Perfect Match by Eliza McLane

Author:Eliza McLane [McLane, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eliza McLane

9

ROSE

I take a few sips of the steaming cocoa, letting the warmth spread down my throat. The day is sunny and bright, with just enough crisp in the air to make the hot chocolate weather-appropriate. Tyler’s bright pink toes wiggle on the blue plaid blanket as he lays down flat, looking up. All over the hill, people are picnicking, tossing frisbees, and generally being idyllic. It’s the sort of scene I might be prone to roll my eyes at, but today it feels sweet. Just right.

After the goats we were taken to the spa, where we were separated and sent off to choose our own menu of treatments. I spent some time soaking in the jacuzzi tub before getting a hot stone massage. But through it all, the fresh memories of Tyler lingered on my skin. I’d shift on the bench of the jacuzzi and feel his hands gripping my ass, or shimmy on the massage table and be reminded of his tongue snaking along the inked colors of my thigh.

When we reconvened for the couple’s pedicure, both showered and changed, he was perusing colors, picking up each bottle and reading the bottom with a slight chuckle before putting them back neatly, labels all lined up. I was kind of stupidly happy to see him again, even though it had only been an hour, and our technicians arrived just before I could tug him into the nearest supply closet. So I grabbed the perfect shade of pink for Tyler and took my place on the throne. I feel awkward as hell ignoring people who are doing work on my body, and I spent most of the pedicure chatting it up with Elise and Raymond as they’d worked wonders on our feet, catching glimpses of Tyler as he’d sat beside me. After being properly pampered, we were carted off to a picnic.

Considering we still had most of the day of required romantic activities before getting back to our room, the cool-off period was probably necessary. But now, lounging on the blanket on the dry grass of Phoenix’s most expansive and bustling park, after delighting in baguette and fancy cheese and juicy, dripping strawberries, I’m keenly aware of Tyler. His hands are basketed behind his head as he tips his head back, letting the sun hit his face. His brown hair is floppy and untamed, begging for my fingers.

He’s still the Tyler I met yesterday—quiet, fidgety, generally happy to follow my swirling thought patterns without sharing too much of his own. But he’s wound a little less tightly this afternoon, and I’m fairly certain there are even a few wrinkles in his shirt. But the biggest difference is his smile. It’s real, no trace of the trying-too-hard thing from the bar.

You’d almost think he’s really enjoying being stuck with me for the weekend.

Returning my mug to the ground, I stretch myself out on my back, leaving about a foot of blanket between us, watching a wisp of cloud streak across the sky.

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