Isla And The Happily Ever After Part 18

I squeeze the water from my hair as we stroll, and he rubs a hand briskly through his scalp. Droplets fly everywhere. "Hey, now," I say. "Watch where you aim that thing."

Josh points his head in my direction and rubs harder.

"You are such a boy."

"You love me."

I smile. "I do."

The air smells of mountains and pines. There are so many trees here. Cypress trees and olive trees and palm trees and mystery trees with plump red berries.

Josh holds out a hand to stop me.

And then I hear it. Behind a covering of bushes, a couple is having s.e.x. My mouth opens in delighted shock. Josh laughs silently. We move ahead so as not to disturb them. There's a good chance that they're our age. Most European teenagers don't have cars, and they often live with their parents through the end of college. Parks are somewhat notorious for amorous pursuits.

Josh gestures towards a secluded area, off path. He's suddenly nervous.

But I was about to point it out, too.

It didn't take long for the thought of the other couple to transfer onto us. We sneak through the foliage. I lean up on my tiptoes, our lips meet, and our bodies sink to the ground. Our hearts pound like crazy against each other. He unb.u.t.tons my coat, and his hands are around my back and under my dress. I wish I wasn't wearing tights. But as quickly as our making out begins, he pulls away, gasping. "Never mind. Can't do this. If we go any further, the stopping part will be excruciating. It already is."

"I'm sorry." I reach out to touch him, but he rolls away.

"No, it's fine. Just...give me a minute."

The other couple appears between the leaves on the nearby path. They sense our presence and giggle, exactly the reason why we're waiting until our hotel room. I drape my coat over a thick branch to dry. I unzip my boots and strip off my wet tights.

Josh covers his face. "You're killing me."

I smile at him as I wring out the bottom of my dress.

He moans. "Unfair. Girls are so mean."

I laugh. "Give me your hoodie. I'll hang it up."

Obediently, he takes it off. His T-s.h.i.+rt rises with it, and my eyes lock on the lowest portion of his abdomen until he readjusts it. My boyfriend doesn't realize that he's killing me, too. I hang up his hoodie and lie down beside him. We stare at the sky. His head rests against his backpack, and my head rests against his chest. The wind rustles, swirling the scent of pine around our temporary campsite.

"Your eyes remind me of pine trees," Josh says.

"I always wished they were a brighter green. They're so dull."

"Don't say that." He kisses the top of my head. "Have I ever told you about the cabin?"

"Uh-uh." I'm listening to his heartbeat.

"There was this cabin upstate that my family used to rent in the autumn rough walls, stone fireplace, beds with patchwork quilts. The works. And when we were there, my dad would forget to be worried about politics, and my mom would forget to be worried about my dad. And we'd go hiking, and we'd pick apples from this abandoned orchard. And there'd be so many that we'd throw them into the creek just to watch them float downstream. And we'd play board games at night-"

"What games?"

"My favourite was Pictionary."

I snuggle into him. "Of course."

"My mom's favourite was Cluedo, and my dad's was Risk. And my parents would cook these home-style dinners like pot roast with mashed potatoes and baked apples-"

"From the orchard?"

"Yeah. And while they'd cook, I'd be spread out on the rug in front of the fireplace with these giant stacks of paper, and I'd draw. And...I'd look up, and my parents would be in the kitchen with this perfectly round window behind them. And all I could see outside of that window from my position on the floor were those pine trees.

"So I like pine trees," he finishes. "A lot."

I curl my hand around his thumb and squeeze it.

"What about you? Where were you the happiest?"

I have to think about it for a while. "Well, there was this one trip to Disney World-"

"Did you have mouse ears? Please tell me you had those mouse ears with your name st.i.tched on underneath."

I poke him. "No."

"I'm gonna picture you with the mouse ears anyway. Continue."

I poke him harder. "So Gen was ten, I was seven, and Hattie was four. Gen was adorable. She has those perfect corkscrew curls, you know? Plus, she was always in charge of everything. And Hattie was...Hattie. So they were getting all of the attention, like always, but then my parents surprised me with this Disney Princess breakfast. Just for me. And Belle and Snow White and Cinderella were there, and Jasmine told me that my dress was pretty, and that I was pretty, and it was amazing. My parents...they knew. They knew I was the one who needed it."

"This," Josh says, "is my new favourite story."

"Of course, the whole thing was supposed to be a secret. But the second I saw my sisters, I was like, 'Princess Jasmine thinks I'm prettier than you!' Which wasn't even true, but it felt true. Mom wanted to kill me, and Hattie threw this ma.s.sive tantrum that lasted the rest of the trip, but it was worth it. Best day ever."

"You are prettier than your sisters. You're way prettier than your sisters."

"That is...the most romantic thing that you've ever said to me."

He laughs again. "It's true."

An unseen bird warbles, and another unseen bird answers its call. "You know," I say, "I can't remember the last time I was in a place where I couldn't hear any traffic."

"Ah, you're a nature girl at heart. You've just never been given the opportunity."

"And you're a nature boy?"

"Definitely. See, if you come with me to New England, we can learn how to do all of those outdoorsy things you read about in your books. Exploring, camping, rock-climbing, rafting, stargazing, building fires-"

"Building fires?" I smile.

"That's right. Fires. Plural."

The sun dips below the treeline, and suddenly, Josh is backlit by a stunning golden light. He looks perfect even when he's damp and sweaty and dirty. I wiggle upward until I reach his lips. We kiss, heavily, until I can't handle it any more.

"Let's go," I say. It comes out ragged.

Josh freezes.

And then he's lunging for his hoodie and backpack, tripping over himself to get moving. I grab my things, and he takes my hand as we sprint onto the narrow path. We're laughing, completely blissed out. We run down, down, down, and the further we go, the more crowded the park gets. We race through an area that looks like a cave perfect for making out, complete with a cla.s.sical Spanish guitarist but making out is no longer enough. We pa.s.s Gaud sculptures, Gaud buildings, Gaud's famous lizard fountain, but they barely earn a glance as we whiz by. We only have eyes for each other.

We grab the first cab outside of the park. We're breathless. Josh hands the driver our hotel's address, and our tongues and limbs and hands are touching, searching, groping as the streets of Barcelona whiz past our windows. We pay our distressed cabbie way too much, mainly out of guilt, and tumble back out.

Josh kisses my neck as we check in. Our surroundings are a blur. The clerk, the stairs, the hallway. We slam our room door shut and toss our backpacks to the floor. We have the entire night, but we can't wait another minute.

We kiss fiercely. Urgently. I throw off my coat as Josh scrambles out of his hoodie. I remove his T-s.h.i.+rt as we collapse onto the bed. His chest drums against mine. I roll over, climb on top of him, and find that he's as ready as I am. He lifts my dress up and around my hips and then over my head. I pull back, breathless. "Do you have?"

"Backpack."

I bend over backwards, stretching for his bag on the floor. I reach it and yank it closer. I find them in the front pouch. I grab one, and he helps me sit back up. He stares openly at my matching pale pink underwear. Josh has seen all of me, but never all at once.

I unhook my bra. He takes it off.

He kisses my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my stomach, the line above my underwear. And then the line below it as my last remaining clothing slides from my hips. I unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, and tug them down at the same time as his boxers. His breathing is shallow. Rapid. I lower myself onto him. We gasp. Our arms wrap around each other, and we move together, watching each other, checking in with each other with our eyes. Is this okay? What about this? This?

It builds. Faster.

I want him closer. I want him deeper. I want him, want him, want him. His eyes close and so do mine, and we finish as we started. Together.

Chapter eighteen.

Josh's stomach rumbles against my ear. The room is black. I unfurl from his body and lean towards the hotel's digital clock. It's nearly two in the morning. Josh feels me stir. "Tapas," he mumbles. "We haven't had tapas."

"I think we missed dinner."

"'s okay." He hugs me against his chest. "Too tired to get up anyway."

"We'll just have to come back."

"Tapas and cerveza. And then we'll make love on the altar of the Sagrada Famlia."

I pull away, he tugs me close, I pull away. "Be right back," I say. "Bathroom."

After I pee, I return for my toothbrush and toothpaste. He follows me in, and we brush our teeth. We can't stop smiling at each other. I can't believe that adults get to do this every day. And I don't even mean s.e.x, though it's wonderful, but things like this. Brus.h.i.+ng our teeth at the same sink. Do adults realize how lucky they are? Or do they forget that these small moments are actually small miracles? I don't want to ever forget.

We climb back in bed and make sleepy, happy, minty-fresh love. He's careful to make sure that I'm taken care of first before he collapses against me. Moonlight s.h.i.+nes in through the windows, and I trace the outline of his tattoo with an index finger.

"You've never told me about this," I say.

"You've never asked."

"I love it."

I didn't mean for that to slip out in such a gushy way. Josh laughs, but it's the tired laughter of relief. "Thank goodness."

"Tell me the story."

He s.h.i.+fts into a more comfortable position while carefully keeping me nestled against his body. "When I was sixteen, St. Clair convinced an artist in Pigalle that I was eighteen. Except he didn't really convince him. He was just so pushy and persuasive that the guy gave up. It was definitely illegal." I laugh as he continues. "St. Clair can persuade anyone to do anything. He's, like, drowning in charisma. It's so unfair to the rest of us."

"Eh," I say. "He's okay."

Josh pauses. And then I hear a smile in his voice. "This must be how you felt when I told you that you're hotter than your sisters."

I laugh louder this time. "I suppose it is."

"Anyway, it was just the two of us, and I was the only person who got one. It was a few days after my birthday-"

"Like now!"

"Like now. I'd decided on my birthday that I'd get a tattoo, so I designed this one for the incredibly inspired reason that...it seemed cool at the time."

"It is cool."

"I consider myself unbelievably lucky that I still like it."

"Oh, come on. You have taste. You'd never put something lame on your body." I pause, a new thought occurring to me. "Do you want any more tattoos?"

"I don't know. Maybe someday I'll get a big garden rose on my other arm."

"Ha-ha."

"I would." And he sounds hurt that I don't believe him. "I want a lot more of these nights with you, Isla. I want all of my nights with you."

When the sunlight streams in through the windows, it's the happiest morning of my life. We've s.h.i.+fted in the early hours, but our legs are still hooked together.

I stare at his adorable, sleep-rumpled hair and his long, lovely spine. I touch the skin of his back with the tip of one finger. He rolls over. He smiles at me languorously. With contentment, I scoot in closer for a kiss. "Mm," he says. "Is next weekend too soon to do this again? Switzerland. Let's go to Switzerland."

"You'll be in New York next weekend."

His smile falls.

"Next-next weekend," I say.

"Deal." He brushes my hair away from my shoulder, leaving it bare. "So. Tell me. Who's the better bedmate? Me or Kurt?"

"Kurt, obviously."