Chapter 20
20
M aeve
He’s flirting. He definitely is.
So much has changed from the man in New York to the man here. Seemingly free from the constraints of his obviously high position. Douchebag turned hero under the power of the sun. Or clouds , I think, glancing into the sky. The sun has disappeared, making the oncoming rain palpable in the air.
I noticed the change in Ezra after the hug. I mean, a hug can do that to a person, but I thought I was on the receiving end of it. But looks like the magic power of a hug works both ways.
I can sit and complain all I want about his mood swings and the whiplash I’m getting from them. Or I can sit and ride along with them. There’s literally nothing I can do to change him. We’re not close friends. We’re not friends at all. In fact, we’re pretty much enemies if one wants to get technical .
I doubt my reprimanding will do him any good other than making him even angrier. He probably has his reasons for being the way he is. I mean the man hasn’t seen the sun in years, maybe it’s the lack of vitamin D. The island seems to be healing him from the sicknesses he didn’t even know he had. The more D he gets, the better his mood will become.
Speaking of D. I’ve seen his. I just peeked. Accidentally, alright! But it’s a very hard thing not to notice. Very hard . When he climbed that palm tree? He excited the bejesus out of me. So I just had to throw a stick at him. Plus, I had to pay for his dickheadedness in New York. Our score now is even, and I can move on with being nice.
I shake my head, trying to get rid of the hard picture from my mind. I felt it too, under my butt cheeks. I felt everything. And how nice it was to be squashed to a body like his. I’ve never had a large boyfriend. I mean, I’ve had very fit guys, but Ezra is not just fit. He’s huge. Everything about him is giant, including his presence. He’s the quietest person I’ve ever met, and yet I always know where he is. He’s that type of a human who naturally takes a large amount of space, and I don’t mind it one bit.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice suddenly bursts into the middle of my wild imagination.
“What?” I ask, blinking away the thoughts I’m not planning to share with anyone.
“That thing you do with your face,” he says with a smile in his voice.
“What thing?”
“This.” He brings his hand to my face, grazing my cheek with the back of his fingers. “When you show all your emotions running through your head.” His touch stays on my skin a moment longer than necessary.
“I do that?” I smack my hands on my cheeks in horror, secretly trying to erase the feel of his gentle touch away .
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “All the time. I saw it at the coffee shop when you would shoot daggers at me.”
I shoot him one right now too. “You deserved it.”
“Maybe.” He smiles.
“Maybe?” I plant my hands on my hips. “You were a dickhead.”
“Maybe.” He laughs this time. “You were too.”
“I was not!” I cry out outrageously.
“You were.” He nods a few times. “You were spiking my coffee with salt.”
“One time!” I lift one finger in the air. The middle one. “I did it one time! And you deserved it.”
“I did not,” he contradicts with a mischievous smile.
“You did too.” I stop and squash my index finger into his chest. “You made me pay for your coffee.”
“Your boss did.” He looks so full of himself. “And to be fair, you spilled a hot-ass coffee on me.”
“I was having a bad morning!” I cry out, throwing my hands in the air. “A really bad morning. And you weren’t helping with your stupid attitude.”
He cackles while moving the palm leaves away from our path. “What happened with your morning?”
Suddenly, I don’t feel so chatty. I recall the reprimanding I got from Jerome and the pay cut, when my pay was already small to begin with because I was working for cash, and it instantly dims my brightness. The fight leaves my body as I feel my shoulders sagging down. A moment of silence is heavy in the air.
“We can get those vines as decorations,” he says, changing the topic and pointing at the trees ten feet away from us.
I follow his finger and discover dozens of green vines hanging from the trees. “As garlands? Over the entryway?” I exhale in awe, feeling a bit better. “That’d be so cool!”
“I knew you’re one of those,” he notes smugly.
“One of who?” I can’t even find energy to be mad at him for his very questionable tone.
“People who celebrate every holiday and decorate the shit out of their houses, filling the space with junk.”
How on earth did he manage to make a good thing sound so bad?
“Well, yes. I am. Life is too short to be prude and stuck-up.” I let my brow raise a little with a subtle hint about him being one of ‘those.’
“Touché,” he laughs. “Let’s go get them.”
We gather the vines and go back to the camp. I head to my shelter only to be stopped by his voice.
“Maeve.” He sounds annoyed. “Let’s not do that, okay?”
I whip around and rush to his shelter, rambling all the way. “I just wanted to be sure you’re not regretting inviting me to your place because now it might be awkward when you don’t want me there anymore, but kind of don’t have a choice because I’m already there. And you are there. And you know that when I’m?—”
“Stop.” He shushes me by pressing his finger to my lips. “You talk too much.”
My first reaction is to protest, and he knows it because he presses his finger a little harder.
“Too much, Maeve.”
I give him a short nod.
We should be moving on after a nod, but instead, my tongue decides to press for freedom through my lips and peeks outside. His finger is outside. I do a very quick lick, pull away, and rush to gather leaves for the shelter. His quiet and unmoving figure is making me give myself a few mental slaps—why did I decide to make it even more awkward?
When he finally snorts and starts moving, I hear myself producing a very loud exhale. Way to go, Maeve. Way to go.
While I’m decorating his bungalow, he brings wet mud and fixes a few cracks in the walls. He also adds palm leaves to the roof and walls, securing them with the vines we brought. He seems to be really enjoying working with his hands. Because, to me, the place already looks good. But he likes making it better. He likes getting his hands dirty. I swallow, watching him work. His arms move, making veins pop. His skin has gained some color, and he’s not nearly as translucent anymore. And it becomes him.
The more Ezra works, the better the place looks. I just wish it was a little bigger so both of us could sleep inside without touching each other. Even though I don’t mind him touching me with his legs, thighs, or other parts, it seemed to weird him out. The morning after we spent the night together in here, he refused to look at me all morning.
“I’m going to run to get some water.”
He pauses smacking the palm leaves and nods before returning back to work. His body is glistening with sweat, and not the fake kind models use to appear on billboards. This sweat comes from the hard work of making us feel secure. For a moment, I’m reminded why I left my family and decided to venture into my own life. Even though Ezra is clearly not a blue-collar guy, I wouldn’t say that right now. So I’m just left enjoying it however long it will last.
I make a few trips back to the shelter to fill out as many half coconuts as I can. Ezra had to replace a few because the old ones didn’t look so fresh anymore—the heat was getting to them.
By the time I’m done with the last run, Ezra has built some sort of curtain slash door to cover us from the side rain. I whistle, admiring his handiwork. He glances at me with a lopsided smile.
“What was that about?”
I shrug, suddenly embarrassed by my reaction. I’m always loud and outspoken, but not to the point where I whistle seeing a dude work with his hands.
“You’ve made us a door,” I say, trying to save face.
“Oh, yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. “Figured if the wind hits from this side, we’re fucked.”
He said ‘fucked,’ and my brain got just that. Fucked. It’s scraped of all coherent thoughts, and now I’m just blinking, trying to remember what I asked. Or he asked. Or he said. All I know is fucked .
What is wrong with me? I’ve never been so horny. Is it the sun? It’s the sun. I glance up, finding the traitor peeking from behind a cloud. It knows it’s to blame for my hormones. I squint at it with a murderous look on my face.
“You’re really weird. You know that?” Ezra asks, not even trying to hide his amusement.
“I own it.” I shrug and look around. “It’s going to get dark soon. We should go get some food for the evening celebration and the morning after. I don’t like walking around on an empty stomach.”
“You and me both.”
He quickly finishes fixing the bungalow and goes to wash up in the water. I can stay here and admire him from afar, but I prefer a close-up look. So I follow him to the water.
I have only one set of clothes, and constant washing in salty water makes them nearly unmanageable. They’ve already ripped in a few places and are barely holding, so I pull my shirt and shorts off, staying in only my lilac bra and duck undies.
Ezra has already taken off his undershirt he’s still trying to wear and pants, which used to be black but they’re not anymore. You’d think something so expensive should hold their form and color a bit better. I glance down at my bra I got at Target for ten bucks. The thing looks better than his ten-million-dollar pants. I probably should lend it to him. I giggle to myself and head into the water. What’s the point of being stranded on an island if we can’t enjoy the calm, warm waters?
“What are you doing?” he asks gruffly.
“Swimming,” I reply, submerging into the water up to my neck.
“Naked?” He sounds totally horrified.
“I have clothes on,” I correct him, not trying to hide sarcasm.
“Those are not clothes,” he says with disgust.
“These cover much more than some bikinis do. And I didn’t take you as a prude, Ezra. Have you never seen a woman naked?” I ask with mock horror.
“You know what I mean, Maeve. You can’t walk around like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like that.” He motions toward me with disgust.
I glance down at myself. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Your bra is fucking see through.” He waves his hand in my direction. “I can see your nipples, Maeve. And your white underwear? When it gets wet, it leaves zero to the imagination. Zero, Maeve,” he adds, sounding tortured. “Exactly zero.” His voice almost turns into a whisper.
“I have beautiful nipples.”
“I know, Maeve. I fuckin’ know.” He wipes his face with his hand.
“Wait.” I stop making slow circles around him and stand up. The water is shallow, so I’m only in the water to my hips. “Are you looking at my nips?”
“It’s very hard not to notice them.” His neck moves with a swallow as his eyes unapologetically land on my chest.
I glance down at myself just to make sure I’m not covered in ocean algae which would totally ruin the picture I’m going for. When I bring my eyes back up to his face, my gaze slowly trails his body, stopping on his silky boxers. And something underneath them. The material clings for dear life to the largest dick I’ve ever seen. It’s very well proportioned to his body. It’s so big I have to swallow. Like I’m eager to taste him, and I’m not usually one to give head. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’ve just never been into it.
It twitches under my attention, and I swallow again.
“I see that it can be hard.” My voice comes out raspy. Swallowing the thirsty saliva didn’t help at all.
“Maeve,” he calls out huskily.
“Yes,” I squeak.
“I can’t do that.” His voice is that of a tortured soul.
“Do what?”
“I can’t get involved with you.”
I find his troubled eyes. “I’m not asking you to.”
“Fucking you is getting involved,” he growls out, clenching his enormous fists. “And I don’t see how it will go any other way if we keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” He motions between him and me. “Playing. Flirting. Tempting.”
“Tempting?” I parrot. “Do you think I’m tempting you on purpose?”
He looks at the sky with resignation before returning to me. “Not all the time, but you do. And even when you’re not trying, you still do. I haven’t had anyone for a really fucking long time, and you being you is not helping.”
This is where he loses me. “Being me?”
He sighs. “Yes, being all cheery and agreeable .”
“Agreeable?” I ask with a high-pitched voice. “What have I agreed to so far?”
“Maeve,” he exhales my name. “I really can’t do that with you. ”
“Are you married?”
“No.” A painful growl.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Are you gay?”
He very pointedly looks down at his dick, still straining the underwear.
“Not at the moment,” I chuckle. “Okay. Cool. I’m not any of those things either. And I’m not asking you to jump into bed with me, you know.”
“I know you aren’t.” He sighs. “But we both know this is where it’s going.”
My eyes roam along the shore. “I can go to my side of the camp tonight.”
“You can’t. I’ll go there.”
“What? No!” I cry out with mortification. “You literally built it, and now you want to give it away to me. You can’t do that. You won’t even fit. And there’s not much to fit in, to be honest.”
He follows my eyes and glances between his bungalow and my shit shelter. “We will figure something out. Let’s wash up and go get some food for our Christmas.”
I eye him from under lowered lashes. I was just talking about celebrating Friday-Sunday, and the grump has upgraded it to Christmas. Who am I to stop him?
“And you won’t be a Grinch?”
“I won’t. Even though he was very misunderstood.”
I freeze and squint my eyes at him. “Did you just crack a joke?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, splashing me with water.
I squeak and splash him back. In doing so, I keep moving myself in the water toward him until I end a couple of feet away. He’s splashing me right back, not noticing how close I am .
I do. I notice. I feel his presence deep in my core. Deep in my clenching pussy and suddenly weak thighs.
In one of the splashes, I misstep and fall forward. Right into his arms. His reflexes prove to be absolutely extraordinary, and naturally he catches me. My splayed palms land on his well-developed pecs while his large hands grab my sides right in the underarm area. They’re touching my entire side boob, and his big fingers are almost on my nipples.
The splashing stops. His eyes dig into mine. I swallow the anticipation and fear down because despite what he might think, I’m scared of him. More precisely, his rejection. He made it very clear nothing can happen between us, and he made it seem like I’m the overeager one in this duo.
But what I’m seeing right now totally contradicts that. His eyes are burning as they land on my slightly open mouth. My body nearly flush to his feels his very hard intentions regarding us not happening .
His biceps are strained. Like he’s trying to hold himself together. His lips are one, hard line.
His hands are slowly crawling to my back, drawing me deeper into his embrace.
I lick my lips, feeling the saltiness of the ocean on them. His eyes narrow even more, his mouth opens a little. My breathing turns shallow. I’m ready. I’m ready to feel his big body holding mine in a different manner. Closer. Like I’m his.
I am?—
A large wave next to us reminds us what we’re about to do. He pushes me away, and I almost fall backward but catch myself in time.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, turning away. “We need to go.”
“Yeah.” My own voice is so miserable, I want to give myself a hug. Why can’t we kiss? It’s not like I need it so much.
I’m lying, I do need it. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever been attracted to someone in such an odd and strong way. I don’t know why the idea of kissing me is so repulsive to him, but it makes me feel insecure and small. Is it because he still remembers how we initially met? I’m past that point. Is he?
Cursing the water for being so shallow, I rush as fast as I can toward the shore. If I was swimming, it’d be faster.
“Maeve,” he calls out, but weakly. Not really expecting me to turn around. It’s almost like a mandatory bark of a not very good guard dog when the dog knows no one will get scared.
“Time to hunt for food!” I yell without turning back. “I’m hungry.”
Behind me, I hear his very unenthusiastic splashing. He’s moving toward the shore, but slowly. Once I’m on solid ground, I rush to his bungalow to grab his jacket so we can use it as a bag.
I’m stashing coconut halves in it when I feel his presence behind my back.
“It’s not you, Maeve, it’s?—”
“Oh, shut it! If you say it’s not you, it’s me, I’ll throw this coconut,” I bounce it in my hand, “at your head. And you know I don’t miss.”
He doesn’t need to know why. I’ve been prepped to become a perfect wife since I was a kid; therefore I attended all possible classes and sports because you never know what your future husband will be into.
When I was a kid, I didn’t know any better. But when my brain began working enough to understand that there’re ways of living other than only being someone’s wife, I learned about other things. And being married to someone per your parents’ archaic rules was not the way for everyone. It might work for some, and in fact, my parents were married like that, and they’re very happy together.
But it’s not for me. I wanted a different life. I needed that.
All my skills from the previous years of doing different activities seem to be coming in handy now. I can swim away from my embarrassment, run around the jungle searching for big bananas, and throw coconuts at a very annoying face.
“Alright,” he sighs heavily, like I’m the one who blatantly rejected him and hurt his feelings. “Let’s go look for food.”
“Yep. I’ll go that way,” I point at a random direction, “and you go the opposite way.”
“Maeve,” he growls my name as if he has a right to do so. Like we’re so intimate that he thinks just one slightly changed cadence will make me drop to his feet. “Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not,” I reply with a forced smile. “This way we will cover more ground. See! Smart.” I point a finger at myself.
He watches my face for a few moments before giving me a short nod and departing toward the side of the island where papayas grow.