Page 5 of Where the Blacktop Ends

He catches my eye from where I’m leaning against the edge, sending me a playful wink in the middle of his conversation with the cute woman from earlier, her dark black hair and flashy diamond jewelry almost blinds me against the reflection from the moon.

James says something to her with a quick smile, then strides over to the pool’s edge confidently. He crouches down beside me, his grin as infectious as ever, radiating that effortless and boyish charm.

“So… I’m going to get out of here with her,” his tone is playful but there’s an underlying vulnerability behind it.

I nod in response. “You think it could turn into something more?” Because I want more for James. I want him to fall in love and find peace just as much as I want that for myself.

He shrugs, giving me a non-answer, “You know me.”

His usual response to downplay his fears and overall aversion towards commitment to protect himself.

He continues, “I’m worried about you being here without me. These people are circling like vultures for the girl with strawberry blonde hair and a perfectly white smile,” he tugs on a lock of my damp, hair playfully. “Will you please leave now too? I’ve had several people come up to me asking if you’re single and whether they can get your phone number.”

I glance around, feeling the complete opposite of what James is saying. Everyone seems so polite, regal even—prim and proper,like it’s the most normal thing in the world to gather here for the sole purpose of meeting up, and likely hooking up, with strangers. I’m no prude, and I’m open to experimentation, but I definitely haven’t been to a singles mixer before. I guess I didn’t expect it to feel this... ordinary.

“Okay, okay,dad,I can leave, but I think I’ll stop by the club’s steam room first. Need to sweat out today’s chlorine and alcohol consumption before I see Evie and Ember tomorrow morning.”

He nods with a smile, then extends his hand helping me out of the warm water before wrapping me up in a towel tenderly. The air is much cooler outside now, though warm, the temperature has dropped, and I can feel the chill of the night covering my barely concealed skin. The steam room will feel extra good.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I promised Evie and Ember lots of beach days these last few months that they’re in town,” I say.

He waves over his shoulder. “Those hellions are a pain in my ass.”

I laugh. But I know he’ll show up anyways. He always does.

I watch as James leaves with the woman he’s been chatting with for most of the night then head inside the clubhouse to seek out the steam room.

For five, consecutive summers, I’ve been coming here, bringing the kids at least once a week for playdates, pool swims, or to let them burn off energy on the clubhouse playground during the day. Rarely have I had the luxury of using the steam room myself. But after months of chasing after the kids and wearing myself out without a break, my body aches for a long, hot sit in the steam.

It’s exactly what I need.

Like everything else in the Hamptons—and everything the Smiths interact with—it’s as boujee as you’d expect. A gold-plated door gleams before me, inscribed with the wordsbain de vapeur - hommes, framed by sleek dark wood and polished brass accents.

I stripped down to just a towel in the women’s locker room, loosely wrapped around my chest and waist. Thankfully, almost everyone who’s still here is at the party out on the terrace still, the kitchen is now closed, leaving the hallway and the clubhouse blissfully quiet.

Tiptoeing across the hall, I push open the door and am immediately engulfed by the dim glow of the room’s floor lighting. Inside there are marble and stone benches stacked on two levels, and a cloud of steam plumes from deep within so thick that I can barely make out the space around me. The walls glisten slightly from the thick coated moisture, and the floor lights cause the air to dance around me, making the whole room feel like an otherworldly sanctuary. It smells like eucalyptus in here which reminds me of the essential oils that they infuse throughout the room.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply as the heat and scent seeps into every pore, relaxing my muscles and calming my mind. The tension in my body unravels as I roll my neck, stepping deeper into the darkness.

The lights at the back of the steam room are dimmer or maybe burnt out, I can’t tell, leaving the front softly illuminated pointing back towards mostly black where steamy tendrils curl towards me like fingers beckoning me to come deeper. Thankfully, I’m completely alone tonight.

I step further into the room, making my way all the way to where I know the room ends before spinning around to take a seat.With a sigh, I let my towel drop to the floor and lower myself onto the cool bench—only to be met not by the welcoming, smooth marble surface that I’m expecting, but the unmistakable sensation of slick, warm flesh slapping against my bare thighs and butt.

“What the hell?” a startled, muffled voice comes from somewhere beneath me as I lose purchase and fall to the side, slipping off whatever I sat on.

My hands fumble, my hip slams painfully against the edge of the seat, and then—before I can even process what’s happening—I’m crashing to the ground.

“Help!” I yelp because I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.

You ever stumble into the bathroom half-asleep in the middle of the night, go to sit down, and realize—too late—that someone left the toilet seat up? That sudden, stomach-dropping free fall? Yeah, this is like that. Except worse. It feels like I just fell out of a tree, and I have no idea what the hell I landed on.

I roll awkwardly to my side in some kind of half-somersault, then drop to my knees before scrambling to stand.

Yeah, those are definitely going to be bruised.

By the time I manage to get my feet under me, a figure looms in front of me. The steam is still thick, blurring my vision, messing with my contacts, but there’s no mistaking it—it’s a man.

A freakishly tall one at that.

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