Uncomfortable

[seventeen]

There is no shortage of water activities on this boat.

Yesterday's jet skiing turned into snorkeling which turned into me being semi-coerced into taking real-life actual scuba diving lessons this morning.

But I loved it—being weightless and surrounded by hundreds of fish; feeling like an actual fish. It's captivating.

Alden closes the door to our room behind him.

"Can I really get certified before we leave?" I ask excitedly.

"Yeah," he says, struggling behind his back with the zipper on his wetsuit. "You have to pass the online course first then four open water dives. It's pretty easy really."

I grab a shoulder to turn him and unzip it down his back. My eyes get stuck on the deep groove of his spine as it's slowly revealed.

"Are you going to help me study?" I keep my voice playful, but I'd love for him to just sit with me. I haven't felt like this ever; the thrill of having someone just plain old near me.

I can't help but let my thumb graze his lower back ever so slightly as confirmation for him that I've gotten to the end of the zipper. It's just there, and he needs to know that I've finished undoing it. Otherwise, how would he? Maybe the zipper is never-ending. We couldn't have him not knowing. And I want to feel how extensive the divot is, measure it with my finger.

"Of course." He peels off his black wetsuit. Now in his swim shorts, he twirls his finger, telling me to twist.

I turn my back to him and pull my hair over my shoulder. He places a firm hand at the top of my wetsuit, fingers lightly around the back of my neck, and unzips almost as slowly as I did. His thumb sweeps back and forth across my neck, and my spine unzips itself down to my tailbone as the tingles tear it apart.

Alden steps around me, pulls a T-shirt on over his head, and grabs his laptop out of his bag. "Meet me outside when you're done."

I watch the back of his head on the balcony as I remove the wetsuit clinging to my skin and change out of my swimsuit.

When I sit down beside him, he sets the MacBook in my lap.

"Eight hours?!" I exclaim, reading the first paragraph on the website he's pulled up.

"You're right. We need wine first."

I peruse the online course until Alden comes back with a bottle of rosé and two stemless wine glasses and plops back down next to me.

He shows me the label. It has a gorgeous picture of a pink watercolor-painted flower on it. "Have you had this one?"

"No," I say. "But I'm not picky, and I love that label."

"What do you like about it?"

"Rosé or the label?

"Rosé," he clarifies. "I already know why you like the label."

"I'm just your regular stereotypical trendoid," I joke and shrug. "Like you said; the taste. It's lighter, not as bitter, a little fruity and sweeter." I give him a sheepish look. "Is that the right answer?"

"There is no right answer," Alden laughs.

"It's no Pinot Noir." I smirk back.

"You figured out my favorite wine without asking?" Alden gasps playfully and pours me a glass. "Mind your own business."

I crinkle my nose before I take a sip. The way he's studying me, watching my throat as I swallow with a heavy gaze, makes me feel like my heart could float away. I get distracted momentarily by how good the rosé tastes. "This is yummy."