Alex had a good memory of Ion’s Instagram, which seemed so weird since he pretty much hated Ion. Why keep following Ion when he didn’t even like him? What was he looking for?
And then I thought of every time Alex told me Ion wasn’t right for me. Every time he called him Party Boy. Every time he said we had nothing in common.
And that last time, when he asked me if I really thought Ion was the one.
What had Alex seen? What had he known about me?
I mentally shook myself, returning to Alex’s question. “Yes, but it was an all-inclusive resort, and it’s very segregated there. Most of the staff was Maldivian, but they all spoke English and had hospitality training. It’s big business over there. I regret not going to a village.”
“Well, it looked like you got plenty of sun and swim while you were there.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Ion’s feed had pictures of me, too: in a bikini off the deck of the overwater bungalow, kisses at sunset, cocktails by the pool.
Alex came out of the bathroom, drying his hands. “What about Russia?”
I shook my head again. “Never been, not since we moved, anyway.”
Alex sat on the bed to affix his watch back on his wrist. “What is that about? Was your dad in the Russian mob or something?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” I zipped up my bag and started toeing on my flats.
Alex looked me up and down. “Mmm.” He rubbed his chin while his eyes dropped down low again. “Very Bond Girl of you.”
I aimed a finger gun at him. “Come on, I’m ready for a drink.”
Alex shook his head. “I’m going to stay behind for a bit and shave.” He ran his fingers over his cheek. “I’m getting a bit itchy.”
Alex had grown a little bit of scruff around the edges of his jawline. It occurred to me that traveling with Alex was affording me an odd privilege. I had never seen Alex anything less than cleanly shaven. “Oh, all right.”
“I’ll meet you at the bar.” Alex mock-saluted before returning to the bathroom.
I ducked out of the tent. In my mind, I could see Alex leaning over a steamy sink, the mirror slightly fogged up, and his face lathered with shaving cream.
Shirtless, of course.
I made it ten paces up the path before stopping. My brain was having a really filthy fantasy, and I was too busy trying to fill the gaps to even bother walking. Would he be wearing a towel or his shorts? What would his shaving cream smell like? What kind of razor did he use?
I bit my lip.
The files from the day’s safarididneed to be transferred over to my laptop. I could get that set up and then, maybe by the time I was done, we would be able to walk together to dinner. The files would transfer over dinner and be done when we returned.
The opportunity for a further peek into Alex’s world was too much for me to pass up.
I backtracked and unzipped the gauzy entrance to the tent again. Toeing off my shoes, I peered around hoping to catch Alex at the sink.
Rather, the space in front of the sink was empty, and I pinched my eyebrows together, wondering where Alex had gone.
Out of sight, water turned on, the hot water heater clicking over and the pounding of the shower hitting the tile. Alex hadn’t closed the curtain. I’d assumed he was shaving at the sink, but instead, he was in the shower.
And then he started humming, a delightful rendition of Toto’s “Africa,” and I suppressed a giggle.
After dinner,we made our way back to the tent. The manager had pulled me aside and asked if I still wanted time to do a photo shoot the next day, and I had said yes. Getting to take pictures while everyone else was gone would be really helpful—both to me and the lodge—so I wanted to stay behind from the drive.
But I also needed to do it without Alex in my way.
It took me until we were both in bed with the lights out to finally say something. “I’m not going on the drives tomorrow,” I said into the blackness.
The bed bounced as Alex sat up. “Hang on a minute.” He switched on the lamp beside him. “You justaren’t goingon the drive tomorrow?”
