But before he can continue, Rava grabs him by the wrist and yanks him underwater with a massive splash. From beneath, I hear Lorenzo's muffled scream. "HE'S ACTUALLY DROWNING ME, THIS IS HOW I GO—"
Then I hear some girl floating next to us, talking to her friend, tipsy and loud. "My mouth tastes like Malibu and seawater." Rava lights up. "Wait—Malibu?" He looks over, with wide eyes. "She's drinking Malibu. That's what I want. I'm getting one. Get off me, you freak."
"I'm going to the bar."
I don't even hesitate. "I'll come with."
He doesn't say no. We push out of the water, still dripping, and immediately we're swallowed by the crowd.
Wet bodies everywhere. Towels, sand, someone wrapped in a floatie drinking straight from the bottle. It's mayhem. I reach for his hand. "Hold onto me," I mutter. "We'll get lost."
…
Oh fuck.
I'm holding his hand. I'm holdinghishand.
My heart is losing its fucking mind.
I don't get it. I really don't. We've had sex a stupid amount of times. We've done many things that would make priests combust on sight.
I've literally had my tongue between his asscheeks.
But this?? Hands?? I'm ascending.
Our hands look good together. If someone took a picture right now I wouldn't even flinch. This is nice.
Why didn't we do this sooner? I could get used to this.
…
We make it to the bar. The bartender looks like he's aged ten years in five minutes. He's darting between trays, screaming at a blender. We wait.
Rava is still holding my hand. I let my eyes drift. Big mistake. A couple of meters down, there is some dude.
Red hair. Too red. Like artificially flame-colored.
More freckles than skin. And he's looking at Rava like he wants to lick him.
Is that bitch actually looking at Rava like that?
I check. Maybe he's staring past us.
Nope. It's my boy. Of course it is. My Rava. And this dude's eyeballs are about to fall out of his skull. I step closer, real slow.
My hands go to the sides of Rava's neck, fingers resting just at his temples. The guy doesn't look away. I stare back.
Try me, freckle boy. Fucking try me.
Finally, the bartender gestures to us. "We're up!" Rava says to me. He bounces a little. "Hi! Can I get a Malibu with pineapple and cranberry?" The bartender nods.
I fish out my credit card.
"You're adorable," I mumble. He grins. His whole face lights up. I pay. We take the drink. We walk away. I don't let go of his hand. Not yet. Rava is smiling. A lot.
Like…a lot a lot. Too much. Why is he smiling like that?
Wait—shit. Did he see the ginger?! Did he catch that whole thing? Fuck, fuck, fuck, act natural.
