“But I think you should go for him, Maddie,” Dawn continues. “He’s yummy and he was looking at you like he already had you half-naked in his mind.”
I scoff, ignoring the way the thought of being undressed by Jamison—mentally or otherwise—makes my skin prickle. “You’re crazy.”
“I am not crazy,” Dawn says. “I’m thirty-two years old, unreasonably excited to be away from my precious children, and dangerously horny, but not crazy.”
Dawn and Piper both have kids—Piper has two boys she has full custody of after her ex took a job overseas and Dawn has a nine-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter she’s been raising mostly solo since her husband ran off with his secretary four years ago. Both of them need this retreat every bit as much as I do, but they insisted on the drive down that I reign as queen of the weekend.
They’re sweet friends, so sweet I vow right then and there not to do anything to ruin their good time.
I’m not going to let Jamison’s presence spoil my fun, or anyone else’s.
I resolve to ignore him completely, a feat that proves fairly easy at first. Having birthed two ten-pound babies, Dawn can’t go an entire night without getting up to pee, so our group sets up camp near the bathrooms, while Jamison and his buddies pitch their tents closer to the beach.
We join the group heading down the shore to gather driftwood for a bonfire, while the guys are on dinner duty for the first night, in charge of grilling hamburgers and hot dogs for the thirty-five singles on the trip.
At dinner, our crew and Jamison’s eat on opposite ends of the long line of picnic tables, and by the time supper is over and the beer’s been flowing for a while, I can barely hear the rumble of Jamison’s voice over the laughter and flirtation at my table.
Shelley and a man with brown eyes and glasses who resembles a graying Harry Potter, are getting along like gangbusters, and Piper has two gorgeous co-workers from an Atlanta law firm hanging on her every word.
The other two men at our table seem more interested in texting than talking, but Dawn is deep in conversation with a pretty red-haired woman named Helen, whose kids attend the same art camp as Dawn’s son and seems to be having a great time.
I’m the only one who hasn’t found a conversation mate, but I don’t mind.
It makes me feel free to toss my compostable paper plate, grab a fresh beer from the cooler, and head down the path to the beach. I arrive as the sun is setting and kick off my sandals, letting the cool sand slither between my toes as I walk toward the ocean.
The sound of the waves shushing in and out against the shore is one of my favorite sounds in the world, but it also makes me a little melancholy.
Serge and I spent most of our marriage on an island, in a condo right on the beach. We ate almost every meal on our patio and sometimes even slept outside in his-and-her hammocks, letting the surf lull us to sleep. Some of my most beautiful memories of my marriage are set to the music of the sea, and for a moment I can’t help missing the days when I assumed I was in a relationship that would last.
I sit down behind the pile of driftwood we gathered earlier in the day and stare out at the water, watching the twilight air take on a bluish hue.
Gradually, the early summer air grows chilly, and my toes begin to go numb. I’m about to head back to the campground to ask the organizers if it’s okay for me to get the bonfire started when a woman’s bubbly laugh drifts my way on a breeze.
“No, you go in first.” The woman’s voice comes from the other side of the woodpile. “I bet the water’s still freezing.”
“That’s all right.” Jamison’s drawl makes the hair on my neck stand on end, even before he adds. “If you get cold, I’ll warm you back up.”
“Is that right?” The woman giggles again.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, followed by the unmistakable smacking sounds of two people sucking face.
Ew.
I cringe, grossed-outed-ness that Jamison’s already hooking up with a complete stranger mere hours after arrival warring with the embarrassment pulsing through my veins. I’ll die if I’m discovered eavesdropping on his make out session, but I can’t very well make a run for it now.
I hunch lower in the sand, praying Jamison and his friend will finish their smooching and make a dash for the ocean without noticing me.
No sooner has the thought shimmied through my head than the couple stumbles across the sand three feet away.
Despite the fact that his lips are trailing down the blonde’s neck and his hands wandering all over her bikini-clad body, Jamison spots me immediately.