Page 35 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

And then she drops her robe. Just like that. Free and open, and I turn my back, as casual as I can, trying to be respectful and not freaking ogle like I want to. She’s just so beautiful. The way her pale skin highlights the rose tattoos, the way her curves drape her body.

Do not look.

When Josie sinks into the tub, the moan that is elicited from that pretty mouth of hers is something that I’m not sure I’ve ever been able to elicit from a woman. It’s probably weird to be jealous of a heated tub, right? Asking for a friend.

“Oh my God, this is heaven…” Josie rests her head on the back of the tub and for a fleeting moment I wonder if the chlorine will mix with her cotton candy pink hair and she’ll leave here a dusty brunette. I vow right now to tell her it’s beautiful even if she emerges looking like swamp water straight from the Florida Everglades. When I tug on the robe tie, Josie closes her eyes and slides a few inches away. I’m not sure if I should feel respected or offended.

The water slides up and over my skin, the heat contrasting with the cool air, and yes, I’m in here almost every day, but it’s the equivalent of the first coffee sip of the morning. “Mmmm… this does feel nice.”

“Are we in any danger of Yogi Bear returning?” Josie asks.

Thank God for bubbles. Not that I’d look, of course. But Josie is here, within touching distance, naked. And I’m not going to lie… it’s tempting. “No. I really don’t think so,” I say, flicking at the iridescent bubbles in the water and taking peeks at Josie’s cheeks pinking from the heat. The water sloshes against that long, lean neck, making her skin glisten, darkening those sexy-as-hell rose tattoos…

My God. Stop. I turn away.

“Tell me about the tattoos,” I say, staring up at the gazebo roof and definitely not the way the water is glistening across her chest.

Josie lifts her arms out of the water like she’s inspecting the ink. “I started when I was eighteen. Well, technically, sixteen. With a sewing needle and pen ink.”

“You didn’t,” I say, but the look she gives me is showing that she’s absolutely not kidding. I hold back my urge to shudder. “God, that sounds…”

“Unsanitary? Painful? All of the above?” Josie smiles. She smiles a lot, but there’s something about that small gap in her front teeth, the wet skin, the flushed cheeks… She has one of the greatest smiles that I’ve ever seen. I think I’ll do almost anything to keep seeing that smile. “Yeah, not the smartest moment of my life. Hence all the cover-up I started doing once I turned eighteen and could get a legal tattoo.”

I like to think of myself as pretty tough. I live in the woods. I have a shotgun. I chop wood. But voluntarily sticking needles into my skin is a hard pass. As we keep chatting about tattoos and rebellious teen things—me sneaking out to drink beer with friends pales in comparison to some of Josie’s shenanigans—she lowers herself under the water and digs her thumbs into her shoulder.

“How’s your arm?” I say, overheating just a tad but knowing that I don’t have the freedom to lift any higher without exposure. Even though I kind of want to lift higher…

“Hurts,” she says with a laugh.

Maybe she needs my hands working out that tight muscle. It’s always easier to have someone else rub the muscles than yourself. But I shouldn’t. Right? Not with all these tingles and zaps running through me.

But maybe I’m overthinking this. Because really, I’m just helping out a friend. Someone who’s in pain. It’s what I would do for anyone else in this situation. It has nothing to do with me having this nearly feral need to touch her again, to see if I remember the smoothness of that skin, to get close and make her feel good. “Want me to rub your shoulders?”

She bounces her eyebrow with a quick giggle. “Have you ever heard what eighty-five percent of shoulder rubs lead to?”

Dammit. She’s too adorable. “Well, let’s just say this will be the fifteen percent that break the mold.” Because we can’t. I think. Not because I don’t want to. But because, holy hell, I think I want to.

I float over to her and sit behind her, and shit. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe me being so close to her naked body was actually one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had. Shake it off. Be good. I’m just going to go ahead and tackle this like physical therapy. Like if I were a chiropractor or massage therapist or some sort of medical personnel. Not someone who is nearly firing on all cylinders and, even with the cool air hitting my face, unable to cool myself down.

My hands glide across her neck, her shoulders, rubbing into her back. It was so quick and frantic when we first slept together that maybe I didn’t realize how perfect her skin is. The intricate rose tattoo and vines weaving down her arm are silky underneath my touch.

“This feels really nice,” Josie murmurs.

Through the sound of the hot tub jets, I can barely hear the honeyed tone, but I do. And it’s enough to nearly tip me over the edge. It feels nice for me, too. Too nice. My thumbs press into her, kneading in small circles. I watch the steam rise from her skin, the water droplets trickle down her neck, then down her spine, and I want so badly to lean in and push my lips into her neck. Just once. One little taste, and I think I’d be satisfied.

Our naked bodies seem to float together. She’s between my legs, but I’m keeping myself away, as much as humanly possible, as her neck lobs and my heartbeat rises. As I continue to rub, and Josie’s body melts beneath my touch, my thoughts bounce between a lust haze and focus. This, Josie, is no longer a needed distraction. I want to kiss her. I want her back in my mouth. I want to touch her and make her feel good. Slow this time. Nothing rushed, nothing frantic, no feelings of regret.

My palms slide down the round of her shoulder, the biceps area, and back up. She’s silent, but her breathing is getting heavier. My thumbs trail down her spine, and she lifts to give me access. I want to reach around, cup her, feel her thighs in my grip. My mouth is watering and my pulse is raging against my ears. My God, I want Josie. All of her. Now.

I indulge in the vision of me pulling her into me, my fingers grazing her belly, lowering to her center. I picture my lips pressing against her neck, my hands cupping her breast, the sounds she’d make as my fingers dance over her. My breath turns hot, wet, anxious. I want this. I want this so fucking much.

I freeze, drop my hands, and push myself back. “Oh shoot. I think I heard Kona.” I lie, and she knows it. Josie glances at me with flushed cheeks and half-opened eyes and nods. She puts her back to me, and I practically sprint from the tub and head inside.

TWENTY-TWO

JOSIE

What the hell am I doing?