. . . a late-night dip #2
He shuffles around again, bending over to refill his own glass this time around.
His leg stretches out as he does, brushing against mine under the water.
It sends a jolt of electricity through my blood that I am desperate to dull.
My eyes jump around, eager to find new focus, and end up homing in on his deeply defined back muscles.
They flinch as he twists to get the bottle, painting dips and crevices in his smooth, caramel skin.
I need to stop. I take a sip, and then another, and then two more, making sure my eyes don’t leave my drink. I count the bubbles in my glass with stealthy concentration. One, two, three . . . All the way to sixteen.
‘So how was your date last night?’ I ask, reminding myself he is dating other people. ‘You must have got back pretty late – I was already asleep.’
He leans back and chuckles jovially. ‘You fell asleep on your laptop again. I was gonna take a picture, but I already have like three other times. It felt like overkill.’
‘That didn’t answer my question.’
He stirs ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow before taking a sip of his drink. ‘The date was cool. She was nice, and having the whole place to ourselves like that was mad. Really vibey.’
‘I can imagine,’ I say as neutrally as I can.
I sip my own drink as I feel something bitter seep through me. It can’t be jealousy. I can’t be jealous of a woman who went on a date with a man I have no intention of seeing. It must be tiredness, or the heat from this Jacuzzi.
I keep prying. ‘That sounds super intimate.’
I watch the corner of his lip curl but he gives nothing away, coyly sipping from his glass. I prod harder.
‘Swimwear, total privacy, hot bubbly water . . . it’s bound to get pretty steamy . . .’
I nudge his shoulder with mine, trying to break him, and for a moment it looks like I might have.
He shuffles uncomfortably, eyes darting to the tiled floor, but then he readjusts and turns back to me.
There’s a new shade of mischief painted across his face, all the way from his chin to his perfectly arched brow. He edges closer and looks me over.
‘Swimwear,’ he says, running a finger gently over my bra strap.
He takes his time, tracing the material from its seam to my shoulder as I’m forced to hold my breath just to keep it together.
‘Total privacy,’ he continues as he lifts the finger, lightly twirling it to gesture around at the room.
‘Hot bubbly water.’ He enunciates each word slowly before sinking his hand beneath the water.
His hand morphs under the ripples, stretching and fragmenting, before emerging once again and reaching for my chin. He lifts my face, brings it closer until our noses touch and we have no choice but to stare into each other’s eyes.
‘Would you say this is steamy?’ he asks slowly.
My mouth goes dry.
‘I . . . of course not,’ I say, lying.
He smiles triumphantly before dropping my chin and shuffling away to top up his drink.
‘See, two people can be in that environment without anything happening at all. We’re living proof,’ he says happily.
His eyes catch mine and glimmer with something too magnetic to be just for a friend.
I can’t take it. I drop my eyes back to my glass.
It’s not enough. I drop them further and chug the rest of my champagne down.
It doesn’t help. It makes the bubbles in my stomach fizzier.
They spit aggressively, taking shots at the lining of my gut.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, smiling on, none the wiser.
I squeak, turning away from him. ‘Yeah. I just need more fizz.’
I reach across him to grab the bottle, but yelp as I lose my footing and my sole slides across the tub.
Water splashes around us, violently tipping over the edge as I begin to slide to my doom.
My pulse quickens. I close my eyes and brace myself for the fall, praying that the marble isn’t skull-shatteringly hard, but then his hands fly to my waist, anchoring me back in place.
I close my eyes, catch my breath and thank God for Noah’s instincts.
A moment passes and I finally reopen my eyes to come to terms with the aftermath of my near-death experience.
My bra-clad chest is pressed into his skin while his fingers are wrapped tightly around my very wet, bare abdomen.
I sink further into the water in an attempt to preserve more of my dignity, but it positions me directly on top of his crotch.
I’m straddling him. Straddling Noah in a hot tub in my very, very wet underwear.
I’m close enough to him to notice the change in his breathing, which staggers as my crotch makes contact with his. His breaths grow heavier each second as his features freeze in place. His eyes scan over me, desperate for distraction.
‘Are you cold? You’re shaking,’ he says. ‘You need to wet your shoulders. Here.’
He drops my waist to scoop up some water, lightly pouring it over my arms as he pretends to ignore the fact I’m basically sitting on top of him.
Slowly but surely, his hands stroke me up and down, patting the water in closer.
My body flushes with heat yet again; a fire is circling around my insides and he stokes the flames every second he continues.
I meet his eyes and catch them darkening.
I recognise that look from Brussels. My heart can’t take it – I pull away, the water jumping around me as I clumsily rise to my feet, muttering.
‘That’s enough hot tub for me; it’s making me light-headed. I think I need food or something, I don’t know.’
It takes me a moment to remember I’m clad in my bra and knickers.
A very wet, very lacy bra and knickers. At least it was a set .
. . Or at least, two items that were both black.
If you didn’t think too hard you could assume they were a bikini.
I turn away, then turn back. I don’t know what’s weirder – having my boobs face Noah, or my bum.
I twist again, my back to the hot tub as I make a beeline for the towels as fast as my wet feet will allow me.
We need a new rule.
10. No more hot tub. Especially not with Noah.
I reach a towel at last and cloak it around me as quickly as I can. I can finally breathe and look Noah in the eye, but as I turn I meet his near-naked body instead.
‘Pass me one, will you?’ he asks, rising from the water.
He’s fully out now, in his boxers. His soaking wet, clingy boxers.
I grab one as quickly as I can, tossing it across the room as I remind myself to focus on his eyes, just his eyes.
He catches it with one hand, nonchalantly wrapping it around himself and completely ignoring the way I’m gawking at him.
I can’t move my eyes! I try – they simply will not move!
But he doesn’t notice; he’s too busy patting his tall, lean, chiselled body dry.
I keep my lips pressed tightly together, forcing the pair of us to towel ourselves dry in complete silence.
But eventually he grows tired of it and makes his way to a bedroom, emerging with the room-service menu and asking for my requests.
It’s the perfect distraction. I throw myself into ranting about their abysmal veggie offerings.
He insists on paying when it arrives, stressing that it’s the least he can do since I got us this amazing place to stay. I remind him that it was free and I technically haven’t done anything, but he shakes his head and insists that I ‘paid for it with my brain’.
We eat our meals on the red velvet sofa in front of old reruns of My Wife and Kids, and I finally have enough mental capacity to throw myself into the distraction of the bright lights and Junior’s slam poetry.
That is, until I glance slightly over to the side and catch Noah staring my way instead of at the show.
I expect him to drop his gaze once he’s caught, but instead he leans in.
He looks further, eyes boring into me and rendering me still.
His lips turn upwards, tentatively at first, but soon with enough confidence to beam at me firmly.
I mirror it without trying. His eyes crease with pure, unabashed happiness and I feel my stomach flutter, then dip.
This is becoming a problem.