Page 71 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
Her eyes blaze a trail up my torso as she slides the tray onto the counter. There’s a dusting of flour on her nose, making the freckles on her cheeks stand out. Her hair is a wild mess of rose gold curls, and the turquoise of her eyes is bright, sparkling like the Caribbean Sea. She’s at ease, comfortable. I like this look on her.
“Hi,” she says, breathless, pushing a stray curl back from her face. Her flour-dusted fingers brush against her cheekbone, leaving more on her face, and my lips tilt up in a grin. Does she have any idea what she does to me?
Do I?
“Hey. We picked up dinner.” I lift the bag onto the counter next to the cookies. “Looks like you got started on dessert already.”
She licks her lip, clearing the flour with her tongue. It makes me want to spread some across mine so she can give them the same treatment.Damn. Ending our friends-with-benefits arrangement made sense at the time, but I’m struggling to remember why right now.
“I’ll share,” she says, pulling my gaze up her face to meet her eyes. There’s something heady in her tone, a tease, a promise.
I groan and let my head fall back. She just laughs, bright and melodic. She definitely knows what she’s doing to me.
She reaches for the bag of Chinese food and starts unpacking it. “What were you two up to today?” she asks.
“We went ice skating!” Willow says, joining us and hopping onto a stool.
“Nice! How’d you do?” Rory’s words are full of enthusiasm, like she truly cares.
“So good. I didn’t fall much. Dad did though.”
“Hey! I thought we were going to keep myonefall between us,” I say, indignant. “Little traitor.”
I ruffle her hair and she giggles. “Dad, stop, you’re messing it up.”
“Am I? Well, we can have Rory fix it.” Having Rory around all the time means she’s pretty well taken over doing Willow’s hair every day. There are far less tears and hardly any eye-rolling when she’s in charge.
“Or I could teachyouhow to do it properly. That way you can do it yourself,” Rory pipes up, her grin lifting her sweet, freckled cheeks.
“Am I teachable? I don’t know. I’ve tried. Plenty.”
“I have faith in you,” she says, and my heart swells at her words.
I know she only means them in reference to my hair-styling abilities, but there’s something that makes me believe she could mean them for so much more.
A couple of hours later, with a belly full of Chinese food and dessert, I’m ready for a quick soak in the hot tub and then bed. Willow is finally asleep. The sugary cookies right before bed weren’t my best idea, but I couldn’t deny her when they were so good. Not quite like a Tim Tam, but Rory’s snickerdoodles are a pretty close second.
I pull out a pair of boardshorts from my dresser. Rory and I have been taking turns with the jacuzzi at night. We never explicitly discussed it, but it’s been necessary for obviousreasons. I tie the drawstring and head downstairs. There are no lights on in Rory’s room so I expect to see her in the kitchen or the living room, but I don’t. Maybe she’s…
My brain trails off. Looking out the sliding glass door, the soft lights of the hot tub just barely illuminate her. Her arms are spread wide on the lip of the tub, head tipped back toward the sky, looking peaceful. I swallow. I guess our dancing around this moment is about to end because Iamgoing out there.
I pull the door open and her head snaps up. “Mind if I join you? My tailbone is protesting after that fall earlier.”
I reach back and pull my T-shirt over my head with one hand. It’s her turn to swallow thickly, eyes trailing down my chest and abdomen then back up to my face. Her cheeks were already flushed, but the color’s deeper now.
“Y-yep, sure,” she stutters, and I step into the tub, my leg brushing hers under the water. Her eyes never leave my body as I slide in amongst the bubbles. “The tattoo? It’s for Willow?” she asks, her hands trailing over the surface of the water.
“It is.” She’s seen it before, touched it, kissed it, but we’ve never talked about it. The black ink that permanently lines my ribcage. The roots that reach down to my hip bone. The trunk that grows up my entire side. The branches that sway down around it. My very own willow to carry with me always. “I got it the week after she was born. I needed something that showed how wrapped up I was in her.”
“I like it. It suits you.” She sneaks a glance at it beneath the water.
“You think so?” I ask, and she nods. I stand and lift my arm, all but asking her to inspect it further.
She moves to the edge of her seat and the water sloshes around us. Her fingers dance over the dainty branches etched into my side. A shiver dances down my spine despite thehundred-and-four-degree water I’m standing in. Her touch holds reverence, her eyes hold desire.
This is why we’ve been playing trades with the hot tub. It’s too intense. The pull we have, my eyes burning into hers, is too much. I want so badly to touch her. I’ve missed the comfort of that touch, of her mouth, of her body. I’ve missed when it’s just her and me, no one else, nothing else. When we can justbe.
Be what, I don’t know, but I miss it.
