Chapter 23
lovelillibet People talk about swimming as resistance training, but I believe submerging yourself in water is about acceptance. Of our bodies, of the need to slow down, of our amniotic past. That’s why I prefer to do it naked, with nothing between my skin and a state of flow. Instead of using sizeist language like “skinny dipping,” think of it as a fullness immersion. And don’t forget to bring a friend!
Love, Lillibet
Image: Two sets of footprints stretch across a beach in black-and-white.
#skinsuit #ohhhhnaturel #passthesoap #couplesoup
He could always say no. Part of Libby even wanted him to be the responsible one. No, I won’t follow you off this ledge. He was probably trying to think of a nice way to turn her down. She decided to offer him an out.
“Unless you’d rather not?”
He looked at Hildy’s uncle, wreathed in leis and shaking his moneymaker for all it was worth. “The show goes on for a while?”
“Hours.”
Jefferson turned that quiet, knowing gaze on her. “Let’s go, girl from the beach.”
Her heart tried to launch itself into orbit. “Libby is fine.”
“Then I’ll be Jefferson.”
“Great.” It was all she wanted. A few stolen hours to be themselves, nothing fake getting in the way.
Except the part where she was pretending to pretend to be her real self, instead of admitting the truth. That was suboptimal. If Libby wasn’t careful, she’d tie herself in so many knots, it would be impossible to untangle. But in the meantime, she’d have this one evening with Jefferson.
For a moment she’d wavered, torn between saying nothing and spilling the whole thing. This was the middle road. Not totally brave, but not completely dishonest, either. If Jean complained, Libby would point out that it was partially her fault, for telling her to get real.
What do I really want? This.
They slipped out a side door and down the path to the parking lot. It wasn’t until they reached the car that Libby realized the flaw in her plan. This was why she never took bold spontaneous action. What was the point of going for broke if you sucked at logistics?
“Problem?” Jefferson asked.
“I don’t have the keys.”
He nodded.
“It would be a jerk move to strand them here anyway.”
“Too far to walk,” he agreed.
She opened her mouth to suggest the bus, before realizing that would be the least Lillibet thing she’d said yet.
Jefferson pulled out his phone, tapping the screen with one finger. “Six minutes.” He looked up at her. “Until our ride gets here.”
“You called us a car?” It felt almost as heroic as carrying her through a blizzard.
“I have a few apps. Don’t tell Hildy.”
The sound of drumming drifted down the hill. Libby’s heart kept time with the pounding beat. What if someone came looking? She knew herself well enough to imagine her response. Why are we out here in the dark? Because I … lost a contact. Jefferson was helping me. And then she’d squint up one eye to sell it, and Jefferson would think she was a freak.
It was easier to worry about that kind of what-if than ask herself what she was doing. Having a light bulb moment was one thing; following through was a lot scarier. Before Libby could convince herself to retreat—back to the people and music and bottling up her embarrassingly huge crush on Jefferson—the car arrived.
He opened the door for her, a questioning look on his face.
Which would she regret more: Going for it or playing it safe? If she only had this one chance, a single evening to be alone with Jefferson, the choice was clear.
Let the chips fall where they may.
* * *
The house was locked. Rather than explaining why she didn’t have access to the place where she supposedly lived, Libby led Jefferson through the side yard as if that had been her destination all along.
“Hot tub?” she asked, hoping it sounded more confident than she felt.
Their bathing suits were hanging from a drying line behind the shower. Without waiting for an answer, Libby grabbed hers and stepped into the cabana to change. She kept on the lei they’d given her at the luau, because it was pretty and smelled good and she needed the ego boost. When she came out in her bikini, Jefferson was holding his swim trunks.
“I’ll meet you over there.” She nodded in the direction of the man-made lagoon, one end of which curved into a roughly circular whirlpool.
The faux-lava-rock surround felt like actual pumice, smooth without being slippery. She picked her way across and then lowered herself into the bubbling water. Okay, that felt amazing. Maybe the hot tub was a stroke of genius. Libby willed her muscles to relax. She could do this. Act like a normal, functional adult.
And then Jefferson walked up, and she stared as if she’d never seen a man’s chest before. She remembered that first day on the beach, when seeing him with his jeans rolled up made her all wobbly inside. It was strange how the same thing—an ankle, the shape of a calf muscle—could mean something completely different, depending on the person. Libby was pretty sure she’d never looked at another guy’s leg hair and thought, Hot damn, that’s sexy.
“How’s the water?”
“Hot.” She sounded weirdly emphatic, like it might be burning off her top layer of skin, but she wasn’t really thinking about the temperature.
“No torpedoes?” Jefferson dipped a foot in, feeling for the ledge with his toes.
“What?” She was a little distracted by the flexing of his arm muscles as he slowly submerged himself to the shoulders.
“Special features. Robot sharks. Geysers. Like the shower,” he added, when she continued to look at him blankly.
“Just me.” Devouring you with my eyes. Libby had moved to the other side to give him room, so they were sitting opposite each other, the twelve and six on a clock face. She stretched a leg out, wondering if he was close enough to touch.
He jumped when her foot made contact with his shin.
“Sorry,” Libby said, more out of reflex than because she meant it. Seduction game: on point. She should have practiced on a doll first.
Jefferson shifted a few inches to the side. Maybe he thought he’d be safe there, although this being a round hot tub, he was closer than before. He frowned at the rippling surface of the water. “So it’s not a real marriage.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but she could tell he needed to hear her say it, one more time.
“Really, really not real. Purely practical. He wanted a green card for business reasons, and I—” You what, Libby? She thought furiously. Were willing to whore yourself out for a fancy house? “Have U.S. citizenship. But I promise, I am deeply single, in all the ways that matter. Single like … a bicycle with one wheel.”
Now his mouth relaxed. “You’re single like a unicycle?”
“Yes. And it doesn’t get much more single than that. In the area of wheeled transportation.”
“Is that right?” He reached for her as he spoke, hand sliding down the wet skin of her arm until it closed lightly around her wrist, squeezing once before continuing on to trace the contours of her palm.
The sensation was just shy of ticklish. Libby’s fingers clamped onto Jefferson’s like a Venus fly trap, a half involuntary movement. They stayed with their arms stretched between them, like he knew she needed a minute to adjust to the sensation of holding his hand for the first time. Or maybe it felt momentous to him too.
“Hi.” She raised and lowered her arm like they were shaking hands. “I’m Libby.”
“Jefferson.” He didn’t let go. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”
“We ran into each other on the beach. It’s definitely not because a giant nude portrait of me exists.”
“And I have never been in the tabloids.” He shifted closer. “You’re the girl with the crackers.”
She nodded, taking another step toward him. “You’re the guy with the camera.”
“That’s me. Can I kiss you?”
“Yes, please.”
Libby tried to do a sexy saunter, but it was more of a determined wade until her foot slipped. Jefferson caught her by the waist before she went under. She grabbed his shoulders as he pulled her onto his lap. His hands slid below the surface, guiding her legs around his hips.
If she’d thought touching Jefferson’s hand was a lot, straddling him was a different order of intensity. It took several breaths to process the closeness. Like finding out she’d won a million dollars and trying to compute the magnitude. How many twenties was that? Because right now, she and Jefferson were lined up thigh-to-thigh. Libby had the irrational thought that their legs were hugging.
Her eyes drifted shut as his head dipped, lips pressing against the hollow of her throat. When she opened them again, he was watching her. She leaned forward until her mouth touched his.
Finally. Her lips parted on a sigh, breathing him in. A slow, soft kiss turned into something hotter. Jefferson’s tongue met hers, the grip of his hands turning urgent. She slid forward on his lap, wanting to get closer.
Some endless but also much-too-short span of time later, he pulled back. “Nice to meet you. What did you say your name was?”
“Libby.” No trace of Lillibet tonight.
He cupped her cheek with one hand. “I’m not seeing anyone, Libby. In case you were wondering.”
“I’m not married.” It felt like diving off the cliff at Waimea Bay, almost totally telling him the truth.
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’ve also never gotten into a complicated situation I later regretted.” If it was time for wishful thinking, Libby might as well go all the way.
He traced the curve of her bottom lip with his thumb. “I can honestly say I don’t regret anything right now.”
That was enough of a green light for her. Permission to live in the moment. It was like going from a dark room into the midday sun. We do this now. Touching was on the table. Staring, too. After days of trying to keep her distance—at least physically—the sheer sense of possibility short-circuited Libby’s brain. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, molding the muscle with her palms the way she’d seen Keoki do with a ball of dough.
His hands were doing their own wandering. A light, caressing pressure settled first on her legs, fingertips skimming slowly up the outside of her thighs. When he reached her waist, he tested the sloping curve above her hips, the merest hint of a squeeze as he tried different placements, looking for the best grip. He wasn’t racing to get to the obvious destinations, pumping her ass like a stress ball. Some guys treated a woman’s body like a ticking bomb, scrambling to cut the right wire before the countdown clock hit zero. Jefferson operated like he had all the time in the world and was going to take it.
She held her breath as his fingertips trailed across the softness of her stomach until his thumb was pressed against her belly button. Libby got the sense he was making a tactile record, charting the space her body occupied, in case he needed to find her in the dark. This is Libby, he would say. I recognize this inch of skin at the bottom of her rib cage.
He was so focused on her, with his eyes and his hands. Libby relaxed into his touch, half hypnotized despite the hummingbird beat of her heart as his other hand traveled over her lower back, continuing his slow survey. Had anyone ever paid this much attention to her before? In the past, she’d felt like physical parts first and a person second. This was the opposite of that. She knew Jefferson wasn’t comparing her to an airbrushed image. The look in his eyes said he wanted to touch her because she was Libby, and he wanted to know everything about her.
“I can’t believe you’re real.” His voice was even gruffer than usual, scraping Libby’s nerve endings.
“Same. About you, I mean.” But it was also true that Libby had never felt more anchored in her body, fully inhabiting every inch of her skin. That had to be what mattered, more than the fine print about her life.
Their eyes met as his hand slipped lower, cupping her hip. He shifted sideways, adjusting her position on his lap. His thumb traced the elastic of her bikini. She was sure he could hear the catch in her breath.
Are we going to have sex? Right now? In this hot tub? The wondering was a cricket chirp, barely audible over the typhoon of lust. Jefferson’s fingers tangled in the ties of her bikini top. The knuckles of his other hand dragged along the underside of her jaw, then across her collarbone, before sliding between her breasts. He paused there, one finger skimming the string linking the thin triangles of her top before sliding beneath the fabric. The pleasure hit her bloodstream like a shot of tequila, making her dizzy.
“I like you,” she blurted, managing to be a huge dork and totally inadequate at the same time.
Jefferson’s eyes lit as if she’d written him a love song. “I like you, too.”
She kissed his smiling mouth, wrapping herself around him to keep from floating away from sheer happiness. It was a perfect moment. Libby had never felt anything close to this—
Her sudden hiss of pain startled them both.
“Sorry,” he said at once, pulling back.
“No, it’s okay. Just a pinch. Your hand…”
He lifted the fingers resting at the top of her thigh. Libby shook her head. “The other one. On my neck. I think some of my hair got caught in the straps.”
As she followed the direction of Jefferson’s gaze to where his right hand cupped her breast, his thumb applying the exact right amount of pressure, Libby realized something didn’t add up. Specifically, the number of Jefferson’s hands.
“What the heck?” she said at the same time he reached behind her.
“Bad goat,” he scolded, trying to pry the lei out of Poki’s mouth. The goat pulled harder, not caring if Libby got clotheslined in the process.
“I think we might have to sacrifice the flowers,” Jefferson said, holding the lei away from her throat. She lowered her head so he could lift it up and over, tossing it onto the rocks. The goat bleated its thanks. Or possibly it was saying, Sucks to suck, losers.
“You okay?” Jefferson asked.
“Yeah. Kind of a mood killer.” Sinking down until her chin touched the surface, Libby swished back and forth, pulling the rubber band off her messy bun.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, watching her hair swirl around her.
Maybe their evening wasn’t ruined. He didn’t have to know she was rinsing off goat slobber.
Smooth and sultry, Libby coached herself as she started to stand. Like a Bond girl rising from the surf. The air felt cool on her shoulders as she thrust them back. She reached behind her, ready to untie her bathing suit and toss it aside. Feast your eyes on this!
There was a plop, like seaweed sticking to her skin. Libby looked down, where she was surprised to see her breasts on display, even though she had yet to untie her bikini. She felt under her hair. No straps.
Which she probably should have guessed, considering the dripping thing that had slapped her stomach was the remains of her bathing suit.
“That is not how I imagined that going.” Libby crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t the toplessness that embarrassed her. That had been the plan all along, minus the epic failure of her first ever attempt at a strip tease. “I can’t believe a goat ate my bikini.”
It was from the clearance rack at Target, but still.
“Hold on.” Jefferson reached into the waistband of his shorts. Libby’s first thought was that he was going to take off his bathing suit to make her feel better, but the trunks stayed on as he pulled the drawstring free. “Turn around.”
She did as he asked, wondering if he was about to reveal a secret fondness for bondage. That would be an unexpected twist, though no more out of left field than bringing barnyard animals into the mix.
“I should be able to rig a strap out of this,” he explained, putting an abrupt end to the spicier scenarios Libby was imagining.
She tugged the clammy bikini top into place, holding it as she passed the longer strap over her shoulder. Jefferson carefully brushed her hair to one side before tying his drawstring to the intact portion of Libby’s halter. The other side was trickier.
“It’s just a stub,” she warned as he reached over her shoulder.
“It’s not the size that matters.” His breath skimmed the back of her ear.
“Are you doing a fancy knot?” she asked, to distract herself from the fact that her boob was jiggling like a pocket full of change.
“Yep. They call this one the Mulligan.”
“Really?”
“No.” Jefferson rubbed his cheek against hers, since all two of his hands were occupied. “This is my first bikini repair. I’m improvising.”
“It wasn’t part of your wilderness rescue training?”
“We focus more on cutting people out of their clothes.”
That really shouldn’t sound as hot as it did. Maybe there was something wrong with her, beyond the wardrobe malfunction.
He gave the string a final tug. “How’s that?”
She wiggled her shoulders up and down. “Seems secure.” One of her breasts was hoisted significantly higher than the other, but they’d never been perfectly symmetrical anyway. As she turned to face him, Libby felt strangely shy. “Thanks.”
“What is it?” he asked, studying her face.
She hesitated. Frank conversations were not Libby’s strong suit. In a weird way, knowing how many things she couldn’t talk about made it easier to be brave about this one awkward subject. Or maybe it was her bedrock sense that it was safe to be vulnerable with Jefferson that gave her the courage to say, “Did you not want to see my boobs?”
He rubbed his mouth, stifling a laugh. “I promise that’s not the issue. You looked upset, so I wanted to help.”
“I was trying to be sexy,” Libby admitted. “Not whoopsie!”
“Trust me, you don’t have to worry about that.” The heat of his gaze burned through any possibility of doubt. “I wanted to be sure it was your choice.”
“As opposed to the goat’s.” She took a step closer. “You were saving me from being chewed into a corner. Non-consensual gnawing.”
Jefferson reached for her, wrapping an arm around her lower back. “For the record, I have no objection to you taking off your clothes.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, before kissing him again.
“Why?”
“You have me tied up pretty tight.” She curled a finger around the part of the strap that wasn’t a thick white drawstring, lifting it away from her body.
His eyes tracked the up-and-down slide of her hand. “Good thing I always carry a utility knife.”
In those shorts? Libby thought not. She’d spent enough time on his lap to know better.
He turned her so they were back-to-front, one arm anchoring her to him while the other brushed her hair aside to expose the nape of her neck. “I like a challenge.”
If she had a cosmic remote, Libby would have hit pause right there, with Jefferson surrounding her, solid and warm, his lips against her shoulder.
“Cold?” he asked when she shivered.
She shook her head. “You?”
“Nope.” He splayed his hand over her stomach, the heat of his hand melting her from the inside. “Where were we?”
A goat answered before Libby could, bleating something that sounded like, I finished the flowers, dickwads. What’s for dessert?
“Go away,” Libby grumbled, though it was hard to feel too much annoyance when she was slathered over Jefferson like the filling on an open-faced sandwich.
“I assume you’re not talking to me,” he said, lightly biting the lobe of her ear.
“No.” Please never leave. Libby buried that thought deep before it could cut her.
In the distance, the goats made more noise. Remember us? We’re still here! It was like having an annoying chaperone. At least they weren’t right up in their business. In fact—
Libby abruptly pulled herself out of Jefferson’s arms. “Did that goat sound really far away to you?”
He frowned. “Now that you mention it, yes.”
She waded to the edge of the hot tub, standing on the bench for a better view. The brown goat was quietly nibbling grass. Beyond that, Libby spied the chewed-off end of a rope.
It was the number one thing Keoki had warned her about. Those goats are escape artists. We have to make sure they don’t run away because they’re hella expensive. The cheese sells for forty dollars an ounce.
This was standard goat behavior, not a karmic slap on the wrist. And yet Libby couldn’t shake the feeling she was being punished. Maybe it was a law of the universe: tell too many lies, and you were doomed to get cockblocked by your fake pets.
“I have to find her,” she told Jefferson. “Before something happens.”
The way her luck was running, the goat was probably dancing in the middle of the highway by now.