Page 48 of The Vacation Mix-Up
None of it makes sense.
I’ve only ever been with Krystal. Shared with Krystal. Cohabitated with Krystal. Other than my ex-wife, I’ve never spent time with another woman like this. Never stood before one, half-naked, desperate to kiss her.
“Jesus!” I sit up again, scrub my face with my palms, and then stare out the window.
I wasn’t ready to “move on” with someone like Brittany.
But perhaps I could try with Riles.
Perhapsshe’swhat I need.
chapter nine
RILES
Peanut butter!
Pressing my back to the cabin door, I fan my face with my hand, cheeks burning, heart thumping.
What in God’s name was that?
I consider going back in there to make up an excuse for the hot mess I just was, but I flee to the Vista Lounge instead, ready to play trivia. Hopefully, general knowledge questions will reset my brain, because it certainly requires a reboot. My cerebrum needs to focus on Nobel Peace Prize winners, one-hit wonders, and ancient cities of the world. Not impeccable lines, sun-kissed skin, and a sumptuous happy trail leading down to?—
Why didn’t I knock? Jesus, Riley!
Taking a seat after ordering myself a health juice, I suck in a mouthful of pureed beets, apple, and pomegranate, then settle back into the plush club chair, my heart rate finally easing, the fire in my cheeks no longer ablaze with embarrassment. Gosh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a wet, mostly naked man in the flesh, my unusually voracious hands itching to explore every bump and groove, my typically subdued body screaming for a release I didn’t realize it needed. And boy did he have some delicious bumps and grooves.
Peanut butter, peanut butter, peanut butter!
I swallow my fruity mouthful and fan my face again, this time with the trivia game sheet, when I notice a couple of flustered women sitting by the windows and doing the same thing, no doubt for entirely different reasons than mine. Then again, who knows? Maybe they too just came face to face with a freshly showered man barely wrapped in a towel.
Swiftly placing the sheet of paper down, I set the pencil on top and gather my bearings.
“Two more minutes,” the trivia host singsongs into his microphone.
I welcome his jovial distraction as he enthusiastically dances around the lounge area, welcoming passengers of various ages, some in teams of six or more.
My solitary ass is going to get royally kicked, especially if he asks questions about geography or sports other than basketball. I can hold my own with music, movies, and literature, but ask me what the capital of Norway is, and I’m bound to writeNo Clueville.
“Are you on your own, dear?” an elderly lady sitting at the table beside me asks. “Because if you are, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
I’m about to take her up on her kind offer, when Riley plops down into the chair opposite me.
“Oh, never mind,” she adds. “Good luck!”
“Thanks, you too.” I chew the inside of my cheek before giving him a curt nod. “Glad to see you put some clothes on.”
“Only because you asked me to.” He drapes his arm across the back of the chair and casually surveys the room, as if what happened back at the cabin didn’t happen at all. “Looks like we’ve got some stiff competition.”
Grateful he’s not making a big deal of the hot mess, and also a little shocked he wants to join in, I ask, “You’re gonna play with me?”
“Sure.” His eyebrow hitches seductively, and my insides curl.
So much for not making a big deal.
I curse my treacherous insides and narrow my gaze, needing to change the subject. “Do you know the capital of Norway?”
“I do.”
