Chapter 6 Flirting Won’t Kill You #2
“No, it’s fine. She mentioned it,” I say, albeit a little awkwardly. “It’s a small town. I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
I shift on my feet, waiting as Jessa unfolds the chair she brought and sets it in line with the two others in the sun.
Jessa strips out of her clothes, tossing them over Harley and onto her tote in a wrinkled ball. She drops into the middle of the three chairs, patting the empty seat to her left. “Your throne awaits, mi’lady.”
“Funny,” I snort. I shuck off my T-shirt and drape it over the back of the chair, then do the same with my shorts. “Did you guys meet here or did you know each other from before Meadowbrook? I think you mentioned moving here after high school?”
I look up when neither of my beach companions answer, catching both staring at me.
The ocean whooshes in my ears, crashing waves filling the void of silence.
Jessa’s head tilts, the action decidedly predatory as she sweeps her gaze over my exposed body.
My muscles tense under her attention, but it’s not in fear.
I’m exhilarated by it, and I think that’s scarier.
“I know. I’m fluorescent,” I joke. “I practically reflect the sunlight.”
“You’re hot, Alice,” Jessa says plainly, settling back in her chair. “That’s why we’re staring.”
“Um…” My tight smile twitches. “Thanks?”
“You’re welcome,” Jessa says smugly.
I glance at Harley, and he looks like a deer frozen in headlights.
“I’m sorry about her.” He winces. He flicks his sunglasses back down over his eyes and lays back, hands clasped on his stomach.
“Why are you apologizing for me? I didn’t say anything wrong,” Jessa says. She raises a brow at me. “Right? Friends can compliment each other.”
“That wasn’t a compliment, Jessa,” Harley mumbles. “That was blatant perusal.”
“So, you don’t think she looks good in that blue bikini?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I bite my lip, holding back a laugh as I take my seat in the lounger.
It’s familiar, the way they tease and bicker.
Playful, with ease, as if they’ve spoken a variation of their back and forth a thousand times before.
It gives me pause. The tension undercutting the banter sounds an awful lot like foreplay.
“Then what’s the problem?” Jessa drawls.
“You’re making her uncomfortable—”
“Hey, it’s fine,” I say, interrupting them.
I might not have the muscle I used to, my middle and thighs squishier than they were when I fenced in high school, but I’m not ashamed of my body.
I’m confident, and I know I’m attractive.
Ryan always made it a point to remind me of that until it stuck in my head.
“I’m not used to the attention, that’s all. I don’t get out much.”
Their heads whip to me.
“Why not?” Jessa asks.
I burrow my feet into the sand, tunneling until my toes wriggle against the cooler, damp layers.
“Not my cup of tea, bars and clubs. Or really, anywhere that’s too public,” I say.
I leave out the anymore—that I used to be a daring adventurer. At least, when I had my partner in crime to do it with, one who would push me towards things I would never have done by myself.
“I get that,” Harley says, shifting his arms behind his head.
I allow my gaze to wander over his chest, appreciating the faint trail of white hair down his navel. I had thought his hair was bleached, but maybe he has a type of vitiligo, if it’s naturally that light.
Harley continues, “I’m a bookworm, my default is no sun and no loud spaces. It’s nice on occasion, but not all the time. Jessa helps pull me out of my shell when it’s been too long since I’ve seen the outside world.”
“Hell yeah, I do, babe. I’m the extravert to your introvert.”
I relax in my chair. The breeze and the serene crash of waves are a perfect backing soundtrack to our conversation, and I close my eyes, basking in it.
“I’m a painter. My default is similar to yours, Harley,” I say.
“Ah,” he drawls. “That’s why you checked out all those art books. What do you paint?”
You.
“People,” I say. “Portraits, mainly, but with a twist. Depends on what I’m trying to say with it.”
The project that propelled me into notoriety was a series I did on vulnerability.
I opened a form online where people could submit their most intimate secrets and fears and turned each into something dark and beautiful.
It went viral online and the rest was history.
I ended up crafting a hundred portraits from strangers’ pain.
Well, almost a hundred. I sold number 99 in my last exhibit and had big plans for a larger gallery around number 100. But then Ryan died, and I never finished it.
Wasn’t able to.
Can’t.
“That’s cool,” Harley says.
“Some think so.”
“Can we see one of your pieces?” Jessa asks.
Absolutely not.
“Uh, maybe later. I can pull up my website. My phone is in my bag, and I don’t want to get up,” I say with a nervous laugh.
“Fair,” Jessa says. “Paradise makes me lazy too, and once my butt is in this Tommy Bahama lounger, I’m not moving until I’m dizzy with heatstroke.”
“You won’t even get up for some water?” I tease, thankful for a change in subject. Talking about my art feels too intimate for this setting. I point at the blue and white cooler on wheels sitting under the umbrella. “You brought a whole fridge with you.”
“That, my darling, is what Harley’s for.” Jessa holds out her hand above him expectantly.
Harley huffs, but he gets up and rummages in the cooler, pulling out a water bottle. “I’m not your errand boy.”
“No,” Jessa draws out the word with evil intent. Harley cracks open the cap and hands the bottle dripping with condensation over. “But you are my good boy.”
Oh?
“Gods above, Jessa. Not now,” Harley mutters under his breath.
He glares at her, and she stares goadingly up at him as she sips. They seem to have a full conversation by the time she’s done drinking, in that way that two partners who’ve been together for years can. He snatches the bottle from her hand, re-caps it, and tosses it into the cooler.
“I’m going to the water to cool off,” he mumbles, trudging off to the shore.
“I don’t know why he’s embarrassed,” Jessa says once his feet hit the water, lips curling up. “He likes being bossed around.”
“Okay…” I say, biting my lip to hold back my questions.
Jessa pulls her glasses down to narrow her eyes at me. “What’s wrong?”
My attention is drawn to the shore, where Harley paces back and forth in the shallows.
His hands are perched on narrow hips, and the bright red of his shorts stands out against deep ocean blue.
My fingers twitch with the urge to paint the scene—to paint him—but Harley isn’t in harmony with his surroundings.
The red of his shorts too warm, the ocean and sky too cool.
I would have to marry the two halves of the color wheel to make him belong.
“Um… are you two not just housemates?” I ask, though I have a feeling I already know the answer.
“We’re best friends who fuck,” Jessa clarifies. She flicks her black and red ponytail over the back of her chair as she settles into the seat. “We also love each other.”
“I feel like that’s something you should have mentioned earlier,” I mutter.
“Why does it matter? I thought this wasn’t a date, beach-buddy?” Jessa teases.
“It’s not,” I say, frowning. “But if I had said yes at the coffee shop, wouldn’t that have been cheating?”
“Not if we’re both okay with it.”
“So, you’re in an open relationship?”
“No,” Jessa says with finality. “Well.” Jessa tilts her head back and forth. “No. It’s more that we’re open to the right people.”
“I’m confused.”
Jessa stretches out with a sigh, sun-kissed arms reaching up to the sky, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. My own thighs stick together as I shift in my seat, the sunscreen I’d slathered on already melting.
“I knew the second I saw you that you would fit with us. And chatting with you over the last week has only solidified that belief. But I don’t want to lay it on too strong and scare you away,” she says. “Harley won’t admit it as easily, but he’s smitten too.”
“You’re so fucking forward,” I huff. “You guys just met me.”
“Eh, it’s part of my charm. Is it working?” Jessa asks with smirk like sin.
A traitorous spark of arousal fills me at the sureness in her tone.
“Maybe,” I admit.
I can’t lie—have always had a hard time doing it.
They’re both wildly attractive, and conversation comes easy with them.
Plus, my mind is already mixing the colors of the ocean for a painting of Harley wading in the water.
When was the last time I even had the urge to crack open my tube of Phthalo Blue?
I’d be silly to not follow this inspiration, to snub it out before I see it to fruition.
Desire blooms in my chest. There’s a healthy amount of fear too, and the same, pervasive guilt I’ve carried with me ever since Ryan died.
Am I allowed to find someone attractive again?
Scratch that. Two someones.
“Good,” Jessa says, pulling me back from my thoughts. “I’ll continue to lay it on this thick so you don’t misread my interest. You ever been with a woman like me before, Trouble?”
“I haven’t been with a woman ever,” I blurt out.
“That’s okay. I’m happy to be your first,” she says, and I’m thankful she doesn’t make it a big deal.
“The thing you’ve got to know about me is that I don’t play games.
I say what I want, and I expect my partner—or partners—to do the same.
This isn’t a date? One hundred percent, it isn’t.
You’d know if I took you on a date. You want me to stop flirting?
Tell me. You only want to fuck Harley? I know he’d be delighted.
I’d respect your choice, but I’d also ask to watch. ”
Heat, not from the sun, but from the visuals her words conjure, crawls up my neck.
How strange it is, to be so openly desired again. Even stranger, to desire again.
“You understand?” Jessa asks.
“Heard, loud and clear,” I whisper.
Jessa’s smirk only grows. “Good.”
She studies me, as if waiting for me to bolt—as if she wants me to run so she can give chase.
But I’m trapped, my thighs glued to the canvas seat with sweat, sunscreen, and want.
There’s no instance where I get up of my own accord.
Jessa’s nostrils flare, and she hums, pleased, before lowering her chairback so she can lay flat.
“Why don’t you go to the water with Harley?” she suggests. “You look a little flushed.”