“Can’t fuck me?”
His eyes haven’t moved from my mouth. “Can’t get involved. Because Frankie is my everything, and I spend every moment of my day that I’m not working with her. She deserves all of my free time and attention and energy, and I won’t be able to share that with you, or with anyone or anything else, really.”
I addnot afraid to have Difficult Conversationsto my list of things I like about Dominic.
“And I’m telling myself this as much as I’m telling you this. Because I’m attracted to you, too, but I need to remind myself that I can’t.”
I fall in love a little at the genuine honesty that spills from this man’s mouth. His gentle, calm kindness. It’s a damn shame.
“Okay,” I say. “I hear you. Thank you for telling me.” I’m surprised again, this time because I’m having a mature, adult conversation with a man. “It’s for the best, probably. Mike really fucked me up, and I need to work on New and Improved Real Life Lina. I want to take care of myself for a little bit.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. For what it’s worth, you seem like a bad ass bitch who don’t need no man,” he offers.
“Thanks,” I grin. “Working on it.”
I take this time to use my toe to draw a literal line in the sand, separating us.
He looks down, laughing, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Nice.”
“Here’s to us being real adults and communicating and not acting impulsively on our baser sexual impulses,” I say cheerfully, actually quite proud of myself.
We both stare as the ocean washes the line away, wave by wave.
“Is this real-life foreshadowing?” he asks, a smile in his voice.
“It’s givingFinal Destination.”
“Like we’re going to drown in the ocean?”
“Like we’re going to bang on the beach.”
His laugh is loud and genuine.
“Just kidding. Too sandy.”
I feel him glancing down at me, his smile reflecting the cool, calm energy of the moon.
* * *
I wake up to the sun shining in my face, my rabbit pal laying on the pillow next to me. I’m so grateful for his services and for my forethought.
I’m also very grateful for the en suite bathrooms that each of our rooms has, and I give my rabbit pal a well-deserved bath.
I throw on my bathing suit and Chill Beach Girl attire and walk out of my room quietly, not wanting to wake Dominic, knowing I’m an early riser. I look to my right, however, and the door to his room is wide open.
His bed is made. The room is spotless.
I walk into the common area. The living room is tidied up, throw pillows back in the corners, blanket refolded and artfully draped on the arm of the couch. The wine glasses we were using last night are clean and on the drying rack in the kitchen.
Riding on a cloud of disbelief, I walk back to the hallway and walk into his room. There isn’t a suitcase or article of clothing in sight. Looking around, I sneak over to the dresser in the corner, opening a drawer. His clothes are neatly folded and put away.
I stand there, horny at the sight of his socks on the left side and boxer briefs on the right side, folded into nice little squares.
Because I am extremely respectful, I gently close the drawer, walk out of the room, and walk out the front door of the house, instead of taking a pair of his clean, folded underwear and stuffing it in my own mouth as I get my rabbit pal dirty again.
* * *
His five-year-old daughter is in the kitchen of the main house, still in her jammies, slicing mangos using one of those plastic Montessori knives for kids.
