Chapter 21
21
RUBY
As Chuck and I leave the massage room, I'm feeling more relaxed than I have since… forever. Despite the initial awkwardness, the massage was incredible. My muscles feel like jelly, and even the lingering... sensitivity from my earlier waxing adventure has faded considerably. Now, there’s just a dull throb down there. Annoying, but nothing that’s going to kill me.
"Thank you," I blurt. "For, you know, setting this up. Very generous of you. But don’t expect me to reciprocate. I don’t have your kind of money."
He throws me a cocky smile, the one that used to irritate me, but now does funny things to my insides. "Anytime, Brooks. Happy to help you loosen up a bit."
Impulsively, I step forward and hug him. For a moment, he seems startled, but then his arms wrap around me, strong and warm. I pull back, intending to give him a friendly peck on the cheek.
But he turns his head at the last second, and suddenly, we're kissing. For real.
It's brief, just a brush of warm, wet lips really, but it sends a jolt through me like I've touched a live wire. We spring apart, both wide-eyed and flustered.
"I... uh..." I stammer, my face burning. "That was..."
"Yeah," Chuck says, looking equally stunned. "It was..."
We're saved from further awkwardness by a chipper staff member approaching us. "There you are! Your body painting seminar is about to start. Right this way!"
Body painting ?
We're ushered into a room filled with easels, paints, and several other couples in various states of undress. A perky instructor greets us, handing us each a paintbrush.
"Welcome, lovebirds! Today, we'll be exploring the sensual art of body painting. Please, choose a canvas and let your passion guide your brush!" she sing-songs.
Chuck and I exchange a panicked look. "Uh, when they say 'canvas'..." he whispers.
"I think they mean us ," I finish, feeling a mix of fear and bizarre excitement.
We awkwardly maneuver to an easel, and after a brief, whispered argument— No way am I taking my shirt off ! and Come on, Brooks, live a little !"—I find myself sitting backwards on a chair, my shirt hiked up to expose my back. I unhook my bra and pulls the sides under my arms.
As Chuck starts painting, his brush cool and ticklish against my skin, we fall into conversation. It's easier somehow, not having to look at each other.
"So," I say, trying to ignore the pleasant shivers his strokes are sending down my spine, "what made you suggest the spa day?"
I feel him shrug behind me. "Thought it might be fun. Plus, I figured you could use some relaxation after everything that’s happened."
“Well, part of it was relaxing, but the other part—” I start to say, but stop myself.
He does not need to know about my adventures with pubic hair removal.
“The other part was not so good? You mean the waxing part?” he asks.
I whip my head around, no doubt making a mess of his masterpiece. "How did you?—”
He grins, annoyingly smug. "Come on, Brooks. 'Body scrub'? With an ice pack chaser? I'm not that stupid. Plus, on the way out, I snagged a brochure to see exactly what was included in our package. Imagine my surprise!"
I groan, letting my head fall forward. "Great. Just great."
"Hey," he says, his hand resting on my shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think it's kind of badass. I mean, what was it like having hair ripped off your privates? If I had that done to me, I have no doubt I’d cry like a baby, then double over and die. No, no wax for my balls."
“Okay, Chuck. I don’t need a visual."
He laughs, continuing to paint, the conversation flowing. We talk about being kids, our dreams, our fears. And, to my surprise, Chuck starts discussing books he's recently read.
"Wait," I interrupt, twisting to look at him. "You read Kazuo Ishiguro?"
He nods, looking slightly defensive. "Yeah, why?"
I shake my head, amazed. "Nothing, I just... I never figured a pro athlete would be much of a reader. My brother isn't."
Chuck's quiet for a moment, his brush still moving across my back. "There's a lot about me that might surprise you, Ruby."
The use of my first name, combined with the intensity in his voice, makes me shiver. I'm suddenly very aware of how close he is, and how intimate this whole situation is.
The brush comes to a stop and in the next second, Chuck's lips brush my shoulder.
I squeeze my eyes closed as if he’s causing pain, which of course he is not, and resist the urge to pull away. I shouldn’t like this. I don’t want to like this. Nothing good will come of it.
But it’s nice. Really, really nice.
"Chuck," I breathe, my skin tingling. "What are you doing?"
"Improvising," he murmurs against my skin. "Is this okay?"
I should say no. I should remind him that we're in public, that this is crazy, that we barely know each other. Instead, I hear myself whisper, "Yes."
I’m falling into his touch, like tumbling down a big hill that has no end, when a voice breaks through our bubble. "Don't forget, everyone! Naked yoga starts in ten minutes on the beach!"
Chuck and I freeze, then giggle. Then we snort, followed by barely-suppressed full-body-shaking laughter. "Naked yoga?" I gasp. "What kind of hell is that?”
"I don't know," Chuck says, grabbing my hand. “Can you imagine the sunburn?”
Oh God.
“I vote to skip it." Chuck says quietly.
I look around at people with their various body parts painted, buzzing with excitement at the idea of getting naked on the beach.
“Quick,” I whisper. “Wipe my paint off. Then, we’ll run."
We dash out, ignoring the instructor's calls about "embracing our natural selves." Hand in hand, we race back to our bungalow, laughing like bad kids playing hooky.
Chuck's eyes light up. "Hot tub time!"
Before I can say anything, he's stripping down to his boxers and climbing in. He looks at me expectantly, and against my better judgment, I join him, keeping my underwear on.
The slightly warm water is heavenly, and for a while, we sit in comfortable silence, watching the sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, and listening to what I am pretty sure are playing monkeys.
Chuck moves closer, his arm sliding around my waist. "So," he says, his voice low. "Where were we?"
My heart races as he leans in. This is it. We're really going to?—"
"SPIDER!" I shriek, leaping out of the hot tub so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. There, on the railing, is the biggest, hairiest spider I've ever seen outside of a horror movie.
It’s massive. Like the size of a dinner plate massive.
Chuck looks bewildered, glancing between me and the offending arachnid. "Ruby? You okay?"
But I'm already halfway to the door, dripping water everywhere. And I don’t care. "Nope, no, absolutely not. I'm not okay. That spider was looking at me. I’m pretty sure he wanted to have me for lunch."
“Pretty sure there’s no such thing as man-eating spiders—” he calls after me.
But I don’t hear much else because I am running back into our room as if the spider can’t get me there, which of course it can because the room is open to the jungle. What am I doing? I don’t belong here. There’s just no way. I’ve got to get out of here, away from these giant insects and this crazy retreat, away from Chuck and his perfect abs and his surprisingly good taste in literature.
I need to go home, back to my safe, hermetically sealed, spider-free library. Back to a world that makes sense.
But as I hear Chuck's concerned voice through the door, asking if I'm alright, I can't help but smile. Maybe, a little chaos isn't such a bad thing after all.
I'm still not doing naked yoga.