Page 81 of Pick-Up
Is sex on the beach as sandy as it sounds?
I’m ready to find out.
As he nuzzles my neck, I feel Ethan’s fingers creep up my thigh, and I am here for it.
Works for me.
I glance down for a visual. His big hand on my bare thigh. But it’s not Ethan’s palm on my skin. Instead, I see a giant iguana mounting my leg like a jungle gym.
I scream at the top of my lungs. We all jump a mile.
“What the hell!”
Darkness.
My heart is thumping. I am breathless. I can’t be sure why. There are so many possibilities.
Afterward, I will wonder if the intruder was my iguana friend. The one I met at the restaurant banquette. Arriving on the scene to save me from myself.
Regardless, he has broken the spell. The tsunami of real life has rushed in.
The iguana scampers away. Ethan—disoriented, with his hair and T-shirt ruffled adorably—is looking at me for a cue. I am on my ass in the sand.
“I guess we should go,” I manage.
He parts his lips, then closes them again.
Once I grab the lantern again, Ethan and I plod back to the villa in silence. I want to speak, to fall back into our comfortable banter, but I can’t think of what to say. I am too haunted by the push of his pillowy lips against mine, his hand grazing my side-boob, to think straight about anything else.
It keepsalmosthappening. Maybe it’s not meant to be.
When we reach the villa, he feels around on the wall for the outdoor light switch. It turns on like a floodlight, that dreaded realitycheck when the bar is closed. Sighing, he picks both our phones up off the table, still strewn with the remnants of our debauched dinner, and hands me mine. Real life rears its scaly head. I’m reminded of the dumb text from Cliff, asking me to put in a good word with Martin. So many levels of fat chance.
There’s a new text from my mom. A picture of both my parents at their literacy conference, holding up copies of banned books with glee. But I’m slammed with a wave of worry. Does she remember where I am? That I’m not in Brooklyn?
There is no colder shower.
Once inside, I head straight toward my room, as Ethan crosses to the kitchen to pour a sensible glass of water. I want one too, but I can’t face him.
I know the grown-up thing would be to talk. But I am not feeling my most evolved.
“Goodnight,” I say, as I open my door.
“Night,” he says.
Then, I turn back around. “Hey, in all seriousness, should we be worried about Stephanie? She hasn’t come back from Martin’s. And he really does seem like a creep.”
Ethan shakes his head. “I checked in with her a few hours ago. The interview went fine. He behaved himself. I’m sure she’s grabbing drinks with the others.”
I nod. I’m glad he made sure she was safe. And that he did it of his own volition. But does he share my misgivings about bolstering this man’s image? And, if so, is the new job too important to risk? For him and for me? So many thoughts ping-ponging inside my rum-soaked head.
“Okay, well,” I say. “Later, dude.” I do not sound casual. I sound deranged.
Even with my back turned, I can feel him shake his head. “Sasha,” he says softly, like he knows what it does to me. “Sleep well.”
As if I’ll be able to sleep.
31 | Pardon the InterruptionETHAN
