Especially naked.
My point being – and there is one – is that while sex with them is fucking incredible, it hasn’t – andwon’t– give me a lobotomy rendering an entire new personality.
“You sure we’re not lost?”Zero nervously questions, tropical flamingo print torso casually leaning over as if he’s able to read the navigation system.
“I’m sure that shirt you’re wearing will act like a beacon if we are,” I teasingly poke back, attention oscillating between the view ahead and the coordinates I’ve been given.
“You don’t like my shirt?!”
“The people whomadethat shirt don’t even like it.”
“Garcia does!”
“He’d like it more on the floor,” absentmindedly leaves my lips.
“Sí.” He folds his muscular arms across his taut, white, pressed linen bearing chest.“Right next to that bra you’re wearing.”
“Bikini.”
“The people whomadethat top wouldn’t even call it that.”
This.
Thisis the man that I’ve always had a thing for.
Too bad for me he’s basically the human form of what happened when the Titanic hit an iceberg.
Destruction.
Calamity.
Death.
I mean people were having a helluva good time before shit started to sink, which really just furthertrackswith my analogy.
Sex, laughs, and surfs up are where we are.
Thinking we can survive anything more, anything past these treasure hunting weeks is when disaster will strike.
Garcia gets that.
Garcialivesthat.
He always has.
Even before…whatever this is.
He’s a man who likes to have a fuck or a fling and be available the next morning to do it all over again with the barista who hands him hiscafé con leche.
Our adorable, little sunshine and stingrays on the other hand?
I honestly don’t think heunderstandsthe principle of temporary outside of the computer file for it.
Or maybe he does.
Maybe he justcan’twhen it comes to the man of his dreams.
And that brings me to the most important point of them all.
