He smiles at her and I’m sure that beautiful grin of his is saying, Yeah, why not, and my mind is flooded with the image of them naked in there together, her on her knees, putting his big cock in her mouth. It both turns me on and disgusts me and makes me feel afraid that I was nothing more than that to him.
But he waves at her dismissively, like, Thanks but no thanks. She seems taken aback and then starts pouting but he only laughs and wiggles his fingers at her. Bye-bye.
She shrugs, like it was no big deal being rejected by the tall, dark, and handsome guy covered in tats, and goes inside. Maybe she hides it well. Maybe she’s got enough armor around her that it doesn’t hurt at all.
That’s what I need, what I want. That kind of armor. The kind that lets me go into battle and walk out with my heart still intact.
I’m impressed, beyond impressed, that he turned her down, but it doesn’t stop the fear. In fact, it makes it worse. Because Josh is a good guy, the best guy, but he’s still just a visitor in my life. That’s all he will be, all he can be.
I suck in my breath, needing to get a grip. I need to see a shrink again, like I did after the accident. I’m running out of time and may be throwing away the next few weeks out of fear of getting hurt. Everything has been horrible and lovely these past few weeks, alternating every other day at times, occurring simultaneously on others. But I know, I know, that if I followed my instincts, my hormones, my body, that the rest of the time could be nothing but orgasms and strong arms and the support of someone who truly understands me.
I hate that I’ve become so afraid.
I hear the door open behind me and see someone emerge from the indoor showers. I quickly snap it up before anyone else can. When I emerge, less than ten minutes later, utterly conscious of other people waiting for it, I feel better.
An hour later Josh and I are gathered in the parking lot of the backpackers and waiting for the owner, Hamish, to show his face, as well as any other people.
But when Hamish appears, it’s apparent that Josh and I are the only ones going. My pulse quickens in my wrist, excited, scared, but also relieved for some reason. There’s really no one I’d want to experience this with more than him. There’s no one I’d want to experience anything with more than him.
“So I’ll meet you at the bottom of the hill,” Hamish says.
“Uh, what?” Josh responds for the both of us.
“I have to get the tractor and then get the boat,” Hamish says as if he has to say this every day, which I’m sure he does. “Unless you want to wait up here.”
I look at Josh. He’s trying to put together the words tractor and boat and they aren’t making much sense.
I put my hand on his shoulder and give him an affectionate squeeze. He stares down at me in shock and then at my hand. I suppose I haven’t been very touchy-feely lately.
“It’s a Kiwi thing,” I say. “There’s no dock.”
He looks like his mind has been blown but he manages to shrug. “All right, so just walk down the hill . . . how far?”
Hamish laughs. “When your feet get wet, you’ve gone too far.”
Josh gives me a look and I can’t help but laugh, too. “Come on, you Canadian,” I tell him, pushing him forward onto the gravel road that winds down the hill.
“You’re awfully violent this morning,” Josh says. “Should I be worried?”
“You should always be worried,” I say, and I try to ignore the pang of guilt that comes right after. Yesterday I ran into Lake Tekapo wanting to feel numb from head to toe, hoping to quell my raging heart. I ended up kissing him again. I can still taste him on my lips.
“Don’t worry about me, Josh,” I had said.
“But I do,” he answered. And the look in his eyes, it was the same as this morning, full of warmth and concern and all the things that might heal me from the inside out.
I turn my attention to the road and start marching down it, my legs pumping briskly. I haven’t done anything physical since the Routeburn Track, and even though that was just a few days ago, I feel like I haven’t been pushing my body. The funny thing now is I’m not even sure that I’ll be continuing my crazy fitness schedule. I’ll never stop being active—I definitely picked up that habit during my physio training after the accident—but I won’t have to beat myself up over missing a workout here and there.
“What are you thinking about?” Josh asks, his long legs easily keeping up my fast pace.
“Why are you asking?”
“You have that look on your face.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What look?”