Page 59 of The Problem with Perfect

She closes the fridge and leans back against it then turns and presses her face against the stainless steel, closing her eyes.

“Honestly, I’d like to just stand here and enjoy the coolness of this against my skin,” she jokes, a tired smile coming across her face. “I’m exhausted.”

“You have any water today?”

She shakes her head.

“You’re probably dehydrated.”

I step up to the counter and grab a glass from an upper cabinet, filling it with tap water and handing it over. She downs it greedily, like she hasn’t had anything to drink all day even though I know she had a few beers and several sodas.

“Thanks. I needed that. Now I just need to go home and figure out a way to bathe in lotion.” Bellamy holds her arms out. “I think I might have gotten a little burnt.”

I shrug. “Don’t we always get burnt on the first lake day of the year?” I ask, knowing it’s happened to me pretty consistently over the years.

“Yeah, I guess so, but I think I might be worse on my back.” She rotates her arms and winces. “I can already feel it.”

Making a twirling motion with my finger, I say, “Let me see.”

Bellamy eyes me for a second before turning around and lifting her shirt, revealing her mostly bare back, only the string of her bikini top wrapping around it. I touch it lightly with my fingertips and she shivers, goose bumps erupting across her flesh.

“Yeah, it looks a little red. Do you want me to put some lotion on it? I have this stuff Abby swears by that’s supposed to help keep the skin hydrated so it doesn’t peel.”

She drops her shirt back down.

“Um…sure. That would be great, actually.”

I cross the kitchen to a cabinet in the corner where I keep medicine and bug spray and sunscreen, reaching to the back in search of the white bottle of Maui Babe, reading the information and confirming that it’s to help nourish skin that’s been in the sun.

“Alright, here it is. Do you wanna, um…” I pause, realizing what I was just about to ask her: if she wants to take her top off.

“How about I sit on one of the chairs?” she suggests, taking the lead and heading over to the small kitchen table with four chairs. Bellamy pulls one out and sits sideways, so the back is to her left and I’m given unfettered access to her shoulders and back. Then she quickly takes her shirt off.

I swallow thickly, my eyes roving across her exposed skin again. My intentions were mostly honorable, offering to rub in some lotion for Bellamy so her burn doesn’t get that much worse by peeling, but a part of me knew I’d also be touching her skin, massaging the lotion into her body.

I clear my throat and step forward, opening the bottle and squeezing some into my hands. I rub them together briefly before reaching out and touching Bellamy. Her muscles shift when I first touch her, reacting to the feeling of the coolness of the lotion against the sun-kissed warmth of her skin.

“This okay?” I ask as I begin massaging it in along her upper back.

She nods. “Yeah.”

I know I should make quick work of it—a get in and get out kind of situation—but I can’t seem to force myself to do so. Instead, I brush long, slow streaks between her shoulders, making certain the lotion has settled into her skin before moving lower, avoiding where the string is tight across the center.

“Do you want to…” She pauses. “…to untie my top?”

I freeze, my hands halting their movements, but I find myself nodding.

“Sure.”

My hands pull gently, and the knot releases, both strings falling.

I squeeze more lotion into my palm and begin massaging again, getting all the exposed skin down to her hips before coming back up to the top to get her shoulders. As I work my hands, her head dips forward slightly, and I press my thumbs in more firmly, focusing more on massaging her muscles, the lotion sinking into her skin a happy byproduct.

When I hit a particularly tight spot, Bellamy moans, and we both freeze. God, I’m getting hard just from touching her like this. After the same happening in the water, I’m starting to realize that’s apparently just what touching Bellamy does to me. My hands stroke gently along the line where her neck and shoulder connect, and I can see her visibly shiver, the tiny hairs on her body rising at that soft touch.

“Okay, I think I’m done,” I tell her, my voice quiet as my hands reach out and retie the strings around her back.

“Thank you,” she replies, standing and turning around.

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