Chapter 6 #2
Rather than retort, he simply wipes away the pink droplet from the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not gonna beg for the education drop, Little Einstein.” An indifferent shrug bounces my shoulders. “Not my type of wave to surf.”
“You like surfing?”
“There’s not much in the water that I don’t like.”
“Wakeboarding?”
“Any and all board sports are an immediate yes.”
“Kayaking?”
“Rather SUP.”
“SUP?”
“Standup paddleboarding.”
“White water rafting?”
“In the ocean?” The scrunch of my nose receives another warm smile. “Not my thing, but I have done it.”
“Is it okay that I want you to show me your thing?”
“Is that your way of asking to get into my hobbies or bikini bottoms?”
“Can it be both?” he inquires, just above a whisper.
“Do you actually want it to be both or are you looking to be distracted from the rejection that I assume Garcia shelled out earlier?”
“Copy and paste, babe.”
“Is that your way of asking me if it can be all of those things?” His bashful nodding prompts me to gently plop my hand on his thigh. “Would it help to ease the sting to know he’s done the same to me in the past?”
“Fucking why?” Zero growls in a surprisingly thigh clenching tone. “You’re keystrokes down the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
Stealing a tiny bite of my bottom lip precedes me explaining, “We’re two different ages-”
“Yeah, but you’re not like that much younger than him.”
“Young enough that it would make him nervous in a cocktail hour full of his peers, while not young enough to need a separate attorney to argue statutory issues.”
The shaggy haired male threatens to grin again.
“We’re also two different races-”
“Esc out of that shit right now.” The indignation in his tone is much sexier than it has any right to be. “System. Shut. Down.”
My mouth isn’t even allowed to twitch in rebuttal.
“I know the Garcias. They’re good people. They do good people shit. They would welcome his person with open arms, tequila, and a plate of Feijoada.”
“What the hell is that?”
“This slow cooked, Brazilian beef stew.” He slurps up another bite of his ice cream to prevent it from dripping onto my hand that’s still lingering on his thigh. “His mom’s got roots there. She likes to cook the shit up around her birthday.”
Another effortless grin wriggles onto my face.
Why is it through him I’m learning so much about Garcia, instead of from Garcia himself?
Why can’t Garcia let people in like this?
Even if for an afternoon?
Or a night?
Fuck, I’ve learned more about the knee knocking counselor via his best friend and thirst trap IG captions than I ever have from him.
It shouldn’t be this way.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
He makes that choice.
He chooses that defense.
I don’t have to.
I won’t.
With the reminder of how else we’re total opposites back in the front of my mind, I procede, “Ultimately, Garcia and I are two completely different walks of life. I’m water.
He’s fire. I’m sunshine. He’s cloudy. I’m a scoop of pistachio with a pinch of cinnamon on a chocolate dipped waffle cone, and he’s Mexican Vanilla in a paper bowl with a metal spoon. ”
“Boring?”
“More concerned with what the outside world thinks than what he actually wants.”
The man beside me lets loose a grunt of agreement.
“And the trench deep truth is…life’s wayyyyyyyy toooooo fucking short for that shit.” Our eyes connect once more. “You never really know when your ship’s going down, so fucking make the most out of everything. Fuck what people think. Just go for it.”
Chilled lips clumsily smash themselves against mine, yet rather than recoil away from the abruptness, I curl into it.
Allow them to gracelessly spread mine.
Give our anxious tongues a chance to brush together, unexpectedly igniting a faint whimper.
A faint whimper that gets louder when his arm slyly drapes around my practically bare shoulder.
Insists I stay where I am.
Take the increasing pressure of his swipes.
The speed.
The intensity.
His previously cone clutching fingers unpredictably run themselves up the front of my chest, sending shivers down my spine.
Up.
Down again alongside another controlled roll.
And that roll twists into another.
Maintains dominion.
Demands my tongue submits to the increasingly swift spins.
Commands my nipples to harden and frame to wobble forward so that they can present themselves to him.
Offer themselves up for the touching.
Tugging.
Zero’s fingers possessively curl around my throat, wordlessly asking for permission to squeeze, refusing to until he’s given consent.
Permission.
Fuckme, that’s sexy.
Kinda impressed he managed to water ski right over cute and stick the landing for more than fuckable.
Another needy whine precedes my sweet treat meeting the same fate I imagine his did, cold stickiness instantly seeping across our toes.
The sudden temperature shock prompts Zero to abruptly lean back just enough to purr against my slack mouth, “We both know you want me more than that ice cream, beautiful…” He drags the tip of his tongue across my top lip.
“The question is simply do you wanna be coming for me here on this bench or back at the beach house?”