17
VICTORIA
September 3
Joel nibbles on my lower lip, sending pleasure to all my limbs, though it’s supposed to be in warning. “Shhh. You are so loud.”
And instead of growing quieter, I giggle. We are in the rig, parked at a rest stop on the way to Richmond, to our next campground. The Suburban is parked next to us. About five minutes ago, Joel and I watched Tara and Adrian walk into the rest area for some snacks, and as soon as they were out of sight, we were in each other’s arms, making our way to the back. He has me pushed against the kitchenette countertop; he’s standing in between my legs. Clear of the windows, but so we can see when the rest of the crew is on their way back, we haven’t stopped kissing, our bodies a flow of groping hands and moans and gasps. Our pants are undone and his hand is up my shirt. He’s pushed the cups of my bra down, bringing my nipples to peaks with his fingers.
And I am helpless, elbows propped behind me, enjoying the trail of his lips across my chin, down my neck. Then down he goes to his knees, hands falling to the waistband of my pants.
For the last couple of hours, I’ve looked forward to this. But with him driving we didn’t have the opportunity to do anything but hold hands and have random conversations, when all I wanted to do was jump into his arms.
He nudges my pants below my hips. He presses his face against my abdomen, as if breathing me in. “You are fucking beautiful.”
“Oh, dang.” I breathe out the words in anticipation. Seeing him below me, with his eyes glazed over, is dizzying, and my knees buckle. I love when Joel is so open like this. Not exactly in words, but in his expressions, in the depth of his tone. As if his walls are down.
It’s not that Joel’s cold. He’s just . . . closed off, except for when he’s seemingly drinking me—us—in. Like he’s forever capturing the moment.
When he circles my naval with his tongue, I want to lie down before I pass out from anticipation, from lust. I want the bed, something, to support me.
It’s such a silly thought that I start to giggle. We’re acting like teenagers sneaking around.
“What’s so funny?” He kisses me everywhere on my belly, reaching my tickle spot, and I go from giggling to full-on laughter. I wiggle and try to get away.
“How am I supposed to kiss you when you won’t keep still?” Joel’s grin is sly. He stands, lifts my shirt up over my head, exposing my nipples spilling out of my bra. He growls like a bear on the prowl.
But when his hands find my belly again, I cackle.
“I don’t remember you being this ticklish.” He says into my ear, eyes alight, enjoying my gasps and heaving breaths. But he doesn’t let up, bringing me to a fit of laughter. I can only attempt to deflect his curious fingers.
My hand lands on his thigh, and when I squeeze it, he squeals. My eyes grow wide at the realization. “Oh my God, you’re ticklish, too!”
He eases off me. “Oh no. Don’t you try it.”
“How is that fair?” I slither out from under him and back up, deeper into the rig.
The wrestling match begins as he tries to grab my belly and I try to pinch him on his thighs. The RV rocks as we chase each other around the tiny space. Finding no place to run, I crawl onto the bed, but he pulls me by the legs and flips me to my back in one fluid, adrenaline-filled motion. He lies on top of me, between my legs, breathing heavy, and with a sheen to his skin. He shaved this morning so his beard is neatly trimmed, and I can’t help it: I touch my finger to the point where his facial hair ends and skin begins.
The pause takes the wind out of my body and vacuums out the air between us. It’s as if the world ceases its rotation, and the only thing that matters is me and him. I couldn’t sleep last night after he left with Tara, buzzing as if I’d eaten too much chocolate. I tossed and turned and wondered where this was all going. It’s against all of the work rules, against my own judgment, for us to get involved. I’d told myself that Vegas would be a one-night thing. Now that we’ve given each other permission to kiss, to touch, I’m not sure how I can stop. It feels right with Joel—organic—and the urge to follow my instincts and not to think too much is fierce.
“Still ticklish?” Joel brings his lips to mine, gently, as he’s done during every stolen moment since last night. Behind the closed RV door, against a Redwood next to the camp office, at every rest stop.
“Nope.” Reveling in the feeling of him above me, I spread my legs wider and relax as he wedges himself even closer, but it’s not enough. I palm his face and slide my fingers into his hair. As if the more I can touch him with my bare skin, the more I can get to know his stunning features. To know him.
“I have a question.” He presses a kiss on my chin. “Why did it take you forever to text me back?”
“I wasn’t sure if I wanted more.”
“And now?” His lips trail up to my earlobe. “Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
“Good. There won’t be any games with me. I promise you that.”
Not like the last guy is what I hear in the silence after his words. I’d withheld the details about Luke from Joel, and now I have the feeling he wants to make sure I don’t put him in the same category. And whether or not it’s an erroneous assumption, I pull him down to me, grateful, yearning for another taste of his mouth.
Again, when he kisses me, that thing happens: an electricity that starts in my core and shoots out to my limbs. It brings me to a high, and I forget about being tickled, I forget about the next stop, and like in Vegas, I forget about the before, with that guy who’s face I can now barely conjure in my head.
Joel moans against my mouth, and this makes me smile. Despite what’s happened between us, despite my insecurities about this job and how different we are, we have this one thing that we can do together, and do well.
But as our bodies fall into a groove and my temperature reaches fever pitch, he pulls away. My need to have his pressure on me is so great I want to cry out when he lets up and settles on his elbows.
He pulls the phone from his back pocket. He blinks at the screen, his appearance mirroring my disheveled thoughts.
“I asked Adrian to text me.” He swallows a breath.
“Why?”
He grins. “So I know their status. I told him I wanted nachos. He just texted, ‘Hell ya, they have them, and I’m grabbing you some.’ ”
“Which means they’re on their way back soon.”
“Yep.”
He flops on his back, and we look up at the ceiling. “I guess that means we should get up.” My voice comes out like a whine. I want to pull him back over me, to feel his hands explore my body.
His face turns to me. “We okay?”
I meet his eyes. “Yes. Except . . . this seems more complicated now.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve never done this before.” His cheeks turn pink. “Mixing work and play.”
“We have to keep it a secret.”
He rolls on top of me, making me laugh. “And simple, okay?”
“Okay.” I answer without hesitation despite the thoughts that are rushing through my head. Simple sounds encompassing enough, especially for six days. I open my mouth to ask about what happens to us after, when this project ends, when I hear Tara’s laughter.
Joel flies off me, and I bolt into the bathroom and shut the door.
Though it kills me to waste water from our tanks, I flush the toilet and wash my hands while I will my heart to slow and regulate my breathing after the adrenaline rush of going from making out to freaking out. Joel and I . . . we’re together for lack of better words. That make-out session is going to happen again, and soon.
The familiar coil starts in my belly; the lovely tingling sensation in between my legs begins.
Crap. Not now.
I splash my face with water. I would do better in an ice bath.
The RV door opens and shuts, and I hear the tail end of Adrian and Tara’s conversation about what the proper consistency of nacho cheese should be. When I’ve brought myself down to a calm and collected state, I open the door to the lingering smell of exhaust and asphalt from the parking lot. And nachos. I wrinkle my nose at the clear plastic container of cheese Adrian is holding; there’s so much of it that the chips are barely visible.
Joel climbs into the dinette seating with Adrian, eyes bugging out. “That. That is a masterpiece.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad someone appreciates the hard work I do.” Adrian slaps the napkins on the table.
Tara hands me a tall cup of coffee. “He literally glopped cheese on there and didn’t stop until it spilled over the side.”
I shake my head. “God, the smell alone, ugh. That cheese is totally fake, and it’ll take years before you can digest it.”
“Well, if you say so, killjoy.” Adrian scoops a helping of cheese onto his chip and stuffs it in his mouth. Tara follows, and as Joel sticks a chip in his mouth, he winks.
“It’s your health.” I raise my cup to him, smirking, and plop down on the couch.
Tara takes out her phone and presses a few buttons. “This is probably as good a time as any to talk about Berkeley. If you think Desert Willow was small, Berkeley’s festival is even smaller. There are only three vendors, and the festival coincides with their annual Labor Day event, so, Victoria, there’s a tad more pressure here to hype up the vendors.”
My insides quiver from nerves, and I glance up to see that no one is looking at me directly. “I’ve been reading up. I’ll definitely do my best.”
“And we’ll do some prep before we get there.” Joel jumps in. “We’ll research the vendors, decide on some lines.”
I smile at him in thanks.
“What’s up with you and barbecue anyway?” Adrian wipes the cheese off his fingers.
“What about it?”
“Why don’t you like it?”
I shrug. I don’t know how honest I should be. I don’t want to have these people lose their respect for me. Then again, I also know they can’t help me unless I tell them. “It’s hard to explain. First of all, I can’t stand the smell of smoke.”
“But you cover all kinds of food and kitchens. All kitchens smell.”
“Right. But there’s so much, it’s almost inescapable because the smoke is absorbed in the meat itself. Speaking of: there’s so much meat. I love veggies, you guys. I’m not a vegetarian, but I have a soft spot for creations with vegetables. Also, seafood has my heart. And traditional barbecue sauces are generally from the same base, and I can only take so much of a red or tomato-based sauce.”
“Can I ask you a question then? Not meaning to be rude or anything. But why did you take this job?”
“I . . .”
“I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I can’t judge. We all need money.”
I smile, heart softening to Adrian. “It’s not that. I wanted to push myself. I wanted something new. I mean, it wasn’t all new. I’ve glamped most of my life.”
“Hence the ability to park an RV.”
I smile. “Yep. And wasn’t there ever a time when you wanted to shake things up a little? A time when you thought that if you went down another road, it would change everything? When I got this job, I thought of it like a fork in the road. The mere fact that Olivia wanted to hire me despite my inexperience with barbecue—I thought it was a sign.”
“A sign for what?” Joel asks.
“That this is what I’m meant to do.”
“You surprise me every day, Victoria,” Tara says. “And that’s why you were hired. Because you can catch us in a moment like this. You know how to talk to people.”
My eyes flash up to Joel, suddenly embarrassed for him.
Adrian cracks up.
Tara’s cheeks pink at her faux pas. “Shit. I didn’t mean that you don’t know how to talk to people, Joel.”
Joel clutches at his heart, feigning anguish.
Tara lifts a hand. “Hear me out! Every show has a vibe, and your vibe is a little more serious, geekier. And what this show needed was some fun, some flare. We’re trying to get people to come to these festivals without feeling intimidated.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joel says. “I get it. I think we can move on from all of that, okay?” He glances up at me with a sincere expression, and it warms me from my toes all the way up to the smile that’s about to burst onto my face.
“Aw, this is good you guys.” Tara balls up her napkin. “But it’s time for us to get on the road. We’ve got two hours of travel left in front of us before we get to our campground in Richmond. The Suburban can lead.”
“Sounds good. It’s my turn to drive. I’ll keep up,” I say.
When Tara and Adrian leave, I slide into the driver’s seat, adjust the mirrors, and hitch the chair up closer to the steering wheel. I snap in my seat belt, turn on the radio to find a channel that works, and pull down the visor for a quick peek at my face. I feel the heat of Joel’s eyes on me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
“I know, but I filmed you and I thought . . . I assumed . . .”
“Well, you know what cures assumptions, right?” I turn the key, fire up the engine, and give him the side-eye. “It’s called talking about things.”
“Is that what it is?”
“Yeah. But don’t worry. I’m patient.” I drive the RV out of the truck stop and onto the freeway, following the Suburban. When I’m finally up to speed, the radio cuts out.
“Here, let me.” Joel fiddles with the radio, and finally, pounds on it once. “Crap. It’s broken.”
I harrumph and frown. “I guess that’s that.”
“I’ll turn on my phone.” Joel sets his phone up on the dashboard, and I watch him scroll through his playlist. My eyes briefly glance down at the artists’ names, and a grin wiggles its way onto my lips.
Boys II Men.
Marky Mark.
Savage Garden.
And more.
“You do have a nineties fetish,” I say.
His finger pauses on the touchscreen. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Um . . . nothing . . . except that some of the songs they recorded back then were so cheesy.”
“You did not just call them cheesy. Marky Mark’s ‘Good Vibrations’ is still played at every club today.”
“If you say so.” I belt out a laugh. “And please . . . let’s not even get into nineties movies.”
After pressing the play button, Joel leans back into his chair. Will Smith starts singing through the phone. “I’m not going to let you insult nineties movies. All great movies were made in the nineties.”
“Like?”
“Pulp Fiction, The Matrix. Silence of the Lambs. Need I say more?”
I roll my eyes. “And let’s not forget Dazed and Confused with the problematic, sleazy pedophile trolling innocent high schoolers.”
“That’s one charac—”
“Oh, and of course Clueless, where Cher calls everyone the R-word. And oh, the gross generalizations, stereotypes, and sexism in American Pie.”
“Okay, okay.” He puts his hand up. “I agree. We were even less enlightened twenty years ago, but you can’t deny the deep exploration of choice in The Matrix. Do you take the red pill or the blue? I mean, isn’t that the existential crisis of life? Isn’t it all about choice?”
“But isn’t it also about fate? Don’t you believe that things happen just because, that sometimes they’re meant to be? And don’t get me started about faith, and how that changes perspectives and, quite possibly, the future?” The Suburban changes lanes, so I glance at the passenger-side mirror, and then at Joel.
He’s looking out the windshield, contemplative. “No.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “So you don’t think that the universe or God or Mother Earth had anything to do with us? That we somehow ended up right here, together, discussing The Matrix in an RV that’s a million years old with a radio that doesn’t work out of pure choice?”
“Yes. We happened to choose to submit to West Coast Eats, which happened to choose to bring us back in for a second audition, and we chose to come here.”
“You don’t think there’s a magic in that? In the combination of all those things happening?”
“You know what I think’s magic?” His voice takes on a mischievous tone. “Your lips, how they’re so damn tempting.”
Despite the heat that shoots down to my core at his bravado, I shake my head. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I am.” He unbuckles his seat belt.
“Wh . . . what are you doing?” My heart beats in my ear as his body nears. My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter as he hovers behind me, slipping his hands over my thigh. His breath tickles my ear, and I feel his cool tongue flick my earlobe. I shiver from the inside out, and it takes all of me to keep from shutting my eyes as his hands wander to where I’m now hot and wet, in between my legs.
His voice is teasing. “I’m choosing to end this conversation and pick up where we left off earlier today.”