Where Sea Meets Sky (16 page)

We carefully climb out of the bus, our sore muscles extra tight from all the sitting, and see a black and white cat hanging around the front door, our welcoming committee. Leaving our gear in the bus for now, we walk into the house. It already smells amazing as bursts of basil and sizzling garlic hit my nose. The kitchen to the left is being used by two tall guys who are taking advantage of the stove. They give us a friendly wave then go back to cooking.

“You must be Gemma,” a woman says, coming out of a small den to our right. She’s got a wild mess of hair—even more unruly than Amber’s—and her aging face is pointedly makeup free. She wears a long flowing cape and seems extremely secure in herself, a vision of poise. I wish I could be her someday.

I quickly shake the woman’s hand, her many bracelets jingling as she introduces herself as Kate. When we’re all paid up, we go back to get our bags and lug them through the ramshackle living room, complete with cozy couches and board games, and through the French doors out onto the patio. As I had remembered, the view is still spectacular, overlooking the beach, Kapiti Island, and in the far distance, the tip of the South Island.

“Shit,” Josh says from beside me, sucking in his breath as he takes in the view. “Good choice, Gemma.”

I shrug like it’s no big deal, but secretly I’m over the moon that this is making an impression on him.

“So where are we staying?” Nick asks, and I realize we’re just standing in the middle of the backyard, between a crop of gardens and a soothing koi pond. I nod at what looks like a little shed poking out around the corner, half hidden by lush banana and yellow-blossom kōwhai trees.

“That’s our room,” I tell him. Then I point to a pair of French doors to the side of us that open to the yard. “And that’s where Amber and Josh are sleeping.”

“Sweet,” Amber says enthusiastically as she makes her way to the doors and goes inside.

“You wanted some privacy, aye babe?” Nick asks, wrapping his arm around my waist. I nod and let him kiss my neck and press up against me. I make sure not to look at Josh, who I can tell is now following Amber over to their room. The truth is, I originally wanted us all to stay in the dorm, but there were only two beds available in the four-bed room, so Nick and I snapped up the private one.

I can’t complain, though. When we step into the tiny one-room cottage and see that it has its own queen-size bed with mosquito net, Nick wastes no time in shutting the door and throwing me to the mattress.

I open my mouth to protest, to say that Amber and Josh will be wondering what happened to us, when I realize they won’t be wondering at all. They’ll know. And even though I don’t really feel like it, perhaps a romp in the hay will fix what’s ailing me. And Nick. It has been a few days without real privacy, and usually sex is the only thing that holds us together.

That’s probably why you’ve been falling apart
, I think to myself as he kisses me and starts taking off my shorts.

Nick is a good-looking guy. He’s a hot jock, like most rugby players are. He strips down to nothing and his erection stands stiff and swollen. He has a nice cock, too, considering his weakness for steroids. Any woman worth her salt would want to sleep with Nick—I mean, if they were into the clean-cut, overly muscle-y, athlete look. I know it’s what attracted me to him in the first place.

But even though my shorts and underwear are at my ankles and his fingers are pressing down into my folds, I’m very conscious of how
un
-wet I am. I need this but my body isn’t so sure.

Nick is persistent as ever and there’s no real time for foreplay with him. Soon he’s flipped me over and taking me from behind as he stands at the foot of the bed. It hurts at first but the position allows me to pretend Nick isn’t there at all.

I’m thinking of Josh. I pretend it’s him filling me up, his balls slapping against my ass, his grunts filling the room. It’s not hard to imagine—I’ve had him this way before. He’s more than a fantasy, and if I let out a scream, he could hear me. He’s real and tangible, and for these few moments, he’s mine again.

It’s not long before I’m coming, and I owe it all to him. My hands grip the clean duvet and my face is pressed against it, my mouth obscured, and I’m glad that I can’t accidently call out Josh’s name because that is so close to happening. I can taste it. I want to yell it, scream it.
Josh
. I want him to know.

When Nick comes, a little too loudly considering where we are, he pulls out and smacks me on the ass.

“Fuck, I needed that one.”

I roll over on my back and nod at him through the quickly fading haze. Usually after sex I find myself feeling closer to him, both mentally and physically. Now I just feel this cold distance between us.

“Hey babe,” he says as he slips his shorts and T-shirt back on.

“Mmm?” I should get dressed too but I feel too spent. I’m trying to relive the few minutes before.

“I’m not sure what you have planned tonight with those two,” he says, gesturing toward the house, “but whatever it is, count me out. I saw the pub down the street. I think I’m just going to head there.”

I sit up. “Are you sure? Do you want company?”

He gives me a pointed look. “No, I do not want company. That’s why I’m going.”

“I meant me.”

He blinks at me for a moment, as if to say,
I know what you meant.

I swallow. “Okay, well whatever you want to do. We’ll just be here. I was thinking of going down to that pizza place and getting some takeout, then just having some food and drink on the terrace.”

“Pizza?” he repeats, and his eyes settle on the tiny pooch of my stomach that I can never seem to get rid of, no matter how hard I train. “You better not let yourself go soft or you’re not going to have a job come February.”

I glare at him. “It’s a road trip, Nick. Crap food is going to be involved.”

“Well, just remember that good nutrition doesn’t have to be difficult.” He’s taking on his trainer voice, and it annoys the shit out of me. “Kale chips here, a protein shake there. It’s easy. Plus I haven’t seen you keep up with your exercises. It will be hard for you to catch up when this is all over.”

Now I’m getting out of bed and angrily slipping on my shorts, hyper-aware of my large boobs and poochy stomach. “How can I keep up with my exercises?” I ask defensively. “I spent hours in a cave yesterday using muscles I never knew I had.”

He shrugs and stares at his face in the mirror on the wall. “I get up every morning before you do to fit in my routine. It’s about time you start making this part of your life a priority. It’s not enough to just want something, Gemma, you have to fight for it, too. If you don’t have the passion for this career then maybe you should be doing something else.”

I stare at him, balking at his words that seem to hit me like hammer blows. I don’t even know what to say, because for once he’s being smart. Worse than that, he’s being true. Do I really have the passion anymore? Did I ever?

He glances at me and frowns when he sees my face. “I’m just looking out for you,” he says with complete sincerity. “No need to freak out. You’re gorgeous in
any
shape or form, you know that.” His voice softens now, trying to appease me. “If you want to eat your pizza and drink your beer and get soft like the rest of them, that’s your choice. But it’s a choice you better know you’re making if you really want to cut it as a trainer. This is your job we’re talking about, and I just don’t want you to forget that.” He heads for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He closes it behind him and I am left half-naked.

Alone.

And scared.

Chapter Nine

JOSH

I can hear them fucking. It’s got to be the worst sound in the world.

Amber doesn’t seem to be bothered. She’s busy unpacking her backpack and hanging up an array of floaty skirts from the railings of the top bunk, as if she’s making a privacy curtain for the bottom bunk, all while humming to herself.

The French doors to the courtyard area are open and I can hear Nick’s groans waft in with the breeze. She may be able to ignore it but I can’t take this.

“I’m going to go take a look around,” I tell Amber. I turn around and leave, even though I feel like she’s opened her mouth to say something.

The hostel is tiny and it really is no more than a house. It’s something special though, and I wish I could sit on the patio table and just stare at the horizon. But I can’t. I would need earplugs and alcohol to do that.

Instead I go into the living room area, shutting the door to the moans, and start flipping through a book about New Zealand. Then I peruse the guest book and I’m shocked to see the name of a girl I went to high school with, dated to a few months back. Small fucking world again.

Gemma had told us we were going to spend several days in Abel Tasman National Park tomorrow, kayaking and tramping—which I assume means hiking and not whoring ourselves out. I go to the giant map on the wall and find where we are, just this tiny dot on the southwest tip of the North Island. Directly across from us is the tip of the South Island.

I turn around and look at the silhouetted peaks of the mountains across the water. That’s what our view is of: tomorrow. It’s amazing to think I’ll be there, on another island, in another place I’ve never been.

I start to relax a bit at that thought and wander into the kitchen, where I meet Craig and Braydon, two post-college kids from Dublin. They invite me to have a beer and the pasta they just made, but I politely decline. The food, that is—I never turn down a beer.

Sitting there and talking to these guys makes me remember why I’m there—to travel, to meet people, to open my eyes and get a fucking life. All this shit with Gemma and Nick has started to mess me up and forget the big picture. I have to remind myself she was only my reason for being here. She isn’t my everything.

Curiously, I’m not listening to their travel adventures for long before I see Nick walk past the kitchen and out the front door. He gives me a nod of acknowledgment, which is big for him. I expect Gemma to follow behind any minute.

She doesn’t. Strange.

A little while later, when the sun starts to set behind the mountains of the South Island and the two Irish lads move their beers to the patio, Amber and Gemma come by and ask what kind of beer and pizza I want. Half an hour after that, we’re all on the patio, enjoying good Kiwi beer and shitty Kiwi pizza.

“No offense,” I say, shoving the last bit of pizza into my mouth, “but your pizza sucks. It’s like eating cardboard with tomato sauce.”

Gemma sticks her tongue out at me. “Then why did you eat it all?”

“Because it’s food.”

“I thought it was fine,” Amber says, always diplomatic. She eyes me mischievously. “It’s hard to cook cardboard just right.”

“Well, yours is for sure,” Gemma points out, ignoring our jabs. “You’re eating gluten-free.”

The air around us has settled to a soft, silvery blue. Dusk is here and the sun is long gone, though the light seems to stay, burning the area where the sea meets the sky and the mountains fade into the night. There’s a fresh breeze coming off the water and you can hear the steady rhythm of the waves as they pound into the shore.

Gemma had told me that Nick went to the local pub, needing some alone time, and I guess that’s why the Irish guys have moved in on our little group. I don’t mind; it’s nice to have them break up our unit, which has started to feel a bit claustrophobic at times, plus they’ve introduced us to a crazy drinking game.

For once, I’m not the most drunk. I’m taking it easy, not entirely trusting myself these days. Not around her, anyway.

Instead it’s Gemma who’s tying one on. She has one beer, then another, trying valiantly to keep up with the Irish boys. I want to tell her that’s one battle she doesn’t want to win, but I’m not sure if it’s my place.

Finally, the hippie-lady owner of the hostel has to come out and tell us all to be quiet—there’s too much laughing, too much shrieking, too much spilling. At this, the Irish decide to join Nick at the pub and invite us to come along. Gemma, suddenly growing stone-faced and silent, vigorously shakes her head no. There’s no way I’m going without her.

Amber decides to go with them, though—she’s been flirty with the Braydon guy all night—and soon it’s just me and Gemma, alone in the chairs. It’s dark, save for a faint light from inside the hostel, and the sound of crickets competes with the crashing waves.

It’s romantic. So uncomfortably romantic.

And quiet. Gemma isn’t saying a word and I have to stare at her closely, her features muddy in the dark, before I realize she’s staring right at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, taken aback by her hidden perusal.

She swallows, licks her lips, then looks to the sea. “I don’t know.”

“Drunk?”

She nods. “I guess that’s it.”

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to be able to tell when something is bothering a girl. They wear it plainly on their face, in their tone, in their posture. It does take a brain surgeon to actually
extract
that information from the girl. The most you’ll get is a hard “I’m fine,” and the rest remains buried.

Still, I care about her and I can’t let things go. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

I sigh and lean back in the chair. I finish another beer, the silence thickening between us, before I say, “You know you can talk to me about everything. I know we aren’t close or anything, but if you need someone . . . I’m here.”

I can see the white of her teeth as she smiles but her voice is dry. “You are the last person I can talk to.”

I frown. “Why?”

She doesn’t say anything. I can almost hear those wheels in her head turning. Without thinking, I reach over and I grab her left hand, hoping to get her to spill.

It’s trembling in my grasp.

“You’re shaking,” I tell her, and she quickly snatches it back, far away.

“It’s nothing,” she says, her voice raised and almost panicky.

“Are you cold? I can get you my sweater.” I begin to rise from my chair.