Page 88 of Whiskey Splash

And when we come, it isn’t wicked and writhing, but softer, like a hot ember slowly burrowing into your skin. It’s like when you open your eyes to see something so bright and incandescent that you want to look away, but you can’t. You have to stare into all that amber-gold beauty and keep breathing as the wave of your nakedness is blossoming.

His breath is my breath.

My skin is his skin.

All our pleasure and trust are wrapped up in the sun. All our naked gold sparkling as we become a shuddering one.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Connor wants to take credit for Desmond asking me to the wrap party, even though Arie keeps mentioning that I was already on the guest list.

I don’t tell either about how Desmond and I made love all afternoon after I got the dress. All evening too, and into the morning. We didn’t call it that, but we both know that’s what it was. We both knew something changed as we lay naked in the sun. Then we turned on all the lights in my apartment, turned on every string of lanterns, lit every candle, filled up my tiny space with as much brightness as possible, as if we needed to see every inch of one another and leave nothing in darkness.

“There’s something different about you,” Arie says, looking me over two days later on my lunch break. She sucks on the straw of her oversized mocha-frappa-coffee monstrosity, giving me the once over. “There’s a glow about you, or something, like you’ve got some fancy new age-defying moisturizer at the spa and haven’t stolen me any of it yet.”

I roll my eyes at her and shrug like I’ve got no clue what she’s talking about.

“Oh wait!” Arie’s eyes light up. “You’re getting laid on a regular basis now and are on the multiple-orgasm diet!” She says it loud enough that several other people in the coffee shop turn to look.

“What is wrong with you!” I hiss, ducking my head down and trying to hide behind a fake plant to avoid the prying eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you getting laid regularly would make you look ten years younger?” Arie asks triumphantly.

“That would make me sixteen,” I toss back at her, swiping her drink. “Too much caffeine makes Arie a crazy loud witch!”

She snags the coffee cup back. “Um, it’s not the caffeine that does that. And while we’re at it, I wouldloooooove for you to say thank you.” Arie motions with both hands to bring on the compliments. “It’s high time you admit for once in your life that Iwas actually right. That Desmond looks good on you! And he looks good inside—”

“Don’t say it!” I plug my ears as several more vulgar things sing out of my sister’s mouth, causing more heads in the coffee shop to swivel in our direction. “You know,” I say, nodding to all the strangers around us, “one of the goals of dating someone famous is for other people to not know about it.”

“Ooooooh, so you’re dating now?” Arie says, raising her voice. “You’re not just raw-dogging him like the zombie apocalypse is about to come.”

“Raw-dogging?” I stare at her wide-eyed and gritting my teeth.

“You know, without a condom.”

“I wasn’t asking what it was,” I hiss, well aware. I push my seat back and get up to leave. “I was pointing out your absolute lack of decorum. And yes, we are practicing safe-sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What I’m asking for is my thank you,” Arie sing-songs, following me out of the coffee shop, through the corridor, and past the pool.

“Will saying thank you get you to stop making comments about raw-dogging a certain someone who is one-hundred-percent a guest of this resort?” I ask, lowering my voice as we pass the cabana rentals and towel boys. “Because you will absolutely get me firedif you say those things in front of the wrong person.”

“Maybe,” Arie grants, looking at the employees at the towel stand like she couldn’t care less about what they overhear; but for Arie, it’s a surprising concession. I stop walking, causing her to almost bump into me.

“In that case, thank you, Arie,” I say obnoxiously, giving her a mock-bow. “Thank you for embarrassing me every moment of my life. Thank you for trying to hook me up with strangers and giving them the challenge to thaw my ice-block of a vagina. Thank you for being the world’s most detestable wing-man, and for saying every naughty, raunchy thing that flutters through your brain. Thank you, oh wonderful warden of all things orgasmic, for teaching me the glory of casual sex.”

“And multiple orgasms,” she adds, prompting me.

“And multiple orgasms,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“You’re welcome!” She says, opening her arms up to hug me. “Though you did say you two were dating now, which definitely kicks things up a notch from your everyday casual bam-bam of the ham.”

I leave her arms hanging in the air and walk right past her, heading for the elevator.

“Seriously,” she says, following me. “What exactly is your plan in the post wrap-party department? Is Des—”

I shoot her a look to stop saying his name and she pretends to zip her lip.

“After the wrap party,” Arie continues. “Is your new hunk-a-hunk-of-burning-love going back to the mainland and you’re saying sayonara to the Pike of pleasure? Which personally, I don’t suggest, because in all seriousness this happy-fucked glow looks freaking amazing on you?”

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