“I’m trying to tell you that it’s time for you to do something you want to do.”
“What if I say I want a massage?”
I scoff. “I know how you are about touching.”
He lowers his eyebrows. “How am I about touching?”
I lean in and go to put my hand on his shoulder. He jerks back.
“That,”I say, “is what I mean. I highly doubt you want a massage therapist touching you. So have fun in the pool.”
I walk away before he can stop me, trying to feel pleased that I called him out like he does to me all the time.
Instead, there’s a distinct discomfort in my breastbone that Itry to ignore. It’s okay that Nate doesn’t want to touch anyone, including me.
Isn’t it?
It’shard to worry about Nate when I’m getting pampered by a massage therapist. All of my muscles are loose by the time I decide to relax in a sauna.
For a while, I’m blissfully alone, my mind is empty, and it’s exactly what I need.
Then the door opens and a woman walks in.
I scoot over for her, determined to go back to my own relaxation. She’s older than me, maybe by a decade, and she’s in a towel that shows off the nicest pair of boobs I’ve ever seen. I’m torn between being jealous and cheering her on.
She glances at me with a raised eyebrow and I look down, immediately wishing I’d kept them shut.
“You can look. I might not be into women, but I don’t care.”
I want to melt into the floor. “Sorry,” I say.
“I’m being serious. Plenty of people stare, and I’m too old to give a fuck. At least you were polite about it.”
“Honestly, I’m just jealous.”
“Usually people get catty when they’re jealous. Thank you for being nice instead.” She gives me a once-over. “You’re not bad yourself. I’d hit on you if I swung that way.”
I’m about to hide, but she’s smiling at me in the same way Nate does. She must be enjoying this.
“Thanks, but—” I’m about to say I’m taken, but I’m not anymore. “Uh, I also don’t swing that way.”
She hums. “Are you one of the few single people on the cruise?”
“Technically, yes. I was supposed to be on my honeymoon.”
Her blue eyes go wide. “And you came alone?”
“No, with a friend.”
“That was sweet of them.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Guy, huh?”
A prickle of discomfort makes its way into my stomach. I can’t handle another insinuation. I just can’t. “Just a friend,” I insist.
“Is he in the men’s sauna?”
