I can’t recall any of the reasons Dean said Lina and I wouldn’t make sense. But that doesn’t matter. Lina’s a levelheaded woman and won’t entertain my ridiculous fantasies anyway.
Lina
James announces a fifteen-minute break. Before a single person files out of the room, Max and I pounce on him. Plainly, we’ve both had enough of this farce.
“We’re wiped out—” I say.
“We’re hungry—” Max says.
Max and I stop talking and exchange knowing grins.
James rolls his eyes. “Get out of here, you two. You’ve earned the rest of the evening off.” He leans into us and speaks under his breath: “Rumor has it they’re setting up a buffet dinner in the kitchen. You might be able to grab something there.”
As we race to the sliding doors, James calls after us, “I’ll still want your course evaluations in the morning.”
“Sure,” I say over my shoulder.
“Will do,” Max adds, following close behind me.
While everyone else shuffles outside for fresh air, Max and I hoof it to the kitchen, where a man and a woman are covering aluminum chafing dishes with foil.
The man, who’s middle-aged, looks up and smiles. “You’re a little early, folks. Dinner won’t be served for another half hour or so.”
Max groans—or maybe that’s his stomach. “Any chance we could grab a couple of pieces of bread? Porridge? A slice of cheese? I’m not picky.”
The woman laughs. “Well, we can’t let any of our guests go hungry, can we?” She hands us large white dinner plates. “We’ve got lemon pepper brined chicken, a tomato and green bean salad, a sweet potato hash, and warm rolls. You’re welcome to start.” She looks down the hall leading to the kitchen. “But don’t eat in the common areas. I wouldn’t want to start a stampede.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” I say. “You’re saving me from fainting.”
Max and I work together to uncover the foil sheets and serve ourselves. After our plates are filled, we juggle our spoils—utensils, napkins, glasses of lemonade, and heaping plates of food—and tiptoe past the front door.
“Should we go up to the room?” I whisper.
Max nods. “Lead the way.”
We settle into the armchairs by the fireplace and wolf the food down.
“Oh my God, this is hitting the spot,” I say as I chew. “I’m sorry. I have no manners right now.”
Max lifts a leg of chicken with his thumb and forefinger and bites into it like a dog attacking a bone. “S’okay. I’m not the picture of refinement, either.”
Minutes later, after we’ve demolished dinner and taken turns using the hall bathroom, we find ourselves back in the armchairs, unable to resist their plushness.
Max’s voice pulls me out of my food coma. “You know, there’s no reason we couldn’t take a nap on the bed. Unless you don’t trust yourself. I mean, I know I’m hot as fuck, but if you can control yourself, we’d enjoy a firm mattress and I wouldn’t get a kink in my neck.”
I want to side-eye him so hard, but my brain disagrees and forces me to smile instead. “I’m not sure all three of us would fit on the bed.”
“Three of us?” he asks.
I open one eye and wink at him. “You, me, and your ego.”
He chuckles as he stands, then he offers his hand—which I take despite my reservations—and he pulls me up easily. This was the plan, so why am I suddenly hesitant to share a bed with him? His declaration of interest during the retreat doesn’t need to mean anything unless I want it to . . . but maybe I want it to. I need space to think, and I can’t do that with Max inches away. I dive for my travel bag as though it’s a life jacket that’ll save me from drowning. “I’m sweaty and grimy. I think I’ll take a shower before everyone else decides to do the same thing.”
“Good idea,” he says. “I’ll take one after you.”
Knowing he’s going to take a shower after me shouldn’t spark dirty thoughts, but nothing’s making much sense today, so of course it does. I picture him soaping up his body and stroking himself as puffs of steam swirl around him and water runs down his torso and legs. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to erase the image in my mind, but it only becomes more vivid, as though I’m peering at it on a computer screen and the pixels are sharpening as the download progresses. What the hell, brain? Stop it. “Okay, I won’t be long.”
Once I’m safely inside the bathroom, I turn on the water and peel off my clothes. To my utter horror, I discover grass stains on one of my favorite pairs of panties, a La Perla limited edition I’d splurged on for the wedding night that never was. I probably should have tossed them years ago, but fuck that—these panties weren’t cheap. Hoping I can remove the marks before they set in, I use a trial-size liquid detergent from my emergency kit and scrub them mostly clean, then I let them soak in one of the paper cups meant for guests of the inn. This is the upside of being a planner by nature: I’m always prepared.
Yes, the memory of Max barking at me about my car begs to differ, but whatever. No one’s perfect.
I shower and freshen up in minutes, humming as I throw my bra back on—my breasts shall not go unharnessed with Max nearby—and then I search for underwear and Max’s oversize retreat T-shirt, which he let me borrow because my own T-shirt is dirty. I find the tee in seconds, but after searching every nook and cranny of my bag for the one article of clothing always on hand, I face the fact that I forgot to pack a spare pair of underwear, at which point I walk to the sink and stare at the only panties I do have: a pair that’s soaking wet and balled up in a cup. Channeling Eartha Kitt’s Lady Eloise character in Boomerang, I look in the mirror and sum up my predicament in a breathy whisper: “I don’t have any panties on.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lina
It’ll be fine. The T-shirt ends just above the knee so it’s not as though I’m going to flash anyone. Still, this isn’t an ideal situation: I’m keeping a potentially sexy secret at the precise moment when I shouldn’t be thinking about sex at all.
I puff out an encouraging breath and reenter the room.
Max pulls himself out of the armchair, his gaze hovering above my shoulders. “Good shower?”
With the traitorous travel bag hoisted on my shoulder, I tug at the hem of the shirt. “It was great. Really great. Never better. The best shower I’ve ever had.”
He cocks his head, his right eyebrow shooting up. “Wow. That’s quite an endorsement.”
I’m rotating my head like a ceiling fan as gibberish spews from my mouth. “Yeah, just wait till you try it. So invigorating. Beyond refreshing. You’re gonna love it. Gua-ran-teed.”
He eyes me curiously. “Hmmm. Can’t wait.”
I salute him as he walks out the door, his own bag in hand. “Enjoy!”
When he’s gone, I groan and fall back onto the bed. I should close my eyes and succumb to this heady mix of anxiousness and exhaustion. And I almost do—until I remember my panties are still in the bathroom.