I’m so wrapped up in the sight on the lake that I take a second to realize the other women have turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Doctor Napier?” The redhead draws his title and name out like it’s something sinfully delicious. It makes me want to smack her with a wet bar rag, but I grit my teeth and ignore it. “He teaches at my university,” I explain, trying to sound nonchalant.
“He’s gorgeous.” This server is a pretty brunette with sunny highlights and a cherubic face. “I think my ovaries are going to explode. Is he available?”
White hot jealousy grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me like a rag doll. “No.” Was it a lie? Maybe, but I’m not walking it back. So help me god, I will not watch the man I’ve been pining after for four years hook up with my eighteen-year-old coworker. I’m just not.
“Bummer,” she murmurs, still watching out the window.
Without another word, I walk back to the bar and grab a lime, slicing it into wedges with enough force to gouge the plastic cutting board in about eight places. I put the knife back down and start ripping sprigs of mint for the drink special instead. Sharp objects might be a bad idea right now.
I try not to scowl at the servers. I’m pretty sure they have work to be doing, but that’s beside the point. I keep catching whispers of ‘so hot’ and ‘God, I love older men’. I’m inwardly congratulating myself for keeping it together when I hear one of them whisper ‘daddy’.
“Don’t you three have silverware to be rolling?” I call out, loud enough that a manager had to have heard me. They huff off and the redhead gives me a look of sour disdain. I smile at her as brightly as I can. Please. I think. My mother is French. You’ve got nothing on her passive aggressive scowls.
With the trio gone, my view of the lake is unobstructed. Dr. Napier rows the little boat back to the dock and helps the kid clamber out. A little girl goes flying down the dock in a bright red lifejacket. She jumps up and down in front of him and I can see him lecturing to her about something.
He gestures at the girl, then the boat, and she stops jumping. She locks her arms at her side and stands as still as a statue. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. I can’t see his expression from here, but I know. He’ll have his lips pressed together, one eyebrow raised. It’s a dubious look; one that says ‘prove it’. After a long pause, he claps his hands together and helps the girl into the rowboat.
I drop the mint and press my fingers to my mouth, stepping closer to the glass. I can hear his voice in my head and it pulls me toward him, even if I can’t take more than a couple of steps. The way he explains things so patiently, even when his students aren’t getting it, and then the way his eyes light up when they do.
I chose his class that first semester because everyone said he was a hard teacher, but his passion is what made me sign up for them over and over. There are good-looking men all over D.C., but without that fire underneath, what’s the point of them? I’ll take a hot-blooded rock geek over a suit any day.
The afternoon crowd at the bar is laid-back and low maintenance. Mostly, it’s singles seeking refuge from family gatherings. They sit quietly, scrolling through their phones, which gives me plenty of time to pretend I’m not watching Dr. Napier in his rowboat.
The swarm of kids around the dock hasn’t diminished since noon. If anything, it seems to be growing. Parents are camped out on the banks with chairs and drinks. Dr. Napier doesn’t seem to take a single break. Every time I glance out the window, he’s rowing another section of the lake with another kid towing his imaging equipment. He has to be getting tired… and hot.
I keep wishing he’d take his shirt off, but no such luck. One of the room service runners picks up a pair of sodas and turns to leave, but I call after her. “Oh, wait. Can I ask you something?”
She turns to me, a bright smile plastered on her face. “Of course!” Wow, is she chipper…
“Thanks… do you deliver food to cabins or other places at the lake?”
“Officially?” she asks, raising a brow. I nod. “Cabins, yes, but other areas… technically no. But if it’s slow, we totally do it anyway. The tips are awesome, especially when it’s hot and people don’t want to do anything for themselves.”
“Perfect. If I order and pay for something, could you tell them it’s complimentary?”
“Uh.. I guess?” She eyes me like I’m up to something shifty.
“It’s nothing crazy,” I promise. “And I’ll tip the hell out of you.”
“Then, hell yes I can.”
An hour later, I’m watching her carry a bag of food and a bottle of ice-cold water toward the lake. She waves at Dr. Napier, who is already heading back toward shore. He helps his current assistant back onto the dock and follows her to the shore. I see him shrug and accept the food. He offers her a tip, but she waves it away and heads back toward the main resort building.
Wesley—Dr. Napier—opens the bag. I can’t see his expression from here, but when he digs out a French fry and takes his lunch to sit under a tree, I smile softly to myself. Am I being a total creeper? Absolutely. Do I care? Not really. I think it’s pretty clear this is the best I’m going to get when it comes to him.
The bar picks up just before dinnertime. The atmosphere noticeably shifts when people start rolling in, smelling like sunscreen and mountain air. As much as I enjoyed the quiet afternoon, I’m grateful for the surge of activity and the tips it brings with it. Time speeds up, and before I know it, my shift is over.
I’m worn out and smell like the mango margarita a drunk grandma spilled all over me, but I have a pocket full of cash to put toward grad expenses. I’m headed for the staff cabins, visions of hot showers and a glass of wine dancing through my head — ooh… maybe a glass of wine in the shower. It feels like that kind of day.
I’m two glasses deep and toweling off my freshly washed hair when I hear a knock at my little cabin door. My hand shoots to the lock. I didn’t set the deadbolt after my shower, and I’m kicking myself for the oversight. I am not going to be the first bimbo killed in a horror movie.
“Ms. Palomer?” The knocking comes again, joined by a familiar voice. Even muffled through the door, there’s no mistaking Dr. Napier’s voice.
“Baise moi,” I whisper, peeking out through the window. Just in case. Because it would be great if my front steps were empty and I was just suffering from auditory hallucinations. I’m not used to this much fresh air, after all.
But no. The universe isn’t playing games with me, at least not at this moment. There he is. Doctor Wesley Napier, the man who incinerates my panties like he’s made of flowing magma, in the flesh. I can even spot the salt and pepper at the temples. He leans back and spots me skulking behind the curtain, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. Considering I just got clean, I wish he wouldn’t smile at me like that. I’m going to need another shower—a cold one—to wash away the dirty thoughts he’s undoubtedly going to inspire.