12. Dane
12
DANE
From the periphery of my vision, I can see brown hair billowing wildly as the car accelerates faster while we coast down the winding street.
In the distance, a golden sunset unfurls across an orange sky. Blue ocean waves break against the sparkling sand. Palm trees sway along the road. Goddamn, it’s beautiful. Heaven. It’s the most scenic route I’ve ever driven across.
Reese clearly thinks so, too. She’s spent the last few minutes recording the coastline with her phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask when I realize she’s aimed her camera at me.
“It’s the golden hour,” she explains, tapping on her screen to take a selfie. “Everyone always looks good during the golden hour.”
I want to scoff at the ludicrous statement, but the hazy golden sunlight bouncing off her skin makes her look softer. Warmer .
“Even with your messy hair?” I tease.
“Especially with my messy hair,” she replies without missing a beat.
A rare, gentle smile touches her lips as she leans over and holds her cell up. Then she crosses her eyes while she prepares for another selfie—with me in the background. My mouth slants into a grimace right as the photo is captured.
She barely conceals her laugh. “It won’t hurt to smile.”
Disgruntled, I mutter, “Do you take pictures of everything you do?”
That gentle smile makes a reappearance. This time, lasting twice as long. “Just the things I want to remember.”
I sigh before mustering up something half-hearted, and Reese snorts.
“Never mind,” she murmurs. “It does hurt you to smile.”
My smile drops. “I don’t like having my picture taken.”
“Then I won’t?—”
“But for you,” I begin and immediately pause, frowning. Then, after a hasty moment of silent deliberation, I grumble, “I won’t mind. Just don’t post it online.”
“Not even on my Finsta?”
“What the fuck is a Finsta?”
“Instagram. Well, fake Instagram,” she rambles. “It’s reserved for your close friends. My sister and her sorority sisters all have one. Mine’s mostly pictures of onion rings.”
My brow rises. “Onion rings?”
“Yeah, onion rings. And memes. And this one alleycat I see when I take the trash out at my apartment, but that’s because he is the chunkiest cat I’ve ever seen?—”
“You’re losing me, Reese’s Pieces,” I cut in. “Why don’t you just post ’em on your real one?”
“The aesthetics.” Am I supposed to understand what she means by that? I don't even use social media. “And because people I’m not close to follow me on that one.”
“Why? What’s the point? Just stop letting them follow you.”
“They’re following me for school stuff, usually,” she explains. “And some of the people I work with will reach out to me there when they need someone to cover their shifts.”
“People don’t know how to text anymore?” I ask dryly. “What do you post on your real one?”
“Books. Trees. Low-angled shots of buildings. I was really into cameras when I was in high school, but they’re expensive. And don’t get me started on the lenses.”
Now it’s starting to make a lot of sense why she keeps taking pictures. “Are you a photography major?”
“Nope. I’m going into civil engineering.” I almost turn to look at her in surprise. “You?”
I rake my hand through my hair, then drum my fingers along the top of the steering wheel. “Finance.”
“ Finance ?” She drops her phone into her lap and swivels in her seat to face me. “Really?”
Guess surprising each other is the theme today. “You don’t see someone like me with a knack for numbers?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she stammers. “I would have assumed you were studying mechanical engineering.”
“Because of the cars?”
“Well, yeah .” She ducks her head and picks up her phone.
A low chuckle escapes me. “Sorry to disappoint you, then.”
“I can’t picture you in a finance class.”
“Neither can I.” My words are punctuated with a loud snort that draws her attention.
“You don’t show up to class?” Reese gasps, scandalized like the good girl I bet— know —she is.
“I’ll show up for midterms and finals,” I explain, “but otherwise, I don’t give a shit.”
I don’t have to glance her way to know she’s frowning, clearly bothered.
“Tuition is expensive.”
My shoulder hitches. “I’m not the one getting billed for it.”
She’s silent for a moment. Her voice is gentler when she asks, “If college isn’t for you, then why don’t you drop out?”
“It gets my dad off my back and me out of the picture.” I lift a hand in a casual shrug. And because I’m not in the mood to be all touchy-feely with my feelings, I hike my chin toward a food truck parked nearby. “They might have some onion rings for your fiesta.”
“Finsta.”
“ This is what you normally do?” Reese asks as she falls into step beside me, enjoying her sprinkled cone. Behind her, the sun dips toward the horizon, streaking the sky in various shades of red, orange, and pink. It’s no golden hour, but it looks like something out of a movie.
“I usually don’t make any stops,” I tell her.
“Shame.” She spreads her arms out and tilts her head back. “Ice cream on the beach is a nice way to end the day.”
“We’re in the last week of October.”
“So?” She gives me a tiny shrug. “You’re missing out, Dane.”
“All right then,” I reply, arching a brow. “Give me a lick.”
“What?” She slides away from me. “Go back and get your own.”
“Let me see what I’m missing out on.”
“Again, buy your own cone.”
“I only want a lick,” I point out. “Not the entire damn thing.”
She squints at me for a beat before she slowly drags her tongue across the side of her ice cream scoop.
I gawk at her, halting mid-stride. It’s an innocent gesture on her end. My mind refuses to see it that way. I force myself to think about cars and the set of custom rims I’ve ordered coming in the mail.
“No,” Reese says, sticking her tongue out at me before she takes another languid lick of her cone. The set of rims is nonexistent in my head. Then, without warning, she darts off, kicking sand in the process.
I’m still staring at her, bewildered, as I shake myself out of my stupor.
My heart is thumping like it does when my bike accelerates across an empty stretch of road and makes me feel like I’m flying.
I’m just fucking horny, I tell myself. I need to get laid.
I need to get laid before I think of all the things sweet little Reese’s Pieces can do to me with that tongue of hers.
Too fucking late.
I’m already picturing those wide eyes looking up at me as her lips wrap around my cock and suck me off. My blood rushes south. My dick seems to enjoy the idea a little too much that I have to grit my teeth and wait for my fucking erection to go the fuck away.
“I thought you liked to race!” Reese shouts from where she stands farther down the beach. “And I thought you liked to win!”
Fucking hell, I’m more turned on than ever as she sticks her tongue out at me again.
“I’m giving you three seconds.”
“Three seconds for what?”
“For a head start before I’m coming for you.”
She tilts her head.
“One.”
She turns around and breaks off into a sprint.
“Two.”
“Suck it!” she cackles with glee.
“Three.”
Then I haul ass as I take off sprinting, my longer legs allowing me to close the distance between us so quickly that she’s squealing with laughter when I hook my arm around her waist and lift her into the air.
“All right, all right! Here!”
I don’t see it coming until she smushes sprinkled vanilla into my face. I stare at her in bewilderment yet again while she hoots with unbridled glee. There’s a low, husky note to her laughter. Not the kind of laugh I’d expect from her.
“Happy?” she giggles, pulling the cone away from me.
I slowly lick the melted ice cream off of my mouth as she wriggles in my embrace, causing my dick to stir again.
“Pretty good,” I drawl.
“Want another taste?” She threatens me with her cone.
“I think you should have it.” Before she can make do with her promises, I rub my sticky ice-cream-coated jaw against her cheek and venture south. A shriek rips up her throat. “Payback’s a bitch, huh?”
The urge to drag the flat of my tongue against her neck is so damn strong as I nose my way down the collar of her sweater, smearing the sticky ice cream from my face onto her soft skin, that I deserve a medal for my willpower to fucking behave right now.
“W-wait!” Her body goes rigid in my arms as her cone slips from her hand, and she elbows me roughly to pull herself out of my grasp. She lands unceremoniously on her feet, almost toppling over from the graceless drop. Her fingers clutch the space just below her neck.
“Reese—”
“C-Can you take me home?” Her eyes grow wide with panic. “ P-Please ?”