Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha

The spa was called AquaViva, one of those expensive places that looked like a Bond villain’s lair from the outside: all white marble, glass walls, and a logo in chrome script. Leah made herself small as she pushed through the revolving door, nervously scanning the lobby for Sam. It was early, but Samantha was already there, perched on a velvet bench in heels and a shimmer-sheer sarong that left nothing to the imagination. Her legs looked airbrushed. Leah immediately regretted not at least putting on mascara.

“Leah!” Samantha shrieked, abandoning her phone and running over to hug her. She enveloped Leah in a citrus cloud of perfume, then pulled away to scan her up and down. “You look amazing, oh my god. Are you ready to get your brains massaged out of your skull?” Before Leah could answer, Sam dragged her to the front desk.

The attendant was a tall, androgynous blonde who looked like she’d been genetically engineered to sell skincare products. She gave them matching plush robes and offered “a complimentary cocktail to help you relax.” Leah, nervous as hell, ordered a mimosa. Sam chose a Bloody Mary with extra hot sauce.

Within minutes, they were ushered into the women’s locker room—a cathedral of steam, eucalyptus, and sleek Scandinavian minimalism. And Samantha hadn’t been joking about “European style.” Half the women in there were naked, and the other half were in various states of undress. Nobody seemed to care. Leah tried to act chill as she undressed and stashed her sweats in a locker.

Samantha stripped with the casual confidence of someone who’d modeled in college. She tossed off her sarong and stretched, breasts and ass on proud display. Leah did her best not to stare, but also: Samantha wanted her to stare. That was just the dynamic. Leah peeled off her own clothes and hurried into her robe, feeling weirdly exposed and kind of thrilled.

They found the hot tub at the back of the spa, bubbling like a cauldron and surrounded by potted palms. Four other women lounged inside, chatting in French, but otherwise the place was quiet. Leah hung her robe on a hook, toes curling against the heated tile. She slid into the water and nearly moaned—the jets pummeled her calves, and the heat made her entire body go slack.

Samantha waded in after, plopping down right beside her, thigh-to-thigh. “God, I needed this,” Sam said, head tilted back, hair floating around her like a dark halo.

They clinked their drinks together.

“To Leah’s survival,” Samantha said. “And to wedding season.”

“Let’s not talk about the wedding just yet. I feel like I’ve signed up for some kind of reality show and every week there’s a new hurdle.” Leah tried to laugh, but the tension was real.

“So, tell me everything you’ve been too chicken to text me. How’s work?" Sam asked reassuringly.

“Work is a war crime. The principal is…” She hesitated, then shrugged.

"On your case about stuff?" Sam asked before sipping on her cocktail.

"Yeah...you might could say that." Leah took a long drain of her drink and then shot back “Can we just talk about you for once?”

“I wanna talk about you because you never tell me anything,” Sam made a sad puppy face and protested “You act like your entire life is classified.”

“I’m not that interesting.” Leah snorted.

“Bullshit. You’re the most interesting person I know.” Samantha stretched her arms along the edge of the tub, exposing the curve of her tight breasts above the waterline. Leah eyed them, then looked away, flustered. “Besides, you’re about to be a married woman. I need to get in all the girl talk I can before your evil nerd fiancé whisks you away to suburbia and starts breeding future computer programmers with you.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and have a daughter who goes full goth just to spite him.” Leah rolled her eyes, but her smile warmed.

Sam cackled, then softened. “You do realize you’re the only one from college who’s actually gone semi-normal, right? Everyone else is either in rehab, a pyramid scheme, or dating someone’s dad.”

That made Leah pause.

“I guess I just… wanted something stable for once.” she finished her drink and stared off.

“You’re allowed to want more than ‘stable,’ Leah. You deserve it.” Sam said with a smile. The heat, the steam, and the champagne fuzzed Leah’s head, making her feel light, floaty, and disarmed. She let her legs drift up, brushing against Sam’s.

“You’re so dramatic,” Leah muttered, but there was a smile in her voice.

"Not as dramatic as those things right there." Sam pointed toward Leah's well endowed breasts poking just above the hottub water bubbles. "Now THOSE are dramatic." Sam's voice was certainly tinged with "you go girl" energy but also a bit of something...extra.