My Killer Vacation

But I didn’t expect how I would respond to him. So it’s probably for the best that he didn’t come back last night and finish what we started. It’s for the best if I take a step back.

There’s no law against fantasizing, though.

Permission makes me loose limbed. Makes my breathing pick up as I bend forward over the sink and press my mouth to the crook of my elbow, two fingers slowly delving between the shower-softened folds of my sex. A sound shudders out of me when I find my clit, teasing the edges. Surrounded as I am by steam from my shower, the bathroom is intimate. I’m alone. I’m allowed. To rake my teeth down the sensitive inner flesh of my arm and push down on my button of flesh, rubbing it more roughly than I normally would, trying to chase the high from last night, even though I know, I somehow know he’s the only one who can give it to me.

I can find a little relief, though. I can—

“Taylor!” My brother’s voice is muffled, coming from beyond the bathroom and bedroom. Out in the hallway. “Breakfast is on the table. I made waffles. Figured we could use that homemade boysenberry syrup we bought at the farmer’s market yesterday morning.”

My forehead hits the mirror. “Damn,” I whisper, sides heaving, no idea if I’m still slick from the shower or layered in sweat. I can’t believe I didn’t pack my vibrator. It just seemed like a weird thing to do when going on vacation with my brother. I’m way out of practice with manual masturbation. For all I know this will take all morning. They’ll send a search party and find me in here trying to convince my fingers to vibrate.

“Are you okay in there?” Jude calls.

“Yes,” I croak, clearing my throat, pushing off the sink. Jude walked through the front door last night while I was being questioned by the police and turned as white as swan feathers. The last thing I want to do is worry him more. “Be right down.”

I fan my flushed neck on the way into the bedroom, pulling on bathing suit bottoms and a loose pair of black cotton pants. One good thing came from my sleepless night, at least. In the interest of getting some distance from the bounty hunter and regaining control of this vacation, I booked a Groupon for a snorkeling lesson for today. All the way on the other side of the Cape.

Yes. Distance.

Perspective.

Both good things.

Which must be why I’m standing at the window and looking down at where Myles slept last night. On the porch of the house with a gun tucked into his waistband. He’s still there now, looking at something on his phone. A notebook rests on his thigh.

On your back, Taylor. Panties off. I swear to God, I’m going to fuck you sideways.

My sex squeezes at the memory of what we almost did. It would have been wild. I would have been wild, welcoming his strength, begging him to use it on me. And he would have. I can’t help but be grateful toward Myles. For once, a man not treating me like I’m good for introducing to mom and nothing more. I was a sexual being last night. A woman.

Unfortunately, I didn’t just feel physically close to the bounty hunter. So much more went into giving him my trust. More than I realized. And when he didn’t come back last night, he left me exposed. A kite in the wind. I didn’t realize he’d have that kind of effect on me and I don’t think I should let it happen again. Not when he’s spelled out very clearly that he spits in the eye of love and tradition and everything I’m looking for.

As if he can feel my eyes wandering over the thick breadth of his shoulders, Myles tilts his head back and our gazes clash in the window. His expression heats, his mouth pressing together in a grim line. When the fluttering in my stomach begins to spread lower, I step back hastily, reaching for the hairbrush on my bed and raking it quickly through my hair. I dab on some moisturizer with SPF and apply some crushed apple lip balm before leaving the bedroom. When I get downstairs, my brother is sitting at the kitchen table in front of his plate of untouched waffles.

“You should have started without me.”

“Hey.” He ignores that, passing me the boysenberry syrup as soon as I sit down. “How are you feeling?”

We both turn to look at the first floor guest room. Glass has been swept into a corner and thick, construction grade plastic taped over the window. “Fine. Do you think I should call Lisa and explain what happened with the window? I hate to bother her about something so stressful when she’s grieving her brother.”

Jude chews on the tines of his fork. “Myles probably already called Lisa. You mentioned he’s only doing this job as a favor to her boyfriend, but he still has to keep her apprised of happenings. And a buoy through the window was most definitely a happening.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’re probably right.”

We’re silent while spreading butter on our waffles and dousing them in syrup. “Speaking of the private investigator…” Jude squints an eye in my direction, lowers his voice. “When you told the police you and Myles were ‘just talking’ in the bedroom during the buoy incident, you were doing that rapid blinking thing you do when you’re lying.” His lips twist to hide a smile, fork digging into a bite of waffle. “I’m not prying. Just…you know. I’m surprised by your choice of vacation hookup. Not in a bad way. Just in a surprised way.”

My face is the color of a stop sign. “I mean, there was talking while we were in the bedroom. That wasn’t a total lie.”

Jude looks at me while he chews, amused and saying nothing.

“I, um…” I fumble with my silverware. “Well—”

“You don’t have to tell me, T.”

“I want to. It’s just that you’re usually the one telling me about your love life. It’s not usually this way around.”

He smiles around a bite. “You’re too kind to call my meaningless hookups a love life, T.”