“Allof the jets, please, Mr. Why Buy A Hot Tub If You Don’t Get The Model With Jets Everywhere?”
Can’t resist smiling at that. And I smile broader when I glance back and catch her watching my ass.
I don’t call her on it.
I know she notices me noticing, because she jerks her gaze back up to my face, the color-changing fairy lights both inside the tub and around the fence hiding from me if she’s blushing.
“You don’t like people doing things for you,” I say instead.
“I don’t like feeling like I’m incompetent. Like I’m failing at this adulting thing.”
“You arenotfailing.”
“Hit the big button that looks like it could launch a spaceship into orbit, please. That’s theonly hit this button if you’re sure you want to get a blast of water up all of your orificesbutton. Andshh. Bash sleeps like a drunk lumberjack once he’s out, but if we’re loud enough, hewillwake up.”
I try—and fail—to stop laughing. “Youwantsomething up all of your orifices?”
“I’m playing chicken with the jets. IthinkI’m safe. But half the thrill is in not knowing.”
“Emma Monroe, do your friends know you’re such a daredevil?”
“Quit stalling and hit the button.”
“As the lady wishes.”
Never let it be said that I don’t follow instructions. I hit the right button, and while the motors slowly whir to life, I slide the rest of the way into the steamy water, taking the indented seat next to Emma.
And hope I’ve positioned myself right too.
Might’ve gone overboard with the number of jets in this thing.
But I don’t normally buy off-the-shelf, delivered-in-two-days-because-it’s-the-floor-model-of-the-best-we-have-to-offer hot tubs.
Which is probably not the defense I’m pretending it is.
If we’d had three weeks, I could’ve had a mold taken of your body and made sure the jets were positioned correctly tomassage you in all of the right placesis more than likely overkill in her life.
As was this hot tub.
But if she’s letting me buy her something, she’s getting the best.
Plus, who would’ve believed her brother would’ve bought her anything less? We put his name all over the paperwork.
Emma’s grinning at me, looking more alive than I’ve seen her since Fiji. “How long do you think it’ll—urp!”
The jets explode to life, full-force, at least eight of them aimed at my back, six under my thighs, and two each behind my calves and under my heels.
I’m jolted forward, but Emma’s flat-out flung into the middle of the hot tub.
She goes under, and I don’t stop. Don’t think. Just act.
I lunge for her, getting pushed by the jets that seem to be coming from the middle of the water, and I grab her arm as she starts to surface.
“Are you—” I start, but I get a face full of her hair as she flings it backward.
She’s wheezing and coughing and laughing.
I swipe my face, still startled at the sting from the hair slap, my eyes wet with hot tub water.
