The subtle art of texting is not something I’ve ever perfected. Winnie was amazing at it. In the past, if I’d found myself in this situation, I would have just relinquished my phone to her all day because I’d be assured she would have Cristiano wrapped around my pinky finger by the end of it. Meanwhile, I second-guessevery single word, every letter.Do I add an emoji or is it too obvious? Should I cap that joke off with an exclamation mark? No! Of course not!
Annoyed to be so caught up in caring about it, I reach into my bag and take out my phone to read his damn text when Thalia stands to go wash her hands off in the sea.
Cristiano:My contractor is late to our meeting. Distract me.
The text was sent an hour ago so I’m too late. Or maybe not…
I snap a photo of my legs stretched out in the sand alongside my surfboard. In the background, the sea is blue and beautiful.
I send it and reach for more fruit. My phone buzzes immediately.
Cristiano:Who are you with?
The question confuses me. How does he know I’m with anyone? But then I glance back at the photo and notice the blurry guy in orange swim trunks walking out of the water. I guess it does look like he’s headed toward me.
I look up and scan the beach, easily finding the guy among a group of friends who arrived to surf just as Thalia and I were finishing up.
I smile at Cristiano’s question.
Isabel:A friend.
Cristiano:…
I bite down a laugh, but that humor disappears the instant my phone starts to ring with an incoming call.
I answer with a shake of my head. “You can’t be serious. I was just ki—”
“Hand the phone over so I can talk to him.”
His tone is half joking, halfnot.
“That’d be a little hard considering he’s sittingwayover therewith his friends. Not to mention,I don’t even know him. I’m with Thalia. Should I handherthe phone?”
It’s not an option considering she’s swimming now, but still. He’s silent on the other end, thinking god only knows what.
“I didn’t realize he was in the photo…” I admit sheepishly.
Still, he’s quiet.
Oh god.
I laugh nervously. “Are all Spanish men this possessive?”
And why does it thrill me to think he might be jealous that I’m spending my morning with someone else?
“No, but it’s in my nature. No use fighting it,” he finally grumbles.
“Good to know. No more teasing you. I promise.”
“I liked the photo,” he admits, his tone smoothing out now that I’ve eased his worry.
My stomach swoops. “If it helps, I’m not wearing the turquoise bikini.”
I think I hear him mumble “Dios” under his breath.
“Do you work tonight?” he asks.
“Yes.”
