Once again, I don’t sleep. I get maybe three hours uninterrupted. Every time I close my eyes, Aaron’s face is there. His image won’t leave my thoughts, and it’s pissing me off.
If only coffee could be administered intravenously, because I’ll need ten or more cups to get me through this day.
At 4 AM, I wave my mom and Jack off. The Caribbean for two weeks sounds like heaven on earth. Dark circles ring my mom’s eyes and an ashen tinge colors her skin. She looks like she desperately needs some time away. Maybe she’s just tired and not pregnant.
Before she leaves, she tells me to stay safe at the cabin, and she’ll call when they land.
As soon as they’re gone, I jump into my beat-up Ford Four by Four and drive the three hours to the cabin with Luke Bryan blasting through the speakers. Nothing like listening to songs about country girls shaking it to help me forget about Aaron, but, for some reason, it’s as if every song and every song lyric was written about him.
At the cabin, the key is exactly where Jack said it would be—under the third rock by the hot tub.
I peek under the hot tub cover. Eugheugheugheugheugh. Dirt and dry mud coat the sides. At least there isn’t any stagnant water hosting a family of mutant mosquitoes.
Thank God I’d stopped at the supermarket and hardware store on the way up and stocked up on cleaning supplies and other essentials. Some elbow grease should make the tub somewhat usable.
My muscles ache to sit in the bubbling water with a black-cherry wine cooler in one hand and my Kindle in the other. Over the next few weeks, I plan on binging on Margaret Atwood and losing myself in her dystopian worlds.
Once I haul my shopping bags into the dusty cabin, I pull my hair into a ponytail and get to work opening windows and wiping down the black melamine counters in the kitchen.
I put on the radio and listen to my favorite country station, dancing like a fool and singing at the top of my lungs. I can’t carry a tune, but since no one can hear my screeching, what do I care?
Dancing every day is something I’ll miss. When I was eight, I tried out for the junior cheer team with Chelsea, which eventually fed into the high school team. So, for twelve years, cheerleading has been part of my identity. I’m ready to find out who I am without it.
The cheer squad are like my family, and I’ll always be there for them, but I don’t live and breathe cheering like they do.
When I’m satisfied the inside of the cabin is clean enough, I go outside and hose down the hot tub before using a chemical called Spa Purge. The guy at the hardware store promised it would kill all bacteria and non-living contaminants—gross—as well as clean the filters.
After I fill the tub and shock the water, I cover it up. The directions say I can’t get in for at least twelve hours. Bummer. I don’t care if I have to stay up until the wee hours, I’m getting in that tub.
What next? I eye the old powerboat on the grass by the rickety dock. The coach should take better care of this place. At least the boat is covered from the elements.
No one’s been here for quite a while. And what with the wedding and coaching, Jack’s time is limited, which meant something had to give. The cabin is as secluded as any cabin could be, with no nearby neighbors overlooking the property.
Chelsea and I used to throw parties here for the cheer squad as a bonding experience. At the beginning of school last year, she snuck Wesley up for the weekend and from what I recall, they made out pretty heavily in the bed I’m going to sleep in, but the first time they had sex was under the old Ferris wheel at our rinky-dink amusement park- or was it in his bedroom? I can never keep up with her sexcapades.
For too long I’ve lived vicariously through my best friend. It’s time for me to make my own life and memories.
I spend the rest of the day napping, reading, eating, sunbathing, and trying not to think about Aaron. Something I epically fail at.
When my mom reached her hotel, she called three times to make sure I was okay. I told her if she called again, I’d switch my phone off.
Twelve hours later, when stars fill the clear sky, I remove the hot tub cover and dip my fingers into the steaming, bubbling water. A faint hint of chemicals wafts upwards, but I don’t think my skin will melt off if I get in.
I run inside, grab a towel, a few wine coolers, and my Kindle. After all that cleaning, I can’t wait to feel the massage of the water jets.
Since no one else is here, I decide to skinny dip. I’m sure the chirping cicadas and nearby critters won’t be too bothered by my naked body.
I set my supplies on the edge of the tub and look around, even though it’s silly to do so, but you never know who could be lurking in the shadows. Satisfied I’m alone, I strip off and step into the welcoming water, and relaxation rushes over me, relieving the tension in my lower back and shoulders.
Surprisingly, all of the jets work, and I position myself so my lower back is pummeled by gushing water. Nothing is better than this, I think.
Reaching over, I grab my Kindle. All day, I’ve been reading The Handmaid’s Tale, but now I want something light and fluffy. Something sexy to go along with the sultry night.
I pick a book from a series about virgins who sell themselves at auction. Pure fantasy. All the men are alpha billionaires. In this fictional world, billionaires are on every street corner—if only—and the girls have unbelievable sex with these billionaires for like a million dollars. I guess in a way they’re prostituting themselves. But, hey, for a million bucks, I’d do the same.
I swipe through all the narration and go straight to the sex. In this scene, the billionaire has tied up the virgin and is teasing her until she begs him to fuck her.
Aaron playing the part of the billionaire and me the virgin pops into my brain. Damn it. I don’t want to think about him or us. I don’t want to think about the orgasm he gave me the other night. Trying to dislodge him, I shake my head, but it’s no use, he’s taken up permanent residence in my mind.
I power off my Kindle, wanting to throw it and its alpha billionaires into the woods, but I don’t because it was a Christmas gift from my mom. Instead of throwing it, I carefully set it down on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.
Once again, Aaron is at the forefront of my thoughts. Now I imagine I’m on the bed, tied to the headboard. He’s kneeling between my legs, and his fingers are inside my pussy.
Arousal prickles my skin and beneath the steaming, bubbling water, my nipples pucker and my clit swells.
I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be turned on like this, not by him. I have to stop reading those fucking books, and I have to stop fantasizing about him.
The more I try to force him from my head, the more his image takes over my thoughts, the more my body aches for him.
As if having a mind of their own, my hands drift down my body to between my parted legs. Maybe if I give myself some relief, I’ll stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about his mouth, his body, his cock.
I open my legs further and my fingers stroke up and down—slowly at first, picking up speed the more turned on I get.
I open my eyes to make sure there’s absolutely no one around, and I giggle at my foolishness. There’s no one for miles. No one will know about my naughty hot tub session but me.
I use my free hand to massage my breasts and tweak my nipples. My nipples are one of my most sensitive zones and always help get me off.
Every time I pinch my nipples, my inner muscles clench and my clit twitches. I trap the slick bud between my fingers and scissor up and down, around and around.
I imagine Aaron between my legs. Imagine his tongue lapping my clit and pussy opening. Licking me, sucking, biting, teasing, eating.
My stomach muscles tighten, and I spiral higher and higher and higher. Thoughts of him fill every inch of me.
My inner walls tighten, aching to clamp down on him. I grab my breasts, one after the other, and before I can stop it, his name falls from my lips.
“Oh, God,” I call. “Oh, God, Aaron.” At the onslaught of my orgasm, my back arches and my body lifts from the water.
“I’m here,” he says.
My fantasy is so real, I think I hear him. I open my eyes and then quickly close them because what I saw can’t be real. It can’t be. No way.
I open my eyes again in a squint.
Shit. Crap. Fuck.
Standing a few feet from the hot tub wearing a UCLA t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans is Aaron. The bastard grins at me like the cat who didn’t just get the cream but one who got the whole cow.
I need the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I need the universe to implode. I need to wake up and realize this was a dream.
I lower myself into the tub until only my face is visible. My heart pounds and my chest heaves. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” comes his reply, “but I think the answer is very obvious.”
“Jack didn’t tell me you were coming to the cabin. I’m supposed to be here on my own. You need to leave.”
He saunters over, like only he can, and rests his elbows on the edge of the tub.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sissy. This is my family cabin, and I intend to spend the next few weeks here. Why do you want me to leave? A few minutes ago, weren’t you calling my name? You said, Oh God, A—”
“Shut up,” I spit, my entire body flaming with embarrassment. “You’re not staying, this is my time, and you’re not welcome.”
“Not welcome at my family cabin? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I,” I say stubbornly. “Turn around so I can get out.”
“Why?” he asks with a shrug. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked—twice.”
“Once. You didn’t see me naked the other night. I didn’t take my dress off. Now turn around.”
He gives a slight bow. “As the lady wishes.”
“The lady wishes you’d go away.” When he turns, I jump out of the tub and grab my towel.
This can’t be happening.
This. Can. Not. Be. Happening.