“Fuck yes,” I say. And somehow it feels like we’re talking about more than just riding another wave.
My heartbeat picks up at the implication until the moment is lost when he throws us directly into an oncoming wave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Can I tell you something?” I say, the words muffled between ginormous bites of my double-double burger. We’re sitting in the parking lot of the In-N-Out on the way back from the beach.
I am fucking starving.
After I caught a couple more waves, I opted to sit on the beach and warm myself up in the sun like a cold-blooded lizard, which felt a little too accurate when describing my own heart after spending time with Xander, his mom, and Scarlett.
As the sun thawed me out, it dawned on me that Xander has more than enough love to go around and he doesn’t need to safeguard it. It’s just ever-expanding, free-flowing love.
This idea is so foreign to me that I focused on spending the rest of the time on the beach perving on Xander as I sent him back out to surf himself.
I saw him ditch Old Yello’ for a surfboard that looked impossibly small to stand on to which I said, “Are you for real?”to which he said, “For real” to which I said, “But how?” to which he said, “It’s physics,” to which I said, “I only teach chemistry.” And so off Xander ran, straight into the surf, slicing through those waves like a hot knife through butter.
By the time he caught his first wave, I vowed that physics was cool.
So fucking graceful. And powerful. And soulful.
Just beautiful, really.
I realize I’ve been staring at Xander a little too long. I swallow. “I don’t care for animal style.” I look pointedly at Xander and his animal style fries.
“You’re lying,” he says as he scoops up a couple of fries that are dripping with saucy, melted cheese and hauls them into his mouth without getting any on his T-shirt. “Everyone loves animal style.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s just so messy, I’d rather not,” I say, taking another bite of my burger, the lack of animal style sauce keeping it easy to eat.
“Story of your life,” he says, shaking his head at me through a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“You deny yourself what you really want just to avoid the mess that comes with it,” he says, and now I know he’s not talking about animal style anymore. “But the mess is the best part.”
This hits me right in the feels. “What do I want?” I whisper. The words are absolutely as loaded as the fries Xander is eating.
“You tell me,” he says gently. I watch as his lips curl around his straw and he sucks on his soda. When I don’t answer, he doesn’t ask—he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
It comes out low and suggestive. I tear my eyes away from his lips.
“I want animal style fries,” I say so quickly the words almost blend together.
And before I can reach over and steal a single fry, he hands the entire tray over to me. “You got it,” he says, taking my plain fries from me.
“It’s that simple, is it?” I say, taking a fry and dipping it into the sauce so it’s completely drenched before shoving it into my mouth. I look at Xander, who’s looking at my mouth. Before I can reach up to see if I’ve got animal style smeared all over my face, he reaches over and thumbs some sauce off the corner of my lip.
Then I watch as he brings his thumb to his lips and sucks on it, effectively turning animal style fries into amateur porn. “Yes.”
I take a sip of my soda, too stunned to say anything else, when a memory of Xander sucking on his fingers flashes in front of my mind.
I choke.
“You okay?” he says, leaning in to pat my back. The gentle, rhythmic patting has a soothing effect.
“I’m fine,” I say, daring to take another sip of the soda that attempted to assassinate me moments ago. This time I swallow like a champ. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
Xander removes his hand from my back, and I look out the window. I just need a moment of not looking at him. A moment of not wanting him.
