I knew he was joking. When it came to me, William never made it about him. He was my rock and my best friend. I pulled on the door handle, ready to exit the car, but William placed his hand on my arm.
“Adriana, seriously, for once, don’t think about what the future holds for you. Have fun. Have a fling with Dr. Ripped Spartan.”
“You haven’t seen him naked. How do you know he’s ripped?” I teased.
William tapped his temple. “Laser vision.”
I haven’t seen Andrew naked either, but I’ve been pressed against him enough times to know that whatever was going on under his clothes was drool-worthy. Just thinking about Andrew’s lips brushing my cheek made my body shiver and my nipples harden.Exactly. If a simple touch brought an explosive reaction, what would happen if he kissed me?
* * *
The store had a mix of traditional and everyday clothes in addition to cheap T-shirts meant for tourists.
“Get this one.” William pressed a ruffled white blouse to my chest. “It’s sexy.”
“We aren’t going to a Cumbia dance. I need something practical for hiking.” I moved to the rack of shorts. The brown Fedora I’d nabbed the moment we stepped into this establishment slid lower over my eyes. I’d already selected a few shirts so all that was left to find was a couple of pairs of shorts, socks, and hiking boots.
“How about this one then?” He lifted a neon green crop top with long sleeves.
I threw two pairs of shorts over my arm and glanced at him. “Only if I want a satellite to spot me easily from space.”
William tailed me to the shoe rack, and before I could even consider any of the boots, like a true shoe savant, he quickly picked a pair—in my size—and handed them to me.
“Ohhh-kay. I’m going to try these on.” I strolled into a small changing room but before pulling a curtain closed, I said, “Could you please call the Costa Rica resort and ask them to remove our stuff from the room and store it in a secured holding area?”
William lifted his arm in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
I slid my dress off and stepped into the brown shorts. They fitted me like a glove and were the right length, long enough not to be too sexy but also not to make me look like a middle-aged, tired, suburban mom. I checked my butt in the mirror. Not bad.
What was the definition of a fling, anyway? I had a boyfriend in college for three years until he destroyed my belief in true love and, with it, my self-esteem. A few years later, I met a guy from Seattle, who flew to Atlanta for work several times a year. For four years, Steve was myget-it-out-of-my-systemguy. We didn’t just have sex; we went to dinners, movies, and parks. I never invited him to my place, and I never spent an entire night in his hotel room. I was afraid that if I woke up next to him in the morning, it might change our friendship with benefits or whatever it was. What we had was a rule-based relationship between two consenting adults who liked each other but not enough to inspire an entire butterfly conservatory inside their bodies. And that was why it worked for me.
A fling with Andrew was something I could handle. I’d developed enough strength to allow my heart to feel something again while being able to pull on the emergency shut-off at any moment. I convinced myself that when Andrew’s and my lives went separate ways, I wouldn’t care.
I tugged a shirt over my head and tried on the next pair of shorts. They were identical to the first but with fewer pockets. Shopping completed.
“I’m done.” I pushed the curtain out of the way and stepped out fully dressed in my new outfit: a pale brown button-up shirt with short sleeves, marsh green ponte pocket shorts, and hiking boots—a practical outfit for a stroll in a jungle.
“You didn’t even let me see how the other things looked on you.” William frowned.
“No time.” I passed by him and headed toward the front of the store. William collected all the things he’d picked for himself. “These are comfortable, and that’s all that matters.”
“What if other shorts made your butt sexier?” William nodded, a gleam of malevolence in his eyes. “You know I’d tell you.”
“I have no doubt you would.”
At the register, we handed our items and the tags for everything I was already wearing to a doe-eyed beautiful woman.
“This too, please.” I pointed at the hat.
William bent to my ear and whispered, “You just need a leg gun holster and a pistol, and you’d be Lara Croft.”
* * *
Sitting near our piled bags, Andrew waited for us in the lobby, his eyes narrowed in concentration on the phone in his hand. I hid the hat behind my back and sauntered toward him, a huge grin plastered on my face. He tore his gaze from the screen, then did a double take. He gave me a once over, dragging his gaze over my legs, and then his jaw tightened, and the wrinkle between his brows drew deeper. Disapproval or revolt at how I looked? I hesitated, uncertain of his reaction. But then the tension in his face lessened and a reluctant smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
He stood, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re wearing shorts for a trek in the jungle.”
“First my butt and now you don’t like my legs?” I teased him.
