Page 46 of From Wink to Kink

"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.

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