11. Lina
ELEVEN
Lina
The sounds of a live band travel down to where we are on the beach, and up ahead are the patio lights of a weathered-looking bar.
“Oh,” I say, “it’s one of these places.”
“What do you mean?” Georgia asks.
We walk up to the bar and get smacked in the face with the noise of a live band playing an Eagles song. The patio is weathered, paint peeling, wood creaking, its old picnic-style tables worn down by a coat of salt spray and age, as if they’ve seen countless summers. A massive American flag and a few umbrellas are faded, hanging limp in the breeze, fabric fraying, colors washed out by the sun. The patio is filled to the brim with locals, faces bright red with sunburn and comfortable in their beer and classic rock.
Georgia takes the lead up the steps, while the rest of us share the slight hesitation that people of color often take on before entering an ‘Amurrica’ space like this one, and this time, the weed isn’t helping.
Georgia takes Oliver’s hand, familiar with this song and dance, and I take Dom’s, or maybe he holds his out to me. I delight in the scratch of his callouses on my palms.
“Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man,” Dom mutters to me, squeezing my hand, likely used to this with his whole brown, tattooed Gang DILF persona, winding through the crowd with his tranquil calm to find an open table.
We find one in the far corner of the patio, relaxing a bit as we realize everyone here is the happy kind of drunk that comes with beer all day on a beach, content to belt out the lyrics to Take it Easy , and no one spares us a second glance.
Dom eases me into the far end of the picnic table bench with a hand on my back, and it’s a familiar feeling from earlier, glorious, the feeling of his rough hands exploring my stomach, so confident and gentle I almost shoved my bathing suit aside and pulled down his swim shorts and rode his hard dick right there. I can hear him humming along to the band, and I realize it’s a habit that he and Frankie share, and I realize that I like that I know that about them. He sits next to me and presses his thigh against mine.
If I thought calm and intentional Gang Daddy Dom was hot before, it’s got nothing on a flirtatious Dominic. It’s a wondrous, overwhelming thing, being the sole focus of his giddy, silly, deliberate attention, like being tickled to death or showered incessantly with compliments.
“Oysters and beer, please,” Georgia tells the waitress when she comes over to us.
“A dozen Salt Ponds, please,” Oliver clarifies for her, “and we’ll both have whatever IPA you have on draft.”
Dom nudges me with his leg, indicating I should order before him. Manners, too?! “I’ll take a Corona, please.”
“Same,” he tells her. “Thank you.”
“We should get dinner, too,” Oliver reminds us, and after a slight pause, we all fire off delicious sounding food at random off the menu.
“That’s… a lot of food,” the waitress tells us honestly, after we finish.
We backtrack a little, “you can take off the mozzarella sticks,” “and the wings” “and the extra double cheeseburger” “and the brownie sundae?” “absolutely not” “leave the brownie sundae.”
“You know, I’m kind of surprised your parents never made you speak Tagalog at home,” Oliver says to Dom, after the beers have been delivered. “They made you do everything else.”
He shrugs. “They probably wanted me to focus all my energy on school. Which is in English.”
“How are they doing?”
“They’re fine. Ma just asked me to ship over a Balikbayan with some Costco stuff for our cousins.” I watch the lines of Dom’s throat as he takes a sip of his beer.
“Where are they?” I want to know.
“They’re in Manila. They moved back home after I graduated from college. My Lola got really sick, so they went home to take care of her and just ended up staying.”
“Does it bother you that they’re not around for Frankie?” Georgia asks.
Oliver winces. It’s a tiny movement, but I notice it.
Dom’s expression darkens for a half a second, but then he shakes it off. “No, not really. We… Frankie and I are better off. We don’t have the best relationship with them.”
“They’re… a lot,” contributes Oliver diplomatically.
“And besides, we have Ollie’s parents. They’re Frankie’s Lolo and Lola.”
I smile encouragingly, nudging Dom’s thigh with mine. “And they’re the best.”
Everyone at the table grins, because they are.
Despite this weird little moment, we just… chill. And laugh. And chill some more. I can’t remember the last time I sat around at dinner or at a bar with friends, kind of high and pretty drunk, ordering beer after beer, talking about absolutely nothing, arguing about pop culture, singing along to terrible songs.
We eventually lose Georgia and Oliver to a Hall and Oates song and I’m absolutely, positively thrilled to be the sole receiver of Dom’s attention. His smiles, his jokes, his little touches on my wrist, on my knee. I get a glimpse of what he was like before he was a father, and I appreciate how I can tell how and where he’s grown up and filled in the boyish, silly blanks to become this positively perfect man.
The band starts a new a song.
Dom gets up, long legs climbing out from under the picnic table. He takes my hand and gently draws me out. “We have to, Lina,” he says about this horribly wonderful song that only sounds good in very specific circumstances, like when you are an edible and a few beers deep at a beach dive bar in Rhode Island, surrounded by drunk locals shouting the lyrics.
I feel like I’m at the bottom of the steep ascent of a roller coaster, just starting the climb, as he keeps my hand in his and pulls me to him and we scream Don’t Stop Believin’ in each other’s faces in between laughter and dodging full plastic cups of beer. He pulls me against his chest to avoid four cups in two hands, and the handler yells apologies but I am too busy to notice. Too busy nuzzling against the panes of Dom’s torso, feeling the rolling of firm muscle under my cheek and my palms as he dances, shivering under his hands squeezing my hips, tracing up my waist, dragging over my ribs, brushing the sides of my breasts. Smelling his laundry detergent and the salt air.
The climb continues as we walk back down the beach towards home, alternating between holding hands and piggy back rides, fucking around with Oliver and Georgia and shoving each other into the waves of the ocean, shrieking and cackling like we’re eighteen and don’t have to worry about work or money or kids or general responsibility, and this, this is the feeling that New and Improved Real Life Lina has been chasing.
We walk up to the back patio of the house, lowering our voices but not bursting the bubble.
“We’ll see you guys in the morning,” Georgia whispers at us, and she and Oliver creep away towards the main house.
Dominic’s already moving.
I follow behind the glide of his shadow, down the path, through the hedges, towards the guest house, our house, and I’m at the apex of the roller coaster, looking down hundreds of feet.
He turns around once he reaches the house and leans back against the outside of it, crossing his feet at the ankles and putting his hands in his pockets. Looking at me with a soft, easy smile, body loose and languid, eyes hooded, and fuck , I want to eat this man alive.
I stop a few feet away, admiring the long lines of his body in the light of the moon.
“You look like you’re starving,” he tells me.
“I am,” I reply, waiting for the all clear.
We study one another.
“Come here,” he murmurs, low and slow, a gentle, firm command.
I take a step. One, then two.
Dom remains still, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips the only noticeable motion.
The space yawns with heavy promise.
But then.
“ Pssst ,” someone hisses just past the hedges. “Dom?”
Dom pushes off the wall. We both look over, and Oliver comes up the path.
He looks at us guiltily. “Frankie had a nightmare. She’s asking for you, Dom. She wants you to come sleep with her,” he says.
I take a step away. Dom and I share a look for a long moment. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Dom tells me, voice dripping with worry and apology and grim resignation.
“‘Kay,” I whisper.
They walk away.
I speed walk up the stairs, into my room, and into the arms of my pet rabbit, thinking about how much Dom gives, and what he would be like when he finally took for himself.
* * *
“Boogie boarding!”
I took one look at the bags under Dom’s eyes this morning, saw his stiff movements, likely from sleeping scrunched in a bed far too small for him, and decided I would do everything in my power to keep his daughter occupied so that he could take a nap.
“I went in the basement and found these boogie boards,” I tell Frankie, who’s currently sans-pants presumably because her father is a zombie. “Let’s go.” I look towards her father. “Go take a nap.”
He yawns, scratching his head. “I have to work.”
“Go work, then take a nap,” I amend.
“I still have to do her hair,” he says, looking at her.
“Can Tita Lina do your hair today?” I ask Frankie.
“Yes, please,” she answers politely.
I glare at Dom and point towards the guest house.
He sighs then shuffles away, defeated, seemingly too exhausted to even acknowledge the capital M Moment we shared last night.
I turn to Frankie. “Can you teach me something new about World War II while I do your hair?”
“Well, the Mitsubishi ( muhtts-bee-thee ) was Japan’s best fighter plane. It had a big red circle on it. Actually, they all had a big red circle on it. I think it was supposed to be a sun…” she begins, as we walk towards the bathroom.
When I stop into the guest house at lunch to grab a book, he’s passed out facedown on the couch. Good for you , I think. Take for yourself .
* * *
It’s getting close to dinnertime when I find myself in front of my laptop again, doing some last minute budgeting things, trying to figure out the best way to save money ordering school supplies. But since I am New and Improved Real Life Lina, I am doing it outside on the patio of the main house at the dining table, so I am very Relaxed and Outside.
“Hey,” that voice like the ocean says behind me.
“Frankie’s inside with Gloria,” I tell him, and he sits next to me. He feels like a black hole, the way I’m pulled towards him.
“Thanks for taking her earlier,” he murmurs, long fingers tracing the grain on the dining table, and I’ve never wanted to be a piece of wood more in my life. “I didn’t sleep much last night. Didn’t fit in the bunk beds. I passed out on the couch earlier… I haven’t done that in years.”
“I saw. Your mouth was wide open, and you were drooling all over the upholstery.”
He blushes a little. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I still think you’re sexy.”
Dom searches my face with quiet intensity, looking for something. “I’m sorry for sending mixed signals. I know I keep saying that I don’t want to get involved, but last night was…”
“Hot?”
He lets out a breath. “Exhilarating. I haven’t felt that way in a really long time, and I got carried away, and I feel bad.”
“Why do you feel bad?”
“I don’t know. For like, leading you on, or something. For my actions not matching my words.” He scrubs his face, laughing without humor. “Wow, I’m incredibly awful at this. I’m sorry. It’s been a really long time.”
“Since?” I enjoy watching him squirm.
“Since I’ve…”
I waggle my eyebrows at him, and he laughs.
“Yeah. Well, any of it. All of it.”
I look at him for a moment. “I think you’re doing great.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“But that’s the thing. You do. It’s why I find you so attractive. You are calm and competent and gentle and honest and awkward and a little bit neurotic, and that’s really doing it for me.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not only the horniest person I’ve ever met, but also maybe the most direct.”
“You make it easy. You’ve unlocked a new kink for me, after spending time with you.”
His eyes darken, and his eyes flick down to my mouth. “What’s that?”
“Competency kink.”
Dom bursts out laughing. “I think that’s the lamest thing anyone has ever said about me.”
“And I like that you’re selfless. I like that you make sacrifices for your daughter. That’s incredibly attractive.”
He nods, looking at the table, going back to tracing the grain. “I like all the same things about you,” he says eventually. “I like that you care. I like that you’re amazing with my daughter. I like that you work your ass off, and you’re good at what you do.”
“We’re both so competent, could you imagine what it would be like when we actually fuck? Everyone would come a million times.”
It’s there again, that flash of filthy heat in his eyes before the inevitable blush.
I pause, sad about what I’m going to say next. “But I get it, if you want to stick to that line in the sand. I know how much Frankie means to you. And it’s okay, too, if you don’t know what you want.”
He meets my eyes with quiet confidence now. “I know exactly what I want,” he tells me, and I feel it deep in my core. “I’m just afraid.”
I shrug. “That sounds like a you problem. But I’ll be here and ready to bend over whenever you say the word,” I say, very sluttily, wanting that look in that face again, delighted when I get it.
He blows out a breath. “I need to change the subject.” I’m tickled. “What are you doing?” he asks, indicating at my laptop with his chin.
“School stuff.” I wait, afraid he’ll do something like close my laptop when he finds out I’m working, presuming he knows better than I do or what’s good for me, but of course he doesn’t.
“Anything I can help with?” he asks instead, and how can I not be into this man?!
“Actually, maybe. I’m working on budgeting stuff. Deciding how to allocate funds for supplies and programs and extracurriculars. Could you take a look, oh Serial Entrepreneur?” I shift the laptop over to him.
His eyes scan the awful Department of Education budgeting website that hasn’t been updated since the nineties. “Wow. Is this what our tax dollars are going to? An HTML coded interface to control the distribution of millions of dollars?”
“And million dollar contracts with the chancellor’s buddies and a two-hundred-thousand dollar a year salary for a no-show education job for the mayor’s girlfriend and general and widespread corruption and embezzlement throughout the entire Department of Education?” I add cheerfully.
“I’m not sure these funds are being used efficiently. Is there any way we could streamline the supply chain?” he finally asks, after several long minutes.
I shrug. “The superintendent’s assistant probably did this in absentia of a principal. But we can change it. He’s given me the green light.”
He scrolls. “Why are all these school supplies paid for separately? Is there a way we can consolidate these orders? Or purchase in bulk or something? Like it says we’re buying five hundred separate ten packs of pencils. That’s insanely expensive.”
“Let me go to the ordering website.”
We spend the next hour freeing up some funds. Enough that we could potentially use for the air conditioning in the lobby we’ve been trying to get for years, since Oliver was the principal.
“I’m annoyed for you,” he tells me.
“I know.”
“That you’re doing this work when it’s not your responsibility, you’re not getting paid for it, and you’re doing it on your vacation.”
“Yep.”
“Just want you to know I’m annoyed for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I think we’re finished with this supply thing, though.”
I eye Dom. “I want to kiss you, but I’m going to wait for your consent.”
He smirks.
Frankie runs up from the beach, followed closely by the rest of her family. “We’re starting a bonfire, Daddy!” she screams. “We’re having s’mores for dinner!”
“If by s’mores you mean a well-balanced meal of protein, vegetables, and whole grains, then yes.”
“Yes,” she says, nodding solemnly.
* * *
“The trick is not to put the marshmallows directly in the flame, because then it’ll light on fire and turn black. You kind of have to let it bake down here,” I tell Frankie, who’s currently sitting in my lap, “and let it turn golden brown.”
Frankie follows my directions like a champ. “When it’s black, it’s burned,” she confirms.
“Exactly.”
We’re all gathered around a bonfire that Georgia built for us. She apparently used to make them growing up on Long Island all the time, so like a true teacher, she delegated digging and wood construction and ingredient collection, and we were all set in under half an hour.
No one makes any mention of vegetables, not even Dominic.
“I wish the chocolate could be kind of melty,” he says. “How can we make that happen?”
“Put the chocolate down next to the fire,” Frankie says. “In the graham crackers.”
“But it’ll get sandy.” He wrinkles his nose.
The circle of teachers waits patiently, allowing Frankie to grapple.
“Do we have tin foil?” she asks eventually.
Georgia pulls it out from the bag she brought down to the beach.
Frankie constructs a makeshift oven, shoving some chocolate into foil and setting it next to the fire. No one tells her what will happen.
“Oh no,” she says, when she opens the foil to a gooey mess.
“What else can we try?” I ask her gently.
We go on like this until we all decide we’ve come up with the perfect, ideal s’mores roasting strategy. We spent the rest of the night chatting about nothing and gorging ourselves on sugar, leaning back in the lounge chairs we dragged down to the beach, enjoying the warmth on our feet and the sounds of the ocean just a few feet away.
Frankie eventually falls asleep on my chest. I think there’s melted chocolate from her mouth on my shirt. Her weight feels cozy and snuggly and delightful, and it makes me smile.
“I’m going to head up,” Ben says, standing and taking Gloria’s hand. “Anyone else?”
“We’re coming,” Oliver says. “I’m still kind of hungover from last night.”
Georgia sleepily nods her head.
Dom looks at me. “I’m going to take her up and tuck her in,” he whispers, standing and lifting her from my lap, wrapping her tiny body around his torso.
“I’m going to stay for a bit,” I tell everyone. “I’m feeling cozy. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
Everyone murmurs a good night. Georgia tells me how to put the fire out when I’m ready to go up.
I close my eyes. I think I doze off for a while, until something wakes me up.
A pull, a force.
I open my eyes, and Dom is walking back down to the beach.
“Hey,” he says, taking a seat in the lounge chair next to me, leaning back and stretching his long legs out.
“Did she go down okay?”
“Yeah. I told her if she has another nightmare to get Tita Gloria, and she’ll call me.”
“Does she get nightmares a lot?”
“Less frequently now. She used to have them more last year for some reason, but it’s like she’s growing out of it now. It’s usually fine when we’re at home, because she can come sleep in my bed, which actually fits me.”
I hum. “You’re an amazing dad.”
We sit and appreciate the fire in silence. Despite its warmth, I get a chill, the hairs on my arms standing, my skin prickling with awareness.
I look over, and Dom is looking at me with an easy smile on his face.
“What?”
He shakes his head, laughing a little. “I’m thinking about what you said about competency kink.”
“You could make it its own porn category.”
I don’t have to look at him to know he’s blushing.
“The first video should be of you loading the dishwasher.”
He laughs again, leaning his head back in the chair, exposing the column of his neck to the dim light of the fire.
“Or doing that deep breathing thing you do when Frankie is pissing you off.”
He smiles. “I didn’t realize anyone noticed that.”
“Of course I did. Didn’t I tell you I like looking at you?” I hold his eyes. Gone is that lazy cockiness, the tipsiness from last night. That ‘take for himself’ attitude. There’s a nervous anticipation there instead.
Fine, then. I’m Lina. Always happy to take charge.
I stand up and walk over to him, and he watches my hips sway on the short distance across. He’s totally still again, except for his tongue darting out to wet his lips. I stop just next to him, giving him an out, but all I get is a deep, rich hunger in his dark eyes. I swing a leg over.
His large hands automatically go to my hips, gripping tightly, running down to my bare thighs. Up and down, the rough skin of his hands on my soft flesh. His eyes hungrily roam my face.
I settle further into his lap. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“You’re so soft,” he tells me.
“You’re already hard.” I grind down a little to make my point. Whoa .
His mouth goes slack.
“I told you. I want to kiss you, but I’m going to wait for your consent.”
His hands haven’t stopped moving. They’re now under my shirt, on my belly, running up my waist, thumbs brushing just underneath my breasts.
He inclines his head.
“Use your words,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what? I want to hear you beg,” I can’t help but say.
He chuckles and leans in and tilts up instead.
He kisses like he carries himself. Graceful, gentle. Solid, self-assured. His lips are heaven, soft and firm, pressing against mine, learning every inch. My top lip, my bottom.
I lick the seam of his lips. He opens, and we both groan at the feel of the lazy slide of our tongues. A kiss with no real goal, not a race to the finish line, not a means to an end. A kiss for the sheer enjoyment of kissing. Tender, wanting. A dance.
A hand grips my waist harder, pulling me flush against him. Another slides into my hair, tugging slightly at the scalp. He tilts my head, opening me up further, his tongue going deeper.
“Yes,” I hiss. “More of that.”
“More hair pulling?” he murmurs, his lips straying to my jaw, my neck. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway, because he’s distracted and I’m distracted and his hands have already moved back under my shirt, cupping my breasts, pushing them up and together, thumbs circling my nipples, and I’m arching into him while he runs his teeth along the edge of my jaw.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes into my skin. “I can’t focus on one thing,” he tells me, “you’re so fucking beautiful,” “I’m going out of my mind,” before he goes back to my mouth and curls his tongue around mine and pinches both of my nipples at the same time.
This is hot, yes, but also intimate, full of trust. An explosion, a dam releasing a flood of feeling, feelings that are more than just sheer lust, thirst, pleasure. It’s those things too, but also connection and yearning and truth.
This is the best kiss of my life.
My pussy’s still hollow, empty, but my heart is full as I hear the soft exhalations of his breath on my skin, the ocean crashing behind us. His hair is soft in my hands, the expanse of his shoulders solid and firm, the smooth skin and salty damp of his neck as I trace its lines with my tongue.
I can’t help it anymore. I roll my hips down, and he groans, a rumbling sound from deep in his chest, thrusting up, adjusting himself so his the thick length of him is right there, right where I need it. His hands are at my hips again and he’s moving me back and forth, his hips flexing, helping me grind. I could come like this , I realize with surprise. A moment later, I’m going to come like this . Someone moans, but our mouths are fused together again, so I’m not sure who it comes from.
Then, a vibration. Under my thigh. Between us. That’s not what coming feels like.
It doesn’t stop, and finally, in our daze, one of us realizes it’s a phone.
“Fuck,” he mutters, lifting me up and reaching into the pocket of his athletic shorts. He looks at the caller ID and clears his throat. “Hey,” he says in a hoarse voice, answering the phone, leaning his forehead against mine. I hear the tinny rumblings of Mama Flores while I lean back and map his face. He looks a little dazed. There’s a flush in his cheeks and his lips look impossibly bigger, swollen from my ministrations. A little mark I left on the sharp edge of his jaw. I circle it with my fingers. “Okay. I’m coming.”
After he hangs up, I think he’s going to pull away, but he does the opposite instead. He wraps me in his arms for a tight hug, kissing my temple, my cheek, the top of my head. I settle into the strong warmth of his body, hugging back, breathing him in.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers.
“Don’t apologize. Go.”
He looks up at me with eyes full of feeling and pulls me down by the neck again, for another swipe of the tongue, one last nip at my lip. He sighs and pulls away. “Do you need help putting the fire out?”
I eye him. “Are you asking me about the actual fire behind us or if I need help getting off?”
I’m glad I make him laugh, because it wipes that horridly serious, worried look right off his face. This man is beautiful and that was extremely fun and I’m elated and I just want him to feel the same way.
“I got it,” I reassure him. “Go.”
He reluctantly starts walking, then stops again. He turns around. “This feels weird. I don’t like walking away from you like this.”
“It’s okay, Dom. I understand. Frankie needs you. I’ll let you eat my ass later.”
His face falls. “I forgot to touch your ass,” he says, truly devastated. “I’ve wanted to, all week.”
I smirk. “It’ll be there tomorrow.”
He nods, once, with a sexy little smile. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. Then goes for real.
I am grateful yet again for rabbit pal.