“Uh, I just realized I don’t have a bikini.”
“There is one in my closet somewhere.”
“You have a woman’s bikini in your closet?”
My hand is over her breast and I swear I feel her heart stop for a second.
“It’s Pippa’s. She bought it a few months back so she can swim when she’s here, but she hasn’t used it yet.”
Her body goes lax underneath me. “Sorry. I’m silly.”
“No, you’re not.” I trace her lips with my fingers. “But do you really think I’d tell you to wear the bikini of a woman I’ve slept with?”
She shrugs. “A man once tried to convince me that the thong I found in his pocket belonged to me. It had glitter on it. I hate glitter.”
“He was a jerk.” A vein pulses in my neck at the thought that anyone dared to hurt and humiliate her; that they didn’t appreciate how wonderful she is. I do, and I will make sure to let her know every damned day.
“Yeah, he was. I figured most men are.”
“I’m not most men.”
“I see that.” She smiles, this time coyly, and I lower myself to kiss her. Ava pushes her body into me, but she’s not looking for a sexual response, just reassurance. This is one of the rare moments—like when I overdosed her with Tylenol—when she lets the vulnerable part of her show. At least her body does. I know she won’t admit that aloud. Yet. I’ll earn her trust. I don’t want her to feel like she has to hide anything from me.
After we pull apart, we go upstairs. She puts the bikini on, I jump into swimming shorts, and then we go outside.
“I can’t believe you have your own swimming pool. Why do you ever leave your home?”
“Work?”
“Oh yeah, that.”
Facing the pool, she raises her arms, closing her eyes. “I love the wind,” she announces unnecessarily, because I can read it on her sweet face. She enjoys it like it’s an expensive wine or caviar.
It’s refreshing to be around someone who finds happiness in such small things. Other women would’ve snorted at the idea of a weekend in. Who wants to stay in when there is a hot, expensive restaurant opening? Or so many shops she could hit? I remember those days as if they happened in another life. Fake, meaningless. No matter how much I gave a woman, it wasn’t enough. Her birthday? A new car was in order or diamonds as expensive as a car. I didn’t mind, not at all. I’m glad to share and make a woman happy, but I’d never dreamed women only wanted from me the luxury my money could buy.
Ava wants me, and in a few short months, I’ll have to let her go.
I enter the water first, and she follows.
“Gaaaaaah,” Ava exclaims. “The water is freezing. Fuck.”
I don’t get the rest of the sentence because her teeth are chattering. I hurry to her, wrapping my arms around her as she presses her breasts against me.
“The water is a bit chilly. It’s not freezing.” I try not to laugh at her, really, I do; but I end up laughing anyway.
“Yeah, a thousand degrees chillier than I expected. Why didn’t you tell me?” She looks at me accusingly, but all it does is make me want to kiss her. I rub her back and arms.
“You’ll be warmer in a sec.”
“Yeah, right.” Despite her protest, she lays her head on my shoulder as I continue to rub her. After a few minutes, she says, “That’s better.”
“If you swim, it’ll be even better.”
We end up swimming for hours, intermingled with lying in the sun and fooling around like we’re teenagers. That’s what I love most about Ava. She makes me forget who I am.
“I’m hungry,” I announce at lunch.
“Me too. Let’s shower.”