Page 26 of The Plus Ones
“You got your passport?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes.
“It’s a valid question.”
“An eye roll is a valid answer. Doyouhave your passport?”
I smile. “Yes, I do. Thank you so much for asking.” I gesture for her to get into the back seat. She smells like cocoa butter. I wonder if she’s already wearing suntan lotion. I wonder if she’s wearing a bikini under there. Maybe she’s planning on stripping down to her bikini as soon as we land in Antigua. That seems like the kind of thing Roxy would do.
I am so fucked.
I get into the car and keep my eyes straight ahead for a good five minutes, I’d say. At first Roxy is typing on her phone, and then I can see out of the corner of my eye that she’s watching me not look at her. She is amused. She is such a jerk.
“How’s it going over there?”
“Fine. Have you been to Antigua before?”
“No. Have you?”
“No. But I’ve been to St. Barts, the Caymans, Turks and Caicos.”
“Of course you have.”
“And you? Have you been to any of the Caribbean islands before?”
“I have not yet had the pleasure, no.”
“Really?”
“Why is that so surprising?”
“They’re so close to the East Coast.”
She shrugs. “I like Florida.”
I roll my eyes and say nothing.
She snorts. “Do we not approve of the Sunshine State? I thought rich white people liked the art scene and the party scene down there.”
“I’ve never been all that into art or partying.” I glance down at the leather messenger bag by her feet and see that she’s brought her laptop. “You planning to do some work while you’re there?”
“A little. Aren’t you?”
“A little.”
I look out the window and continue to think about Oiled-up Shower Roxy because I have completely lost control of my fucking brain and she just smells like she wants to be naked. That cocoa butter is sexually assaulting my olfactory system. I can feel her watching me and smirking. I am quite certain that she knows I’m having sex thoughts and that it amuses her. She is the worst fake girlfriend ever, and I just want to stick my head under her shirt for five minutes and then I’m done. It’s out of my system.
She’s not even my type.
I mean—Roxy Carter is every man’s type.
But she’s notmytype.
She’s made it perfectly clear that I’m not her type.
Everyone we know has made it clear that I’m not her type.
I am well aware of the fact that I still have a tendency to long for the women I know I can’t have.
