Simply…connect.
In the checkout line, my gaze catches a display of prepaid flip phones. Talk and text. No browser. No apps.No strings.
Perfect for a summer bubble.
I grab two. One silver. One black.
I’m not sure if this makes me nostalgic or pathetic. Probably both.
But bending the rules isn’t the same as breaking them.
Cami answers the door, more radiant than ever in a black bikini top and matching sheer skirt, ebony waves cascading over her bare, bronzed shoulders.
“Can’t believe you’re actually picking me up. We’re only walking down to the beach.”
With one shoulder leaning against the door frame, I let my gaze sweep over her. “Call me old-school. I believe a man should pick his date up at the door.”
She arches her brow. “So…is this the part where you hand me a corsage?”
I reach behind my back and reveal a small bouquet of pink tulips, stems still cool from Seaside Market’s fridge. “Close enough?”
Her eyes light up as she takes them, fingers grazing mine, stirring something low in my gut. “Lucky for you, tulips are my favorite.”
She glances down at the flowers, then back up at me with a look that lingers a beat too long. “Come in. I don’t know whereMs. Palmer keeps her vases, but there’s no way I’m letting these beauties rot on the counter.”
I follow her inside, citrus-scented air wrapping around us as she heads toward the kitchen. My eyes lock on the sheer, black skirt, the bikini thong beneath accentuating every smooth curve of her ass—so tempting, it makes my cock twitch.
Cami opens a few cabinets, shrugs, then grabs a tall glass. “Not exactly Pinterest-worthy, but it works.” She fills it with water and arranges the tulips with quiet focus.
“I bet you’d make a rusted coffee tin look like art.” I step in behind her, my declaration brushing her ear.
I slide my arms around her waist, palms splaying against her stomach, as I draw her gently back against me.
She sets the glass down and slowly turns, eyes lifting to meet mine.
Her fingers trail across my chest, a barely-there touch that makes the air crackle between us.
“Thank you for the flowers. And for picking me up at the door,” she says, long lashes fluttering.
Cami’s gaze holds mine, tender, like she’s weighing what might happen if she leans in just one inch more.
Her breath catches between us, and we hover close, lingering until our lips meet, unhurried, a whisper of what we both want but aren’t letting ourselves have.
Not yet, anyway.
My hands tighten at her waist, our bodies drawn tight together.
For a beat, neither of us moves, like we’re silently daring the other to cross a line neither of us agreed to.
“You ready?” I ask.
She exhales, just as wrecked. “Lead the way, handsome.”
Side by side, we walk downhill, the familiar crunch of sand underfoot, a sliver of moonlight carving silver across the water.
Shadow and Stripe’s playpen is already staked near the dunes, the spoiled kittens curled inside with a couple of plush toys and a tiny dish of formula. Yesterday’s checkup went well. Dr. Ochoa called them “two healthy little loaves of attitude.” He’s not wrong.
Both lift their heads as we approach, ears twitching, eyes tracking us like observant teachers taking attendance.
