I wipe my wet hands on a towel and check my phone for the ninety-third time.

I keep hoping Eddie will call, but he still hasn’t. Damn it, what’s taking him so long?

Here’s my ideal scenario: Eddie calls while I’m still in the bath; I put on my dry clothes and leave the cabin; I meet Eddie by the car where he fixes whatever’s wrong with that piece of junk; I drive off, never to see Eli again.

But, I’ve been in the tub for more than an hour, and the phone hasn’t even beeped once. It must’ve been two . . . three hours since I made that first call to Eddie. I’m starting to think he won’t even call back today.

What will I do if that happens?

I’ll have to call my parents to pick me up although they may not be able to do that. Mom has never driven out of town in her life, and Dad’s eyesight has been getting worse and worse, especially at night. Since it is the dead of winter, it’ll probably be dark outside by the time they close up the coffee shop.

Or, at the very worst, I can ask Eli to drive me back into town—he has already offered to give me a lift. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to be stuck in a car alone with him, but it’s only about ten miles; it’s probably okay . . . right?

Yeah. I’m worrying too much. I’ll be fine. If I can stop myself from kissing Eli again, everything will be fine.

I can do that. I’m a capable young woman who has achieved most of her career goals by the age of twenty-five. I’ll be okay.

That said, I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss since I ran away from Eli like a coward. For the fifty-seventh time, I run a fingers over my lips, remembering the way Eli felt.

This memory is more recent than all the other Eli-related ones that constantly haunt my mind. I remember every detail—his strong arms around my shoulders, his hot breath on my skin, his lips claiming mine . . .

Every time I breathe, I inhale his scent into my lungs. It’s musky. Woody. Manly.

This place—everything about it reminds me of him.

It doesn’t surprise me, of course. Eli and I have probably done it in every room in this cabin, including in this bathroom while both of us were soaking inside this very bathtub.

I remember stretching out while Eli spread my legs apart, slid his fingers into me, and rubbed all the delicious, secret spots inside me. He knew exactly where to touch, how hard, and for how long. I wonder if he still does . . .

I remember my body trembling so much the hot water rippled all around me, washing over me again and again like my orgasms.

I remember getting up to dry myself off, grabbing a towel and stopping in my tracks as I caught a glimpse of Eli’s face. Even though I had just swallowed his cum, his cock was rock hard as his gaze roamed all over my wet, naked body.

“Like what you see?” I asked him back then.

Eli smirked. Desire was etched into his features. He knew I could see it on his face. He got up and pulled me against his hard chest, pressing his cock against my ass.

He didn’t have to say anything. We just started to make love again, knee-deep in soap water.

Our frantic movements sloshed the liquid around, but we didn’t care. We were too wrapped up in lust.

His hands were on my tits, around my neck, and pulling on my hair. I pressed my palms against the wet, tiled wall to keep my balance as he thrust in and out of me.

My core clenches as memories flood my mind. I yearn for him, but I know I can never have him again. Not even if he wants me. Not if I want to keep my sanity.

So, just like I’ve always done for the past seven years, I settle for something I can have. Something I can always have.

My hand travels south until it reaches the juncture of my legs. My fingers find my pussy lips, already slick despite being underwater.

“You’re wet,” I hear Eli say in my mind, his voice fresh in my memory after seeing him only moments ago.

My fingers are too skinny to be his, but my imagination fills in the blanks.

I think about all those times he reached inside my pants, his fingers teasing me through my panties, a smirk spreading on his handsome face because he knew how much I wanted him.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the bathtub. In my fantasy, he’s sitting cross-legged on the other side, pulling my legs over him, the crook of my knees brushing against his thighs underwater.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says in that voice I can never resist.

My face heats up, and I know it’s not just because of the hot water. He stares at me so intently I get self-conscious.

“I love the way your tits peek through the surface.” He reaches over to give them a squeeze. “They fit so perfectly in my hands,” he says.

I bite my bottom lip to stifle a moan as I push a finger inside me . . . and then two. They’re poor substitutes for Eli’s thick, long ones, but they’ll have to do.

I thrust my hips forward, pressing myself against the bottom of my palm. Eli’s hand would be bigger, rougher, harder. His skin is calloused from years of work—at least, it used to be; I haven’t asked him if he’s still gathering wood from the local forest and turning it into furniture.

But, who cares, right? This is a fantasy, after all. It doesn’t have to be accurate.

I frown in concentration as I stave away intrusive thoughts about what’s real and what’s fantasy.

Back then, Eli knew exactly how to handle my body, how to manipulate my senses until I shattered under his touch. I imagine him pressing insistently on a sweet spot inside me and smiling as my eyes plead with him desperately.

“You want to come?” imaginary Eli asks, his eyes gleaming with a dark lust.

“Yes, please,” I answer in my head, doing my part in this make-believe conversation.

“I’ll make you come. But, you’ll have to do what I say.”

“Yes . . .”

My hand works furiously underwater, causing ripples to form on the surface, lapping against my skin. My arousal builds and builds until finally, I reach my peak. I let go and feel my body quiver on its own.

A small moan escapes my lips, followed by heavy sighs. In panic, I remember there’s only one door separating me from Eli, and sounds echo in this bathroom.

My toes reach for the tap and turn on the water—hopefully, that’s enough to cover any noises I make and keep Eli in the dark about my secret fantasies.

I’d like to keep them secret. Because as much as I still . . . have feelings for Eli, and even though he obviously would have no problem re-starting our physical relationship, that would be the worst thing I could do in this situation.

I can’t risk another heartbreak—not from Eli. I wouldn’t survive it.

And, I can’t let my problem affect him either. He used to tell me what he wanted, what his dream life would look like, and I know now that I won’t be able to give him that.

My orgasm ruined and forgotten, I wipe my hands on the towel again to check for any news from Eddie.

I press the button on my phone and sigh in frustration when I see there’s no new notification at all. But then, I notice the little icon at the top of the screen. There’s no signal in here.

That’s weird. I remember getting pretty good reception when I first entered the bathroom.

I drain the bathtub and rinse myself off, making sure to wipe the slickness away from between my legs.

When I turn off the shower, I faintly hear Eli’s voice from outside.

Is he talking to me?

I prick my ears up to listen. His voice stays low, and he keeps talking. He’s probably talking to someone else although I can’t hear a second voice.

Could that be Eddie? Maybe he decided not to call me and just came straight here instead.

I dry myself off and wrap the towel around my body. Ugh. Why didn’t I remember to bring my clothes in here with me?

Yes, they were wet, but at the very least, I could’ve grabbed a shirt from Eli’s wardrobe. I know it would fit me like a loose, short dress.

Instead, I only have this towel . . . and the blanket.

There’s no way around it now. I’ll have to walk out of here in nothing but a towel.

Checking my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, I realize my face is flushed, too, from the hot water and from the orgasm I just gave myself.

Will Eli notice? Even if he does, will he do anything?