Page 86 of Pick-Up
“Ooh,” says Jackie. “Good term.”
“But I’m not evenEscapadestaff!” I protest.
Jackie nudges me. “Notyet.”
But I’m too distressed to fully appreciate what she’s implying. I am strictly behind the camera.
“Can you crop me out and just use Jackie?”
Peter shakes his head. It’s all or nothing. “Just come see.”
As Peter and I huddle together to watch the playback, Ethan comes up behind us to check it out too. I hold my breath and try to ignore what his proximity does to me. The heat I can sense coming off his body like I’m a snake and he’s my prey. I am so aware of him that my body practically vibrates. The way my bottom is nearly pressed up against his front. The way his cheek, when he leans in to see, is inches from my own. I am unraveling.
And dammit, the footage does look good.
“But I’m not wearing yoga clothes!” It’s my last attempt to avoid being featured. I look down at my black tank top and jean shorts with doubt. “Do you think it matters?”
Quietly, from behind me, Ethan says, “I think you look great.”
His words—low and loaded—travel through me like contrast dye before an MRI, coursing down tributaries, marking territory, before pooling into a bubbling geyser. I can feel his breath on my neck. I shudder.
And I am undone. I want to lie down and die.
Or turn around and jump him.
What is wrong with me today? My defenses are down, I reason. I’m upset about my mom. Stressed about my kids and the snafus I somehow can’t stop from interrupting their experiences at school. The way that it feels like failing. Away from home and everything that anchors me. I am notactuallyinvested in Ethan. I don’t haveactual feelings. It’s only a little natural chemistry. And I am just more susceptible to him than usual. I have an Ethan predisposition, but that doesn’t mean my feelings ever have to become full-blown.
Full-blown. Now everything sounds dirty.
I just need to keep my distance.
Only that will prove hard. Because, after Charlie’s shoot wraps up at the pavilion, we are breaking for lunch, changing into bathing suits and shipping out to a small sandbar, a “baby cay” as they call the tiny islands here, for the final shoot of the day. Via the hotel, I have chartered a small boat for this purpose and, of course, a captain to helm. And, now that Stephanie has arrived on the scene and watched the yoga footage, she wants it to feature Ethan… and me.
“It’ll look amazing!” she says. She is drinking murky green juice.
“You look like you recovered quickly.” I smile at her.
“Oh, yeah,” she says, toasting the air with her drink. “Hair of the dog.”
Just the idea of a splash of vodka in her spinach, kale and ginger juice brings my own hangover back. I try not to gag.
At lunch, I am seated at the same delightful table under the umbrella with Derek, Jackie, Stephanie and Charlie. Today, Charlie ambles up with a robust plate of food.
“Hungry?” asks Stephanie, arching her brow.
“Oh, yeah.” Charlie grins. “Today, I’ve worked up an appetite.”
He digs into his hearts of palm salad and plantains, caramelized to perfection. I need to go back to the buffet and grab some of my own.
Derek shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, and keeps checking his phone like it’s a tick. I wish I knew why. He seems to pick up on everything, and I pick up on nothing.
“Steph,” says Jackie. “How was the interview with Martin yesterday?”
“Oh, perfect.” says Stephanie. “It could not have gone better. The whole night was a win.”
“He said all the things?”
“He said all the things!”
