didn’t like the color so only a few exist.”
He puts it on anyway. “I would judge you if you did sell this,” he says. “It’s poop brown.”
“It’s chocolate. But yes. That was why we went with a different shade.”
He settles into my bed like he belongs, using the spare phone charger I dug up for him. I wash my face and prepare for bed like this is normal, this is fine. Like I’m having a sleepover with a friend. He’ll stay on his side. I’ll stay on mine, and that’s all it is.
I climb into bed under his watchful eye and brace for a comment about my pajamas, but nothing comes. So I turn off the lights and cherish the fantasy that this could last.