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No. There's not enough time. I'll be gone by the time we get the house free, but I don't want to say that, so I focus on what I can do. "There's a pool in your backyard. We can do it there."
"Is that what you want?" His eyes meet mine. "To wait. Do this here?"
"No. I want to try what you said. Or will we… will we get in trouble for touching?"
"We'll have to find out." He says it without a hint of concern.
"Wouldn't an arrest for indecent exposure ruin your career?" I ask.
"Probably," he says. "But I have self-control."
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Is that a dare?" A teasing tone drops into his voice.
I want to answer it. But I want to be smart too. "No. It's practicality."
He slows. Softens. Holds me a little closer. "We're at a hotel. It will take ten minutes to find our way into a room."
"What if that's too long?"
"I'll make it work," he says.
I nodokay. I can do this. I want to do this. I take what I need from the duffel bag and offer it to him.
His fingers brush mine as he grabs the strap. There's an intimacy to that. An intimacy different than the one we're about to pursue. In some ways, it's deeper, scarier.
We move to the dressing room. I slip into the women's section, change out of my clothes, and into the hot pink bikini, and I pull my shorts over the bottom.
When I meet Jackson outside, he's wearing trunks, only trunks. He slips his button-up shirt over my shoulders.
I hold the edges together, covering my body with the linen, and I move to one of the lounge chairs. We're at the edge of the pool, close to security, far from the single guys.
The men notice me anyway. All three of them. They're a little older, in their thirties, but they have a youthful energy. Old college friends trying to reclaim their glory days. The sort of guys who want to go drinking and talk about the topless women they saw. The sort of guys who go to strip clubs and get lap dances together.
Jackson follows my gaze. He leans in close enough to whisper. "Do you like them watching you?"
"I like part of it." I just barely blush. I'm comfortable enough to talk to him. To trust him. But I am still on display at this strange semi-private pool. "Other parts… I don't know what to expect. It makes me nervous."
"Do you trust me?" he asks.
I nod. "You already asked."
"Yes, you trust me with this, and that means a lot."
It does.
He continues, "Do you trust me to handle the situation if it gets complicated. If a guy creeps you out? Or gets too close?"
There's no question in my mind. Of course, I trust him. Of course, he can handle it. "I do."
"Then let me handle it. I'll take care of you. I promise."
Despite the sexual nature of the promise, I feel his concern in my head and my heart too.
I want to be someone who can surrender to love and care, who can let it wash all over her.
I want to let myself love him and let him love me.
