chapter nineteen #3
I twiddle my fingers. “Hello.”
“Leave on for ten minutes then wash off in water. Do not get in eyes. And do not eat.” She pulls the universal “yuck” face.
I nod. “Okay. No eating and no eyes.”
“Já.” She goes to scoop some out for Riley, but he shakes his head.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“Oh, come on,” I goad. “It’s just silica and minerals. It’s good for your skin.”
“But I have hair on my face, and you said it’s not good for hair.”
“We can avoid your beard.”
He lets out a grumble and cups his hand for her, and if my fingers weren’t covered in oozing mud, I’d clap with excitement.
“You do me, and I’ll do you,” I say, stepping up to him.
His sexy eyes crinkle.
“You know what I mean, Riley,” I huff out. “Follow my lead, okay?”
Using my pointer finger, I paint the white silica mixture onto his cheeks, nose, and forehead, carefully avoiding his eyes and making a wide birth around his neatly trimmed upper lip, jaw, and chin.
When I’m done, I stand back, admiring my artwork, before bursting into laughter.
“Now you definitely look like Edward Scissorhands.”
He stretches his face. “And this is meant to be good for your skin? It feels like plaster.”
“Yes.” I lift my chin and press my lips together. “My turn.”
Riley dabs my face as if he’s pushing buttons.
“You have to swipe not poke,” I explain, blinking with every dab. “And don’t get it up my nose.”
He pauses. “I won’t if you stop talking.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop.”
“Sorry.”
“Goddamn it, Riles. Shut up!”
Pressing my lips together again, I desperately try not to laugh, my throat squealing under the restraint.
He pauses again. “Go on, let it out.”
Shaking my head, I gather my composure instead.
“You sound like a monkey.”
How rude!
“I do not!” I exclaim, jerking my chin down, the tip of his finger probing my nostril. I flinch and cover my face with my hands. “Ow! You just picked my nose.”
He throws his head back, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Sorry. But you gotta shut up and stop moving!”
“And you need to stop treating my face like a touch screen.”
Continuing to chuckle, he finishes his assault and leans back. “There. All done, panda girl.”
“What?”
“You look like a panda. You have black shit all over your eyes.”
“I do? Oh, crap! My mascara!”
“I told you not to worry about makeup. You don’t need it.”
“And I told you it’s not a matter of needing it or not,” I grouch, wiping my eyes and regretting it the moment I do. “Peanut butter! It burns.”
“Peanut—? How would that help?” Chuckling, Riley clasps my flapping wrists. “Hold still.”
I do as I’m told, my eyelids fused together as he swishes his hands in the water, then gently wipes the pads of his thumbs across the tops of my cheekbones.
“Damn it!” I whine. “I’m going to go blind in Iceland.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. It’s Karma for what I did to Brittany.”
“Not that again. Jesus, Riles, why are you so hard on yourself?”
Slowly blinking, I pry my eyelids open. “I’m not.”
He crouches down, scans my eyes, and then wipes them one last time. “You are.”
“I… I don’t mean to be,” I stutter, a little taken aback.
“You’re a good person, so ease up and give yourself a break.”
Nodding, I hang my head. Perhaps I am too hard on myself. My expectations have always been high, but that’s what happens when you constantly strive for success. If they’re not high, you never rise.
He lifts my chin and gives me a quick peck on the lips. “You don’t have to always impress and please everyone around you. Surely, that’s exhausting.”
“It is.”
“Then stop, and be kinder to yourself.”
I pout. “I am kind to myself.”
“Be kinder.”
Nodding again, I bite the inside of my cheek. “Okay.”
He boops my nose. “Can I remove this shit from my face yet?”
“No.”
Riley grumbles, and I have to give him credit for being a good sport. “Do you want me to do your chest?” I ask, sliding my slimy hands into his.
He throws his arms out wide, flexing his pecs, both of them dancing up and down.
I giggle. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Is this white shit good for genitals?”
I playfully slam my palms onto his pecs, delighting in the feel of him as I glide my fingers over every dip, bump, and groove. “Your chest hair is going to hate this.”
“My chest hair loves it, trust me.”
When I’m done, I pry my hungry hands from him and mimic his stance, arms out wide. “My turn.”
Grinning like an imp, he gathers most of the mud I’ve just applied to him, rubs his hands together, and then caresses my shoulders, neck, and collarbones, his fingertips and palms gloriously hypnotic, a low growl reverberating from his throat as his hands dip to the top of my cleavage.
“Behave,” I warn. “There are children here.”
“Believe me, I am behaving.” His hands curve around my bikini until they’re slipping beneath it.
“That’s enough,” I whisper, reaching down to hold his wrists.
He leans forward, his mouth ghosting my earlobe. “For now.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “I need a drink.”
“You and me both.”
“Yes. Good.” I hold our hands away from our bodies. “Getting a drink is platonic. Safe. PG-rated.”
He smirks. “Is it?”
Growling, because he’s one-hundred percent correct. Now that we’ve agreed to “see where this leads,” nothing seems platonic anymore. And I’d be lying to myself if that didn’t worry me.
“You’re doing it again,” he says.
“Doing what?”
“Negatives.”
Argh!
Intermittently wading, floating, and splashing, we make our way to the pool bar, order some drinks, and then cozy up together in a rocky alcove, me comfortably perched on Riley’s lap and sipping my lavender blueberry smoothie, when Brittany and Whitney paddle by, Brittany performing a double-take.
“Riley, is that you?”
We both give her a docile wave, but I suspect I’m not the Riley she’s talking to.
She waves back, her eyes dipping to his hand resting on my thigh. “Oh, I—”
“Hey, Brit,” Whitney says, lifting her phone while she poses with a peace sign. “Take a selfie with me.”
Brittany’s shoulders slump, and she trudges away.
“I think we just broke Tittney’s heart,” I murmur as I sip my smoothie.
He gently squeezes my leg. “You gotta stop calling her that. She’s just a kid.”
“She’s older than a kid, Riley.”
“Not by much. She’s only Twenty-three.”
I jerk back. “Really?”
He nods.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Yeah, when I filled out her paperwork in the med center.”
“Oh….” Shit! I feel awful now. I mean, I knew she was young, but not that young.
“So whether her heart is broken or not… yeah… she’s a kid, and far too young for me.” He creeps his fingers up my thigh. “You, on the other hand….”
I smack them away. “Are you saying I’m old?”
“I don’t know how old you are. Mom always taught me never to ask a woman’s age, weight, or bra size.”
I laugh. “Well, if you must know, I’m thirty-two. And no, I’m not telling you what I weigh or how big my boobs are.”
He glances down at my chest, then says into his beer, “You don’t need to tell me.”
I poke him in the ribs. “Riley!”
“What? You don’t!”
Snuggling into him, an unusual calmness settles over me as I gaze out over the misty lagoon toward Mount Torbjorn, the volcanic landscape eerily beautiful. “Do we have to leave? Can we not just stay here like this?”
“And let your Mom sail away without us?”
My stomach tightens.
Mom!
Bile rises to my throat, and I swallow heavily. I know I need to lay her to rest; it’s what she wanted. But I don’t know how I’m going to get through it, to finally sever that tie and let go of the only part of her I have left.
But… I must.
It’s time.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I close my eyes. “I’m booking her interment for tomorrow.”
His arms tighten around me, and it’s the only response I need.