Page 67 of One Week in Paradise
This is what I do, and I’m good at it.
I no longer feel that familiar bubble of anxiety in the pit of my stomach as I open up my camera roll and choose a handful of photos to post.
‘How about one of these?’ I show Cash my phone and swipe across to one of the photos we took the night of our candlelit dinner on the beach. I’d assumed that none of the photos had turned out well because I didn’t get the kiss I was gunning for, but I’m left pleasantly surprised. In the one I’ve chosen, I’m smiling at the camera, but Cash’s head is tilted downwards, and he’s staring directly at me. Even in the low light, the sunset behind us covering us in a pinkish-purple glow, I can seewantin his eyes.
I swipe to the next photo. In this one, we’re both looking at each other, and there’s something heartbreakingly fragile in our gaze. Like, in that moment, we both know we’re on the precipice of something huge, but we’re both too scared to take the next step.
I’m so glad that we did.
‘Seeing you in that dress again…’ Cash shifts in his seat, subtly trying to adjust himself. He swallows, and when he looks at me, I see thatwantreflected in his eyes again. His hand comes up to rest on my knee, and even through the thick fabric of my sweatpants, his touch leaves a scorching wake. I reflexively glance forward and meet the taxi driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror for half a second before he darts his gaze away.
I put my hand over Cash’s and give him a squeeze. ‘Not now,’ I murmur.
Cash makes an irritated sound low in his throat but nodsin agreement. He leans down and steals a kiss. It’s hot, his tongue darting past my lips to caress my own, and filled with the promise of more to come. When we reluctantly pull away, he keeps his hand on my knee and turns his attention back to my phone. ‘Post that one.’
He chooses the one where we’re both looking at each other, and I agree. I scan through the rest of my camera roll and choose a handful of photos and videos to post. Cash features heavily in most of them, and so do the others. I purposely chose the selfie we took together in the bathroom that first night. Bea, Meera and Sara are squashed up beside me, wide grins tugging at their lips as we all pose for the camera. Looking at it now, you’d never be able to tell that I was in such a terrible state only minutes before the photo was taken.
I pool my selection of photos into one carousel post and make the photo of Cash and me the first one. I tag everyone in the photos, including Cash, and then type a quick caption.
JamaicaSeven days can change your life
And then I hitpost.
EpilogueCASH
I have been in love with Bailey Clarke since we were teenagers. I’m two days away from my thirtieth birthday, and the realisation hits me like a truck.
Bailey is lying sprawled across my chest, one bare leg slung over my waist, the other tangled with one of my own beneath the sheets. Her hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, her face is flushed, and her lips are parted in a small ‘o’ as she snores quietly. She shifts suddenly, taking the blankets with her. I’m treated to a wonderful view of the curve of her breast as a soft groan spills from her lips. She nuzzles her head closer to my chest, as if she can’t get close enough.
I know the feeling.
I have been in love with Bailey Clarke since we were teenagers, and sometimes I still can’t believe that she’s mine.
I glance around our bedroom. Two large suitcases are waiting by the door, and there’s a pile of clothes that didn’t quite make the cut in the corner. I’m still getting used to calling itourbedroom, but it feels right, like it’s always been ours. Bailey moved in two months ago, and our room, once a blank canvas, is filled with little touches of her.
Her hair products litter our cabinet space, and her clothes are draped haphazardly across any surface available. Our walls are covered in memories – photos of us over the course of the last nine months, starting with that trip to Jamaica.
I reach a hand out and ghost it down her side, enjoying the way her lips twitch upwards into a subconscious grin. She arches her body into my touch, and I wonder when I’ll finally get used to this. Waking up to find her snoring gently against my chest, our legs tangled together, warm skin against even warmer skin.
I feel like I’m waiting for someone to come and tear the carpet out from underneath me. But they never come.
Thank God.
I don’t have the words to explain how much I’m enjoying the life we’re building together. Bailey’s career is soaring in ways she never even suspected. She’s carved her own little niche amongst the thousands of influencers all trying to get a piece of the pie and now has her own podcast she runs with Bea – B-Squared: a sex, relationships and lifestyle podcast. I don’t know how she balances it all – recordingthe podcast, creating videos and content for the never-ending stream of brands in her inbox, but she does, and she makes it look easy.
Bailey stretches, and her eyes flutter open. For a moment or two, she stares at me, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep. Then her smile widens, and she leans up and presses her lips against mine.
It’ll be very easy for this to turn into something else. For our soft, fleeting kisses to quickly turn fervent as our hands map their way across our bodies.
We’ve spent the last nine months learning each other’s bodies, getting this intimate dance down to a science. She knows just what to do with her hands, and lips, and tongue –oh God, her fuckingtongue – to bring out the kind of moans that come from the very depths of my throat. She knows which way to angle her hips to make my eyes roll back and a guttural moan pour from my mouth.
She knows exactly what to do to pull me apart and piece me back together again.
But we don’t have time for that today.
Her sigh is laced with irritation when I reluctantly pull away from her.
‘Good morning, babe.’
