18. Zayn #2
We opt for a single cup this time, two spoons. Normally we sit across from one another, but this time Annie slides in the booth next to me.
“What are you doing?” I peer at her out of the corner of my eyes.
Annie snuggles in further. Her knee brushes against mine. She moves her right hand to rest on my leg.
“Switching it up.” She shrugs.
My eyes dart to my leg. The weight of her hand is like a massive brick, the warmth of her touch spreading up my thigh making it impossible to think of anything appropriate for a family ice cream shop. What are our rules? Are we still sticking to them? Fuck .
The sound of Annie moaning enters my ears like a fucking symphony. I try to even my breaths, but they get deeper by the minute.
“Can you not?” I twist my head to the left, giving Annie my best glare to match my stern tone.
“Do what?” The flirtatious notes in her voice are followed not breaking eye contact as a spoonful of ice cream enters her mouth and exits in a leisurely manner.
“You know what...” I mutter, redirecting my attention back to her hand that hasn’t moved from my thigh.
Inch by inch, her hand trails farther up my leg. Just when she’s about to touch my dick, the pressure disappears as she moves it to her chin.
“You know, I’ve lived here for five years and this is the most time I’ve spent at the beach,” Annie says.
She’s looking at the waves out the window to my right. A sigh escapes her lips, then her eyes close for a moment as she takes her next breath. My eyes drift to her chest, watching as it expands and contracts. My breath mimicking hers.
“Why haven’t you been here?” I ask, curious to know her answer.
“I just haven’t had the time. I’ve been so focused on my job, my career, giving all my time and energy to the firm that I rarely make it out here. Plus, it’s always better when you’re with someone, you know? Someone to share the memory with.”
The sounds of the waves fill the silence. I know exactly how she feels, it’s a similar reason why I haven’t been to the beach. I haven’t had someone I wanted to share memories with, past and present.
“Why don’t you like the beach?” Annie’s voice drags my gaze to meet hers.
“I never said I didn’t like the beach.”
Annie picks her head off her hand, twisting toward me just enough for her knee to touch mine again.
Her eyes flutter, moments pass as she contemplates what to say next. “Why can’t you tell me one honest thing?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why would you—” Annie sighs again, but this time it’s exaggerated and loud. “I can’t with you.”
Annie scoots out of the booth, turning toward the table to grab our trash. On her way toward the door, she turns back to me and leans to one side, popping her hip and resting her hand for added sass.
“Coming, Z?”
With a shrug, I follow Annie out of the ice cream shop and as soon as the door closes behind us, my hand interlaces with hers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Annie glancing at me, surprised by my gesture.
If she were to ask, I’d tell her it was for the cameras.
Nothing more. She doesn’t need to know that when she stopped touching me and walked away, my chest sank with an emotion I haven’t felt in a long time.
Longing. A burning ache to pull her back toward me.
We walk in step around the shop and onto the beach, letting our feet sink in the sand, the whooshing of the waves calming my nerves.
I turn my head to the left to look at Annie to find that she’s already looking up at me with a small, apologetic smile on her face. The innocence of her gesture goes straight to my heart.
“You were right.” I break the silence.
“Hm? About what?”
She’s going to make me spell it out for her.
“I don’t like the beach.”
Annie begins to respond, but I cut her off.
“But, I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.
“Before us, when was the last time you were here?”
Letting this one question slide, I respond with, “A year ago.”
Annie hums as we walk down the beach, politely smiling and nodding at any person we pass. A few photographers take photos, probably in hopes of posting yet another article about our relationship.
“Well, what do you want to do now?” Annie asks.
Honestly? With her hand in mine, I can’t stop replaying our kiss from the maze. Her small touches along my back, the taste of her lips, the smell of a fucking bakery radiating from her body.
“Why are you blushing?” Annie prompts me with another question.
Instinctively, my free hand flies to my cheek, and I give Annie a side-eye.
“I’m not blushing.”
“Hm, must be the heat.”
“Must be,” I drawl.
“Do you want to go home?”
“And do what?” I ask, turning us around to walk back toward the car.
“We can do anything you want.”
“Anything?” I tease.
Annie rolls her eyes. Unexpectedly, she lets go of my hand, gives me a playful shove, then starts running away.
Running. Not walking fast. Not jogging. Fucking running, right next to the water. Her hair flows behind her and she has the biggest grin on her face every time she peers back to see if I’m still just standing there. So, what do I do?
I chase after her.