35
VICTORIA
Seated at the picnic table under the RV awning, I watch the sun begin to dip behind the mountains. Campers are settling in after their day out; they’re building their fires, starting up their grills. The crew is split up—in their tents or in the RV watching TV—and Joel’s still with his sister. It’s a perfect scenario to write, especially with such a successful segment. I came home inspired and hopeful.
But this dreaded blog post is still unfinished.
Scratch that, I succeeded in putting words on the page. I created a post that was fluffy and sweetly optimistic, a play-by-play of how I got on West Coast BBQ.
But I erased it. I can’t gloss over the weeks when my mind was in a haze, my heart broken. I also can’t omit to mention how much I’ve changed in the last five weeks, how my emotions have swung like a pendulum, and how Joel has played such a massive part in it. How do I encompass the complete story, with all the details? How do I reveal the lessons I learned from my negative experiences? This would require me to change the vibe of my blog, pull it back from its currently staged, beautiful photos and perfectly manicured words and reveal the truth.
In record time. I’ve only got till tomorrow to post it before Eleanor pulls her ad.
So I do what I do best when I procrastinate. I clean.
I shut down my laptop and walk to my tent, stuff my laundry in the duffel, and trudge my way over to the campground laundry facilities. It’s always a crapshoot as to how many people are using them, and I’m pleased to find when I peek in the windows that there’s only one person in there: Tara.
Seeing her reminds me that tomorrow is the last day of this gig, which means that in less than twenty-four hours we’ll have one last high five. Tomorrow’s breakfast will be the last I’ll make for the crew, who I’ve gotten to know intimately the last seven days.
I’ve done my share of work-related road trips, and being away from home has never been a challenge, but I’d done them on my own. I would reunite with friends at destinations, meet new people along the way that I’d keep in touch with. But the RV with its new tire and broken radio has been home, and these people have become my family.
Tara does a double take and waves me in, and when I enter, I’m hit with the humidity of the dryers.
“Hey, perfect timing.” She’s folding her laundry and is already in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. I notice something slick on her nose. She touches it. “Aloe vera. Damn sun.”
I toss my laundry into the washing machine and laugh. “Perfect timing for what?”
“I was thinking. It’s too hot for a fire tonight, and since we’re eating leftovers and dry goods to use up our supplies, I thought that maybe we should have a little bit of a farewell. We go our separate ways tomorrow after the segment, and I thought we should have some fun.” She stuffs her folded clothing into her red backpack and shrugs. “Yeah?”
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of fun?”
“The kind in a brown bag,” she whispers. “What can I say? I know I said no partying, but I’m being a rebel.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Great.” She zips up her bag and walks toward the door. “Joel should be here soon. Meet you outside in a bit?”
I nod, watching Tara walk out, and beyond her, Joel’s outline materializes from the path. I forget what I’m doing for a moment, quarters clutched in my palm. He has a big smile on his face, a backpack slung over his shoulder. So comfortable now, unlike the first day or so, when we fought like cats. Sure, I bonded with the team, but it’s Joel who I will desperately miss on all levels.
After starting the load, I walk out to the campsite. I avoid Joel’s eyes though I can feel the heat of his gaze on my face. Tonight is our last night; I’m anticipating and dreading the occasion.
Does he feel it, too?
The group is already around the circle though we don’t have a fire lit in the middle, and I plop down into the first open chair, next to Joel. Tara is handing everyone a brown bag. I stick my hand inside, and my fingers jam into something ice-cold. I pull out a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream as the rest of the crew does the same.
We all crack up.
“This is what you mean by being a rebel.” Adrian hoots.
“I mean, what screams a party more than Cherry Garcia?” Tara digs a spoon into her pint. “I know, I know, you all expected booze. But this isn’t bad, right?”
“No, it’s not bad at all.” I fall back into my chair. I scoop up some Chunky Monkey and let it melt in my mouth, and I glance at each of my coworkers and at Joel, who is leaning forward on his elbows with his pint in his left hand, spoon in his right. He’s got a spot of ice cream at the corner of his lips, and I have to look away because it’s so adorable that it’s painful.
I won’t have this soon. I won’t have him.
“What is it?” Joel interrupts my thoughts.
“You have . . .” I point to the corner of his mouth, and he wipes it with the back of his hand. “You got it.”
“Can’t help but dig in. Brownie Batter Core.”
I twist my pint to show him my flavor. “Chunky Monkey for me. I’ve never had that.”
He extends his pint to me. “Wanna have a taste?”
Stunned, I swallow what’s left of the ice cream in my mouth. “You want to share?”
“Why not?”
“Um . . .” I scour his face for an answer to his question in response to my question. He considers sharing food more intimate than sex, so what does this mean? But I’ve got nothing. I scoop a small teaspoon from his pint.
Lowell speaks up. “We haven’t known each other for very long, but I wanted to say thanks for taking me in and letting me join this epic party.”
Tara raises her bottled water. “To the best crew I’ve ever traveled with. The most accepting and kind group. You made this trip bearable. If you ever need a place to crash, you have a home in Burlingame.”
Adrian chimes in. “Camping won’t ever be the same for me again—I’ll always think of you guys. The back pain was worth it. Thanks for the meals, Vic. I ate better on this trip than I ever do cooking for myself.”
My cheeks warm as the others agree enthusiastically.
Joel pipes up. “Tara, you are a hell of a leader with your cheesy games. Adrian, thank you for sharing my love of road food. Lowell, you can come work with me anytime. Victoria, well, thank you for teaching me to appreciate our RV. Who knew that you could love something that seemed so old and halfway broken?”
I nod, heart heavy. After a breath, I steel myself. “Here’s to us, the motley crew in our dearest geriatric RV, flat tire and stomach bug and everything else you can think of. Twenty-four/seven for almost eight days. But I feel like you’re my family already. We have to keep in touch, okay?” I raise my pint.
“Here’s to keeping in touch,” Tara yells.
Everyone says it, except for Joel.
Hours later, still hopped up on sugar, sleep evades me. I’m in my tent, sitting cross-legged on my inflatable mattress, laptop open on my lap, looking at the mesh flap of the front door. I’m hoping for the stroke of inspiration. A sign from above. Pixie dust. Anything to help me write this blog post. Anything to tell me what I should do about tomorrow. Caught between wanting to prove myself to the network, show them that I’m good enough for the next gig, and my blog, my stomach turns because I’m now very sure this isn’t for me.
And the fact the man who desires this job is someone who I have feelings for . . .
As if hearing my thoughts, my phone buzzes at my side. It’s Joel. I see a light on in your tent.
I bite my cheek, pulse quickening. Trying to write.
Care for some company?
Sure.
Aside from sharing his ice cream, Joel was neutral at our celebration, and I wasn’t sure if he would come tonight. Now I feel unprepared. I fiddle and fuss with my phone. Readjust my ponytail. Smooth down my shirt. Look around and make sure I don’t have anything undesirable out. Pull my sleeping bag over the inflatable mattress.
I scold myself. What am I doing? Joel has seen me in every state. Made up, drunk, at bedtime, first thing in the morning, in sweats, with morning breath. There’s nothing to hide here.
And I guess that’s the most painful part of all of this. The man I don’t have to hide from is a man that’s sure to leave. I agreed from the very beginning that this was going to end; I saw it coming from a thousand miles away.
“Knock, knock.” Joel’s voice filters through the mesh flap. The shadow in front of me moves, and his face appears, wearing a bright smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I inhale and untangle myself from my cross-legged position, set my laptop aside. I unzip the mesh flap.
Joel crawls in, the distinct, faint smell of his skin and laundry detergent filling the tent. It’s spellbinding, causing a Pavlovian reaction in me. I want to reach out and take him in my arms, immediately, but I’m not sure what this visit is about.
He zips up the tent and takes a seat next to me on my air mattress; I scoot to make room and turn to him, crossing my legs under me. He looks around the tent, lips quirking up. “Nice digs.”
“I guess you haven’t been in here yet, huh? Not quite as big as the RV, but it’s cozy. And then there’s the view.” I point upward at the mesh skylight opening, at the stars.
“Nice.” He pushes down on the mattress. “Your mattress wins in the comfortable department though. It even has a little bounce to it.”
“It is pretty bouncy, though I’ve never had two people on it before.”
“Uh-huh.” He gives me the side-eye, as mischief plays across his face.
“What?” I tease.
“Nothing.”
I keep my giddy smile in check. “So, what’s up?”
He inhales, then exhales. “I don’t want you to think I’m a coldhearted asshole.”
“I know that.”
“Good. Because I respect you, Vic. I like you, a lot.”
My body relaxes at this declaration. “I like you, too.”
“It’s more than a little.” His voice lowers.
“Ditto.”
He grins and fingers a strand of hair that fell out of my ponytail. “I honestly don’t know how to move on from here. You’re right. I shouldn’t let the past keep me from getting what I want—”
I raise my eyes to him.
“Would you have chosen the red pill or the blue pill?”
“The Matrix?” I rearrange my thought patterns as I decipher his question. “The red pill, all the way. I’d want to know the truth, no matter how hard it is.” I scour his face. “You?”
“The blue.”
“You prefer ignorance?”
“I prefer not to be hurt, usually.” He reaches up and pads his thumb across my cheek and curls his fingers around my neck. “But you make me question everything. You’ve torn me up. Seven days and everything is upside down, inside out. What I thought I had, I didn’t. What I thought I wanted, I don’t. And what I wished for, what I wish for now . . . fuck.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.” And yet, anticipation brings me closer. As I untangle my legs, he pulls me by the bottom so my leg straddles his. It’s so natural and organic, without pretense or hesitation, despite the unknown between us. I wrap my arms around his neck; my body hums at his touch.
“I just want to fuck tomorrow. I want today to be it.” He murmurs into my ear.
“Same.” I say, choked up, overwhelmed by the bass of his voice, at the truth Joel’s expressed. Tomorrow, we face the reality of the show; we must face the differences between where we are in our lives. Tomorrow we have no choice but to take the red pill. “I want the blue pill tonight. I want bliss.”
Joel threads the fingers of one hand in my hair, and the other arm wraps around my waist. He lifts me onto him so I’m straddling him. I lower my face so my lips meet his in a heated kiss, and my soul takes in his taste, his scent. As his tongue darts into my mouth, mine succumbs to its tease, readying me for the pleasure that I’ve come to expect in the time we’ve been together.
I pull the shirt over his head, and he unbuttons my pajama top, our eyes constantly on each other, and in his gaze I’m held high and steady. And yet, there’s no hurry. Tonight will be forever, even if logic continues to remind me that what we have is finite.
He undoes my bra, takes a nipple into his mouth. “I’ve missed you.” With his hard cock pressing against me, and the hungry noises he’s making, I start to simmer with lust, moan with delight.
But there’s more. My eyes brim with regret at the thought of goodbye. I want time to stop, so it will always be him and me.
Will I have this with anyone else? Will there be any one else? After Luke broke my heart, I thought that was it. I told myself how stupid I was; I mistrusted my own instincts. Am I wrong this time, too? Because the emotions welling up inside of me, spilling out in the churning heat, the wetness between my legs, and the blood pumping through my veins—it feels like we should be evergreen.
We find our way to our sides, kissing as he runs his fingers along the curve of my breast, waist, and hip. My hands are on his chest as I relish the intimacy of his touch, the slow journey of his hands to my ass, at his cock pressing hard against me. We never do this, we never go slow, and I’m beset by sadness. The reason he’s taking his time is because this is the end.
But I push the twinge away, throw myself into the now. This moment is all we have, and if I think about tomorrow, of when we get on our separate flights home, I won’t be able to enjoy right now, to capture the thing that I want to keep with me after this is all over: the memory of being with someone who saw me through my worst self-doubt and still accepted me.
His fingers glide against my skin, under the waistband of my pajama bottoms. I wiggle to take them off, open myself to his seeking fingers. I gasp at his amazing expertise, at how he can delicately tease and rub, prepare me for what I’m anticipating—him. Aroused, now almost frantic with wanting him, I unbutton his jeans and reach for his cock.
He moans playfully into my mouth. “Can’t wait?”
“No,” I breathe out, barely. I swing myself so I’m on top, now fully naked and exposed. I bend down to kiss him on his mouth, under his chin, over his Adam’s apple. I let my tongue trail down his chest, to his abdomen, pausing briefly to kiss his naval before I head below, to him.
“Oh, fuck.” He pushes my hair off my face as I take him into my mouth, tracing my tongue up and down, feeling his strength on my lips. Though never forcing the pace, he keeps his hands in my hair, and I watch him watching me with wild eyes.
It makes me want him more, so my pace increases. I try to take more of him in. His breathing goes ragged, and I use my hands with my mouth, stroking him exactly how I know he loves it, dragging my thumb lightly on the underside, until his eyes roll up and he sucks in a deep breath. “How . . .”
“How what?” I ask, though inside my soul is screaming:
How can we deny ourselves this?
How are we going to say goodbye?
But the words that come out of his mouth are, “How much do you want this?”
My heart cracks. A hairline, so that my voice croaks, though I mean what I say next. “I want this so much.”
His eyes glaze over with emotion. “Good. Come up here.” He guides me by the shoulders, brings me to kiss him. He reaches for his jeans, and pulls out a condom from a pocket and slips it on. “Make love to me, Victoria.”