“I can’t stand mayo, either,” I say with a chuckle.
“Then why do you have it in the fridge?”
Maverick.That’s the honest answer to the question. My son devoured turkey sandwiches slathered in mayo all week, in between wolfing down Hawaiian ices and playing on the beach outside the bungalow. But since I never talk about my son with unvetted strangers or the press, I reply with, “When my family was here for the wedding, we ate lots of sandwiches while hanging out at the beach.”
“Sounds fun.” She snickers. “Other than the mayo.”
We both laugh.
Iris points to a bowl of fruit on the counter. “Would it be okay for me to cut up that mango for the fruit salad?”
“Go for it. There’s a market down the road, so I can always get more. The fruit here is amazing. It tastes like candy.”
Taste.
Candy.
The combination of those two words on my tongue makes me think about the sight that greeted me when I slid open that shower curtain again. Iris’s thighs spread wide in front of me. Her head slung back as a groan escaped her. The unexpected scene would have instantly turned my dick to steel, if I hadn’t been so damned shocked. Once Iris bolted away with her panties down, however, and it became clear she wasn’t a stalker—that, in fact, she’d been every bit as blindsided by our unexpected encounter as me—my dick instantly started hardening. That’s why I didn’t immediately follow Iris outside, even though I’d thrown on my clothes. I had to wait for my hard-on to subside.
God help me, if I’d gone straight outside to greet my unexpected visitor with a massive bulge in my shorts, she might have called 911 on me. I can practically hear the frantic 911 callabout me now—one that would have made the rounds on social media with my smiling Crusaders photo as the visual. I can’t afford bad press like that at any time, of course, but especially not now, when Cameron is trying to convince the Thunderbolts I’m their two-hundred-million-dollar man.
We add the finished fruit salad to our sandwich plates, grab our refilled glasses, and head outside to the deck.
“It’s so beautiful out here,” Iris proclaims as she takes a seat next to me on the outdoor couch. “Thank you so much for letting me hang out here, Roman.”
“You bet.”
Iris takes a bite of her sandwich and compliments it before returning her gaze to the beach. “This is why I came to Hawaii.”
I smile. “It doesn’t suck.”
She takes a bite of fruit, and her big, blue eyes go wide. “It really does taste like candy.”
Taste.
Candy.
Images of Iris’s most intimate body parts flicker across my mind again, this time coupled with the fantasy of me crawling between her legs to turn that pussy of hers into a meal. At the thought, my dick begins hardening, so I cover my rising bulge with my plate.
I shift in my seat. “So, what do you do back home?”
She lights up. “I’m a preschool teacher.”
If she were vetted, I’d probably mention I’ve got a preschooler myself. But as things stand, I refrain and ask if she likes her job.
“Iloveit,” Iris replies. “I leap out of bed to go to work every day.”
“What do you love most?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “The kids. They’re so pure and wholesome at that age. Also, hilarious. Three- and four-year-olds can be hysterically funny. Usually, without realizing it.”
Everything she’s said describes Maverick to a T. “Can you give me an example of something funny a kid has said or done without meaning to be funny?”
“I just witnessed the perfect example today. This comment wasn’t made to me; I simply witnessed it at the airport. But it’s the first thing that popped into my head.” She giggles at some memory. “While I was waiting in line for my rental car, a little boy ran out of the bathroom shouting to his grandma that he’d seen a whale in the bathroom. The kid’s grandfather explained there was a mural painted on the wall—one with lots of sea creatures on it—so, the grandma asked the kid, ‘What else did you see in the bathroom?’ And ...” Iris cracks up in anticipation of whatever she’s going to say next. “And the little boy answered, ‘My pee-pee!’”
I bust up along with her. That’spreciselythe kind of thing my son would say.
It suddenly occurs to me I’ve never introduced Maverick to anyone I’ve dated before—and certainly not to anyone I’m merely fucking. So, this topic of conversation feels like a first for me. It’s not the same thing as a woman I’m attracted to actually meeting my son, of course, but hearing Iris talk with such warmth about kids Maverick’s precise age feels unexpectedly exciting to me—enough to turn up the heat on my already simmering attraction.
