Confused, she takes the plastic cup and before I can truly process the insult, hat boy steps back to study us.
“That’s better.” He smiles as if he isn’t seconds away from sifting through the sand for the teeth I’m about to knock right out of his head. “Now that your hands are free ...” He slides his left palm into my grip and tugs me toward the dancing crowd. I don’t truly understand what he’s done until we’re both moving to the music.
“You could have just asked me to dance,” I say, when the rhythm changes and he sways closer.
“Guys ask you to dance all the time, and you forget them before the music even fades. But you’ll remember me.”
I laugh as he twirls me, and the crowd backs away to give us space. “So, who exactly will I be remembering?”
He spins us in sync, with one hand at my back, and people are watching us now. “If I tell you my name, I lose my mysterious edge.”
“Fine. Then where are you from?”
“South Bend.” He pulls me closer when the music changes. His hand slides over my hair and down my back as we settle into a sexy Cuban salsa.
“You didnotlearn this in Indiana.”
His laugh is low and hot. “I learned this in Santa Clara. But I was born in Indiana.”
A Midwestern boy in a hat. Dancing sexy, street-style salsa on the beach.
I’m hooked.
We dance toward the edge of the crowd, and it closes in behind us. “So, Indiana, why were you in Santa Clara?” I ask, now that I can hear him better.
“Because that’s where the bus dropped me, after Havana.”
“Hey, Genesis, it’s getting dark.” Neda appears out of nowhere, staring nervously at the brilliant pink and orange sunset.
“Yes. That’s a nightly event.” I can’t look away from Indiana.
“Maybe we should head back to the cabana.”
“Relax. We won’t let anything eat you.” I turn her by both shoulders and point her back toward the crowd.
“You’re staying at Cañaveral?” Indiana frowns. “That’s a long hike in the dark.”
“Change of plans.” Who needs room service and real beds? “We’ll rent hammocks and stay here.”
“And you just decided that? For all your friends?”
“I always do.”
The song ends and he steps back to look down at me. “Every now and then, you should let people make up their own minds.” His gaze holds a strangely magnetic challenge. “That’s how adventures begin.”
Before I can figure out how much of that is innuendo and just how much adventure he might be up for, Holden materializes at my side.
“I won!” He less than subtly shows me the joint hidden in his palm—evidently the spoils from his cornhole battle.
“Congratulations.” I glance at the soldiers gathered near the restaurant, but they aren’t watching.
Holden’s gaze hardens as he looks at Indiana. He lays a possessive hand on my arm. “Dance with me.”
Before I can remind my boyfriend that he doesn’t own me, Indiana tips his straw hat, then heads down the beach to join the cornhole game.
Holden and I dance with Pen and the rest of our friends. But my gaze keeps wandering back to the salsa-dancing cowboy.
83 HOURS EARLIER
