He clears his throat and looks away, staring at the ocean.
“Yeah. Sure,” he replies, not really sounding sure at all.
“Only if you want to,” I tell him, stomach sinking. Maybe he’s not having as much fun as I am.
“I want to,” he says quickly, standing up and reaching for one of the poles.
I get up to help him, trying not to read into the way heangles his body away from me so that we don’t accidentally brush against one another. I remind myself that it’s probably not personal, and that last year he specifically told me he wasn’t big on contact.Let him come to you, I reproach myself firmly, even though my fingers itch for him.
It doesn’t take us long to pack up the gear, and stow it in the bed of my truck. Marcos trails after me when I go to return it at the sporting goods store, and waits patiently for me next to a display of camouflage shirts.
“All done,” I tell him, waving my receipt in the air before tucking it into my wallet.
“Want to split that?” he asks, but I shake my head.
“Nope. I’m wooing you, which means I’m paying.”
He laughs—the same quick, startled sound as earlier. This time, when I hold my hand out to him, it takes him a couple seconds to slide his fingers through mine, as though he needed to think about it first. He sighs in relief, and squeezes my hand a little tighter.
“Wooing,” he repeats.
“That’s right,” I agree as we walk back out into the sunshine. “I missed out on the flowers, since Max didn’t know and I didn’t want to get the wrong thing.”
He snorts. “I don’t need flowers.”
“Of course not. But the point isn’t that youneedthem. The point is that it’s romantic as fuck. Wooing, remember?”
“Ah, yes, right. Sorry.” He sounds amused, and huffs another soft laugh when I open the door of the truck for him.
I crank the air-conditioning in the cab, cognizant of the morning we just spent out in the sun. My skin feels tacky with salt, and we smell like the beach. When I glance over at Marcos, I can see sand still clinging to the finer hairs on his arm. It makes my head hurt a little bit—looking at him. It’sstrange to want someone so fucking much. Strange and a little alarming. What the hell am I supposed to do if he decides he doesn’t want me back?
When I park the truck in front of the Mexican place Max recommended, Marcos’ mouth is twisted in a lopsided grin.
“Max didn’t help me on this one. This was all me,” I boast, and he laughs because he knows I’m lying.
The beach was fun, but the problem with that was how hard it was to keep Marcos in my direct line of sight. We were seated next to each other, and there was the constant movement of the actual fishing. Here—at a tiny plastic table, with him sitting directly across from me—I don’t have that problem. I move my leg to the left and press it against his; when I reach for my water glass, my fingers brush his arm. His dark eyes and handsome face are right in front of me—no craning my neck to find them.
Perfect.
Not to mention, I get the pleasure of sitting here and listening to Marcos conversing with the owner in rapid Spanish, voice musical and smooth as it wraps around the words. I might not have any idea what he’s saying, but damn if I don’t like the way he says it. When the owner leaves, he meets my eye a touch sheepishly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you out of that conversation.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sorry? Christ. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Please, leave me out of any and all conversations as long as I can listen to you speak Spanish.”
He shakes his head mutely, eyes holding an equal amount of humor and disbelief.
“Well, she was just telling me about her husband andwhat they’re going to make us to eat,” he says, filling me in. “I try not to do that around people, though.”
I shrug. “Seriously, it’s okay. It’s pretty embarrassing that I don’t speak Spanish, honestly. A lot of the guys that work the ranch speak it. Axel tried to teach me when I was younger, but.” Another shrug.
“Axel?” Marcos asks.
“My uncle hired him the first summer he had money to do so. Axel bought into the business a few years ago—he’s an equal partner now. He’s great. I spent entire summers following him around, probably annoying the shit out of him while he was trying to work.”
Shaking my head, I stop talking long enough to thank the woman who brings our food over. It’s alotof food. Dishes cover the whole of the circular table top, and several are so close to the edge that I fear for their safety.
“Hungry?” I ask on a laugh. Smirking, Marcos pulls the nearest plate toward himself. I have no idea what it is.
