“What makes you think I’ll lose again?” I ask. Running in the sand is my forte. I mean, hello? Miami native here? That was basically my entire childhood. “I could easily whip your ass.”
“Then prove it,” he challenges, pointing to the stairs that lead up to the pier. “Last person who reaches the bottom of that staircase has to pay for lunch.”
“Bring it on.” I quickly slip my shoes back on and take off laughing without another care.
“I didn’t say start!” He calls out, jogging after me.
“We’ll call it even!” I shout back. Running in dry sand is not easy, I tell you. So it doesn’t take very long for Carson to catch up to me.
We’re neck in neck—or head and neck, since the guy is six feet tall, give or take an inch—and just as I pass a vendor, I trip on a small hill of sand and fall stomach-down onto it.
“Diana!”
I find myself laughing as I pull myself up to a sitting position because I can’t remember the last time I felt so… light. Without a care in the world. When was the last time I felt that way?
“I’m okay,” I assure him in between laughs. “It doesn’t hurt.”
He bends down to my level. “Your wrist isn’t hurting?”
Shaking my head, I reach for his knee and snake my hand around to the back of his ankle. “I am just fine.” With one motion and two hands, I reach for his foot and trip him. Carson falls on his back with a light thump—dry sand doesn’t hurt as much as wet sand, luckily.
“Warn a guy, don’t you,” he jokes.
I move so that I’m lying myself next to him, turning on my side so I face him. I couldn’t care if I got sand in my hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He turns onto his side so he faces me, and our faces are merely inches from each other. “You are something else when the whole world isn’t on your shoulders.”
And the butterflies are back. My face is already splitting in half with how big my smile is. “Is that a good thing?” I ask, my breathing getting heavier with each second.
Maybe I’m imaging this but Carson moves much closer. In fact, so close that our noses are almost touching. Is it really going to happen? Please let this be real because I will be pissed if a beach ball interrupts this.
If this isn’t happening, send me a sign.
A beat passes, and nothing happens. Well, nothing except for the swift movement where he closes the distance between us and I freeze. Wait, I wanted this to happen. Why am I not doing anything?
Before I can reciprocate, he pulls back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t read that correctly, did—”
I bring my hand to the back of his neck and pull his soft lips to mine, doing what I should have done when he made the first move. Gosh, I’ve been wanting to do that since the maze on my birthday.
Thankfully, he kisses me back, with much more confidence and I find myself melting into it. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me right to his chest and I melt into his touch, wishing that he doesn’t let go.
I’m staying in the moment. Not letting another fear get in the way of this because I know one thing: he wanted this too.
So why should I try to talk myself out of it?
22
Together
Carson
My memory can be spacious, but that kiss has taken over my entire brain.
It only happened about an hour ago and I still wish that stupid beach ball didn’t spray sand all over us. I couldn’t even find it in me to care that I got sand all over my jacket.
But the moment was ruined. That didn’t stop my brain from spinning in circles at the events.
I kissed Diana Blanco.
