Backslide

Chapter 13 Nellie Today #2

I head back inside past the desk and push through raw wood barn doors to reveal another world: Under a lofted ceiling, adorned with modernist pendant lights, plush but sharp-edged daybeds form single-file lines on either side of hot and cold plunge pools.

Each lounger is appointed with a succulent in a ceramic planter to create a sense of organic symmetry.

Light spills in through rows of windows, illuminating a countertop bearing bone broth, hibiscus tea, lemongrass elixir, and trays of fresh fruit and date bars.

Instead of cucumber water, there is green grape water. This is wine country, after all.

As I step onto the stone-tiled floors, I realize they’re radiant, emanating heat from deep within—kind of like me. I shake my head, defiantly.

Will. Not. Go. There.

Once again, I can’t help but note the photographic potential for this space, at once immaculately designed but not at all stuffy.

Down a short corridor on one side, I find a eucalyptus steam room—with its glass door properly fogged up—beside a cedar sauna with steaming coals.

And it’s all mine! The booze bus has ferried my favorites and least favorites away for the day and left me alone in paradise.

I slip off my robe—noting that my shoulder is already feeling a bit improved—and hang it on a hook outside the sauna, which is where I plan to begin.

I grab a rolled-up towel to lie on and one for behind my head, then quickly dig through that organic market bag Noah left me. It’s cute. I’m now using it as a tote.

See? I am resourceful!

But when I find my hair tie at the bottom of the bag, I also find my muscle relaxers, which I had completely spaced on. It feels fated. I may not be a weed girl, but I am most definitely a fan of benzos.

I pop one, happily, hang my tote under my robe, then head into the sauna. I spread my towel out on the top level and lie on my back, letting the dry heat envelop me.

Yes. This, I think.

I feel like, even through the towel, the wood against my skin is sending healing vibes to my shoulder. I can just sense it getting better.

Only, the tie at the back of my bikini top is stabbing me in the spine. So, I sit up, slip off my top, and cast it to the side.

Free bird!

There is one more problem: no distractions.

The longer I lie here, my skin exposed to the warm air, dry heat prickling up and down my body, the more I feel a stirring inside me as my thoughts wander back to Noah.

To his arms straining against his workout shirt.

To that almost kiss. To what it would have been like if his lips brushed mine, even for the briefest moment.

To his tongue slipping into my mouth and…

Suddenly, there’s a rush of cool air and an “Oh, fuck” that doesn’t come from me.

My eyes pop open and I turn to the door to find Noah himself standing there in swim trunks—perfectly fitted, of course—his eyes averted.

“Oh, fuck!” I say too, grabbing the towel from beneath my head and using it to cover my chest.

There’s an awkward pause, as we freeze in our respective spots.

Since I’m the one in the more compromising position and he’s looking away, I seize the opportunity to surreptitiously check him out.

And, yes, the six-pack has endured since our teen years.

Only now, instead of being willowy and young, he is filled out and cut.

It’s a less sharp kind of tone; a more rugged, natural one. I bet he still plays a lot of sports.

I am basically fucking ended.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I had no idea anyone would be in here. I thought the whole group was gone.”

“Yeah,” I say, “so did I. Hence the…” I gesture to my once-bare chest, now mostly covered with what turns out to be more of a hand towel. “All clear,” I add, so he can look up.

He allows his gaze to travel to my face, though it flits briefly back to my chest for an almost imperceptible beat.

I guess maybe there is a this after all.

I should be freaked out. At least more so than I am. Considering that I spent a good portion of the night and much of the morning trying to push similar imaginary scenarios from my brain. But, for whatever reason, the situation strikes me as kind of funny.

I giggle.

“What?” he asks, still lingering in the doorway.

“Nothing,” I shrug, but start giggling harder.

He looks at me impatiently. “Nell. Eleanor. I was going to spend a few minutes in here first, but do you want me to give you privacy? Hit the steam instead?”

I shake my head, trying to suppress my laughter. “No. It’s fine. The more the merrier. I mean, of course this is happening!”

He takes my go-ahead earnestly, and lets the door close behind him, settling his towel on the lowest level, as far from me as possible. He opts to remain sitting up, almost formally, and I can’t help but admire his toned thighs and calves from above, though one leg is bouncing with agitation.

I lie back down, keeping the towel across my chest. But the more I lie there trying to be cool, the funnier it strikes me. I giggle again.

“For the love of God, Eleanor! What is so funny?”

“This!” I say, dissolving into full laughter.

He shrugs, sighing. Rolls his eyes. “I mean, I guess this is better than you freaking out.”

He’s right. I should be in full panic mode. And the thought of that gives me pause. Why am I not also sitting up ramrod straight and ordering him out of here? This is my nightmare—and illicit fantasy come true.

“Oh,” I say, recognition settling in.

“What?”

“I took a muscle relaxer.”

“You took a muscle relaxer and then went to lie alone in a sauna? Where you could have potentially passed out? With no one to find you?”

“Pretty much,” I shrug happily. “Want one?”

He considers this for a moment. Shrugs back. “Sure.”

When he returns from grabbing the pill, he takes his seat again, leans over his thighs like The Thinker, his head in his hands. He has started to sweat a bit in the steam, and there’s a sheen rising on his neck and shoulders that’s creating more of a challenge for me. I look away.

We’re quiet for a bit. My eyes are closed; I’m doing a decent performance of calm. But inside I am buzzing.

“Is this weird?” Noah says, finally.

“Totally!” I chirp. “I am literally topless in a sauna with Noah-who-must-not-be-named.”

“Sorry—what?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I wave him off, which accidentally knocks my towel to the side, exposing my chest momentarily again. “Oops. Sorry!”

“No problem,” he sighs, staring at the ceiling.

“We can handle this,” I say.

“Of course,” he says. “We’re adults.”

“Adults,” I agree. “And old friends. Sharing a sauna.”

“Yup,” he says. “Friends.”

I close my eyes again, trying to ignore the tingling migrating from my fingers to my toes with a pit stop between my thighs. Trying to ignore the terrycloth towel rough against my breasts.

“It’s hot in here. Is it hot in here?” I blurt out, suddenly unable to handle the tension.

“Yes,” he says, popping to standing. “Really hot. I’ll let you…”

His voice trails off and he shakes his head as he gathers his towel and practically sprints out the door, giving me a second to snag my top and wrap my larger towel around my rib cage.

Walking out into the plunge area feels awesome, the way leaving a sauna always does. I am a clean, mean, spa-ing machine. And definitely slightly inebriated.

I find Noah in the cold plunge. I dip my toe in—it is truly frigid. It’s the kind of iceberg chill that should only be associated with summer drinks.

“How long are you going to stay in there?” I ask.

“As long as it takes,” he grumbles, gritting his teeth.

I pad over to the refreshments for some grape water. It’s crisp and yummy and mostly tastes like… water.

Noah has finally emerged from the cold and is sitting on the edge of a daybed, his hands resting slightly behind him.

He leans back and rotates his neck. He is a sight to behold.

My dirty thoughts are not my fault, I reason.

A man this handsome is impossible to ignore, even if he once stomped on your heart.

I make a show of not looking. Because I am respectful. And impervious to his charms.

“How come you didn’t go on the bus?” I manage.

“Honestly, I’m not that big a drinker,” he says. “Especially a day drinker.”

“But day muscle relaxers. That’s okay.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Are you,” I ask, “desperate?”

It comes out hoarser than I intend.

He rakes his gaze up my body to my face, something ragged in his eyes. “Do you want me to answer that?”

Maybe it’s the meds taking effect, but this is as direct as he’s been.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

He sighs. Pushes himself to standing. Crosses to the hot tub and begins to wade in, down some steps.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

He bites his lip. “Perfect.”

“Is it weird if I get in too?”

He shakes his head. “Not any weirder than anything else.”

I am about to shed my towel when I remember I’m holding my top in my hand. “I should probably put this on,” I say.

“Probably.” He rubs a hand roughly at the back of his neck.

“One second!” I scurry behind a dracaena in a large planter and fasten my bikini at the back. I make sure I have full coverage and then reemerge.

“Tada! All respectable!” I say.

“Great,” he grunts, looking truly miserable.

I join him on the steps, ankle-deep in warm water.

We stand next to each other for a beat, hands on our respective hips, then swap sideways glances.

I see his Adam’s apple bob beneath stubble. He clears his throat. “I’ll just go first.”

Noah wades all the way in, his body disappearing below the foamy surface. And he groans in a way that moves through me, leaving trails. But I’m fine. Totally fine. I cross one leg in front of the other. “This actually feels amazing.”

“Well, you were literally just on ice, so.”

“The cold water is good for circulation, stimulates the lymphatic system.”

“It’s still frigid as fuck.”

“You afraid?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked.

“No. I just don’t see the point of subjecting myself to pain.”

“You know what they say about pain…”

“To avoid it?”

“That it’s just the B-side of pleasure,” he shrugs, holding my gaze for a beat—like he knows what’s in my mind. “I’m just saying, the hot water feels better because of the cold. But if you can’t handle it…”

“I can handle it.”

“Like you handled the gummy?”

I gasp. How dare he!

“One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“Right,” he says, his mouth ticking up at one corner like he’s suppressing a smile. “Except for the part where you’re a lightweight. In all the ways.”

He’s having a good ole time now that he’s roasting me, and I’m not having it.

Outraged, I stomp out of the hot tub and over to the cold plunge. Then, glaring at him, I wade in, quickly at first, and then slower as the reality of the temperature takes over. “Oh my God!” I squeal. “This is freezing!”

“Get your shoulders under!” he calls. “It doesn’t count without the shoulders!”

As quickly as humanly possible, I dip my shoulders under the water and then rush out of the cold, hurrying back around to the hot tub and splashing in, out of breath.

“That’s psychotic!” I say. And it’s only then that I realize I have sat directly next to Noah—inches from him—instead of all the way across the tub as I planned.

The jets hit me from all directions, pushing my buttons.

I try to act like it’s all normal.

He looks down at me, his eyes twinkling. “Just look at that lymphatic system pumping at full force.”

I bring my hands to my face, sure it’s flushed. “Is that even really a thing?”

His lips quirk again—too amused. “It got you in the ice water.”

I shoot him a dirty look and then he starts to laugh. It’s a snicker and then a full-throated thing I haven’t heard in decades, but it takes me instantly back.

To a time when I was less mature.

So, I splash him in the face.

His mouth drops open in mock shock. “Oh, you do not want to mess with me.”

So, I splash him again. Which starts us roughhousing. And lands us, somehow, with his back to the edge of the tub and me pinning him in place, our faces inches apart.

Our laughter stops dead.

I lick my lips. Watch him watch me. I am all wet in all the ways. Maybe fantasy should become reality.

“Is this weird?” I ask.

But I kiss him before he can answer.