And now she’s with someone else who can have that same thing anytime he wants.
But it wouldn’t be the same. It can’t be. I know I’m acting like a bit of a chump thinking this, but that one night, it was far more special than any of that shit they’re doing. It has to be. Gemma’s face when she looks at Nick, it’s not the same as it was with me. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why someone like her is with someone like him. They look good together on the surface—all fit and wholesome as shit—but what about underneath?
Thankfully Nick doesn’t try to harass Gemma anymore, and the two of them quickly lapse into silence.
I lapse into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Seven
WAITOMO
JOSH
BANG.
“Son of a fuck!”
One moment I’m in the abyss, the next I’m on my back on the floor of the bus, staring up at the blue tent above me, my vision spinning until it corrects itself. Pain radiates from everywhere.
What the fuck just happened? Did I just fall out of the bunk? I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was a wee shit at swim camp.
Amber pokes her head over the edge, absolute fear sharpening her angelic features while her golden hair spills over her. “Oh my fucking hell!” she swears. “Are you okay?”
I groan. “No.” Nothing’s broken. I lift my head and hear the peal of laughter from outside the bus. I sit up and see Nick just outside the door, hunched over from laughing too hard, tears in his eyes.
I want to be annoyed but I have to admit it’s kind of funny. Or it will be, once the pain of my bruised ass begins to wear off. I guess I should be thankful that Gemma and Nick got up early and had already put their bed away, or else I would have landed on them.
That said, I do mourn the chance of crushing his spine.
It isn’t long before we’re packed up and heading toward the caves, this time with Nick behind the wheel and Gemma beside him. It feels weird to leave a campsite we’ll only be returning to later, and I make a joke about defending our fort from pirates.
Gemma doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even seem to hear me. She stares out the window as we make our way down the winding road, the thick canopy of trees on both sides slowly lit by the morning sun. Everyone else seems to be in good spirits; Amber hums to some song and Nick is less douchey as we approach the meeting point for our adventure.
We’re a little bit late and the tour group has already gathered in the gravel parking lot beside a van splashed with pictures of people smiling and having all the fun you can have while being in a cave. We pile out of it and are met by an instructor who reminds me of Tibald—all gums and good vibes.
There are only four other people in our group—two couples just a bit older than us, which makes me and Amber seem like we’re paired together. A couples trip. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem right either.
The guide, who introduces himself as Blair, gets us to fork over our cash and sign some waiver sheets before outfitting us with helmets, wet suits, and what look like wrestling shoes, all white and flexible. There’s a damp chill in the air, even though it’s about ten a.m. and some of the sun is spilling over the verdant forest and onto us.
He explains to us that we’ll be in water only about ten to fifteen degrees Celsius, which isn’t very warm, even by Canadian standards, and though we’ll be guided, the expedition will test anyone with a fear of heights or dark, enclosed spaces.
I’m not a fan of either of those things. When I went into the Sky Tower with Tibald and the Germans, I didn’t go near the windows, let alone the section of the floor that was made of glass. And the idea of being trapped in a dark, small place makes me feel breathless.
But I don’t dare say anything. Fears are meant to be faced, meant to be overcome. At least that’s what I tell myself when my only other option is shitting my pants.
Within ten minutes, we’re armed with our equipment and marching through the dense, green bush, heading toward the unknown. I’m walking right behind Gemma and I find myself wondering if she has any fears at all. She seems so . . . in control. Fearless.
I’m also having trouble tearing my eyes away from her body. Her ass sashays a bit when she walks, just enough to draw your eyes. Her waist is narrow and begs me to put my hands around it, and her long legs are both strong and feminine. I remember the way they wrapped around my waist as I pushed into her, how sweet and tight she was inside and out.
I have to stop thinking like this—it isn’t helping. I keep walking, training my gaze on the back of her head instead, but even then my fingers long to brush through her hair and feel the silky strands between my fingers. She’s so close but I can’t touch her.
Ten minutes later we’ve stopped in the middle of the forest beside what looks to be two outhouses. We take turns getting changed into our swim gear we were told to bring, then head back out to put on the wet suits. Nothing like fumbling into a damp, skin-tight sausage casing in public.
Gemma is wearing a rather modest bikini with boy shorts, and I should know better than to stare at her, but I can’t help it. I can feel Nick’s eyes boring a hole into mine, and I quickly look away at Amber, who is dressed in a one-piece. She’s not as crazy fit as Gemma but she still looks pretty good, with curves in all the right places.
Now Amber is looking up at me, catching me staring at her body, and she gives me a little smile. It’s more coy than shy, and right then I know she’s getting the wrong idea. I give her a quick smile back.