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Don’t even get me started on that pornographic happy trail. Or his bare feet. Fuck—when did his feet become attractive? He’s an athlete for Christ’ sake—he shouldn’t have such beautiful, tantalizing feet.
Fuck.
I told Cora it was nothing that my vibrator couldn’t handle, but that was then. Hormones? More like whore-moans, because that’s what I’ve been reduced to. If I could be attached to my vibrator—preferably two or three of them—all day, then maybe that would be enough.
But as much as I love my collection, it’s never the real thing. It’s never as warm as skin. It’s never as unpredictable as another partner.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez when he’s doing things he’s great at.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez looking so barbaric while playing rugby.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez when he’s nerding out on numbers.
It’s never Rafael Jimenez when he’s dancing.
It’s…never him.
By the time I finish my protein bar and drink some not-water, I decide to strip off my shirt and pants, leaving me in a pair of black cotton panties and sports bra. Rafael has seen me in far more revealing clothing, so I don’t think twice before I lay down across the narrow riverbed. The water is only six or seven inches at its deepest, so my mouth and nose are still above the burbling stream.
The cold current flows over me and my body clenches in response. My lungs seize for a moment before forcing my body to accept the shocking sensation. With my jaw hanging wide-open, I take in the deepest lungful of fresh air.
I’m a Pisces; I belong in the water. I always have. I’ve always felt the call, the pull, the need to be close. Water, in any form, has always been my center; and right now, it’s serving me. It’s finally giving me what I need—so why has my body been rejecting it? Water is a literal building block to life, but my stomach is repulsed by it?
But like a light switch, my repulsion turns into desperation.
Maybe I just needed to reconnect.
With my eyes closed and my chest heaving, I throw my hands above my head and let the current push them down. Allowing my hands to search my body, they crawl up my stomach where I caress and enjoy the feel of my own skin.
“Thank you,” I whisper to myself.
To the water.
To any higher power.
With one hand on my baby, the other glides over my sternum, my neck, my jaw. My body cuts through the stream like a boulder.
I am a rock.
I am this child’s rock.
There’s a very real chance I’m having an out-of-body experience at this moment—but I’ve never felt more clear-headed and saner in my life.
Then all at once, the desperate need to drink water overtakes me—real, fresh water. My mind reels back to earth, back to here, back to now; and I remember Rafael.
He tested the water.
“Raf!” I call, finally opening my eyes in search of him. I have to lift my head ever so slightly to find him, but my ears lift out from my submersive escape to find him standing on the bank, his arms folded over a wide chest. He’s watching me with his lips slightly parted—almost expressionless.
“Yeah?” he says thickly.
“Is the water safe to drink?” I ask desperately.
His throat works before answering. “Yeah. It’s safe.”
Closing my eyes again before submerging, I tilt my head to the right, my mouth ready, and I take my first real drink of water I’ve had in months.
