Where Sea Meets Sky

I’m thinking of Josh. I pretend it’s him filling me up, his balls slapping against my ass, his grunts filling the room. It’s not hard to imagine—I’ve had him this way before. He’s more than a fantasy, and if I let out a scream, he could hear me. He’s real and tangible, and for these few moments, he’s mine again.

It’s not long before I’m coming, and I owe it all to him. My hands grip the clean duvet and my face is pressed against it, my mouth obscured, and I’m glad that I can’t accidently call out Josh’s name because that is so close to happening. I can taste it. I want to yell it, scream it. Josh. I want him to know.

When Nick comes, a little too loudly considering where we are, he pulls out and smacks me on the ass.

“Fuck, I needed that one.”

I roll over on my back and nod at him through the quickly fading haze. Usually after sex I find myself feeling closer to him, both mentally and physically. Now I just feel this cold distance between us.

“Hey babe,” he says as he slips his shorts and T-shirt back on.

“Mmm?” I should get dressed, too, but I feel too spent. I’m trying to relive the few minutes before.

“I’m not sure what you have planned tonight with those two,” he says, gesturing toward the house, “but whatever it is, count me out. I saw the pub down the street. I think I’m just going to head there.”

I sit up. “Are you sure? Do you want company?”

He gives me a pointed look. “No, I do not want company. That’s why I’m going.”

“I meant me.”

He blinks at me for a moment, as if to say, I know what you meant.

I swallow. “Okay, well whatever you want to do. We’ll just be here. I was thinking of going down to that pizza place and getting some takeout, then just having some food and drink on the terrace.”

“Pizza?” he repeats, and his eyes settle on the tiny pooch of my stomach that I can never seem to get rid of, no matter how hard I train. “You better not let yourself go soft or you’re not going to have a job come February.”

I glare at him. “It’s a road trip, Nick. Crap food is going to be involved.”

“Well, just remember that good nutrition doesn’t have to be difficult.” He’s taking on his trainer voice, and it annoys the shit out of me. “Kale chips here, a protein shake there. It’s easy. Plus I haven’t seen you keep up with your exercises. It will be hard for you to catch up when this is all over.”

Now I’m getting out of bed and angrily slipping on my shorts, hyper-aware of my large boobs and poochy stomach. “How can I keep up with my exercises?” I ask defensively. “I spent hours in a cave yesterday using muscles I never knew I had.”

He shrugs and stares at his face in the mirror on the wall. “I get up every morning before you do to fit in my routine. It’s about time you start making this part of your life a priority. It’s not enough to just want something, Gemma, you have to fight for it, too. If you don’t have the passion for this career then maybe you should be doing something else.”

I stare at him, balking at his words that seem to hit me like hammer blows. I don’t even know what to say, because for once he’s being smart. Worse than that, he’s being true. Do I really have the passion anymore? Did I ever?

He glances at me and frowns when he sees my face. “I’m just looking out for you,” he says with complete sincerity. “No need to freak out. You’re gorgeous in any shape or form, you know that.” His voice softens now, trying to appease me. “If you want to eat your pizza and drink your beer and get soft like the rest of them, that’s your choice. But it’s a choice you better know you’re making if you really want to cut it as a trainer. This is your job we’re talking about, and I just don’t want you to forget that.” He heads for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He closes it behind him and I am left half-naked.

Alone.

And scared.

Chapter Nine

JOSH

I can hear them fucking. It’s got to be the worst sound in the world.

Amber doesn’t seem to be bothered. She’s busy unpacking her backpack and hanging up an array of floaty skirts from the railings of the top bunk, as if she’s making a privacy curtain for the bottom bunk, all while humming to herself.

The French doors to the courtyard area are open and I can hear Nick’s groans waft in with the breeze. She may be able to ignore it but I can’t take this.

“I’m going to go take a look around,” I tell Amber. I turn around and leave, even though I feel like she’s opened her mouth to say something.

The hostel is tiny and it really is no more than a house. It’s something special though, and I wish I could sit on the patio table and just stare at the horizon. But I can’t. I would need earplugs and alcohol to do that.

Instead I go into the living room area, shutting the door to the moans, and start flipping through a book about New Zealand. Then I peruse the guest book and I’m shocked to see the name of a girl I went to high school with, dated a few months back. Small fucking world again.

Gemma had told us we were going to spend several days in Abel Tasman National Park tomorrow, kayaking and tramping—which I assume means hiking and not whoring ourselves out. I go to the giant map on the wall and find where we are, just this tiny dot on the southwest tip of the North Island. Directly across from us is the tip of the South Island.