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“So it is a funny story?”

Snorting, I shake my head. “More like humiliating.”

“What can there possibly be that is humiliating about a can of Fresca?”

I sigh. “One time when Damian and I were out, we were talking about our dream partners. Damian was saying how he wants a manic pixie girl with tits the size of tangerines, and I said some stupid shit about wanting a Daddy with a Fresca-can cock in his pants.”

We stop, right there in the middle of the concrete walk. My cheeks blaze, and I close my eyes and press my lips together, waiting for Javier’s reaction. There are thousands of alternative stories I could have invented, like maybe I’ve always liked Fresca—true—and wanted to commemorate my favorite beverage.

I can’t bear the quiet any longer. I crack one eye, catching the exact moment when Javier’s head tips back and the loudest, most melodic laugh I’ve ever heard in my life booms out from his wide open mouth.

He is stunning like this, tears leaking from his eyes while his whole upper body shakes, chest and belly heaving and bouncing and fuck I want this to be my life. I want early mornings where he cooks me breakfast as I watch him move competently through the kitchen. I want him crouching on the edge of a pool, coaching me in his steady, consistent way. I want to make him laugh at my stupid stories, to wash his hair in the shower, and to hold his hand.

“So,” he manages to ask between gasping breaths. “Now you have prophetic tattoos?”

I laugh. “Yeah, what can I say? I manifested all of you.” I look pointedly at his crotch.

Red appears on his cheeks, and I laugh harder at the smug smile that spreads across his mouth. “I cannot believe you,” he murmurs, lifting his free hand to cradle my jaw.

I lean into his touch. “You should see what Damian got.”

“Oh? Is there a—what did you call it? A maniacal pixie tattooed on his ass-cheek?”

Huffing a laugh, I shake my head. “Manic pixie girl,” I correct. “It’s a whole thing. But, no. Damian got two tangerines on his lower back.”

“And how have the powers of manifestation worked out for your brother?”

“No luck so far.” My stomach cramps, and I squeeze Javier’s hand. We both need to eat after the long morning of practice. “Can we get food and then cuddle up with a movie?”

“Sounds perfect, sireno.”

I’m barely watching the movie we put on. I keep looking over at Javier, who is quiet, a thoughtful frown on his face as he stares at the TV. Outside it’s dark, and even over the dialogue of the movie I can make out the chirps of crickets in the night.

Practicing with Javier was—fuck, it was intuitive and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. With Cora’s help, we’ve reworked my routine to accommodate a human partner.

Javier was right. He isn’t a dancer. He doesn’t have the training and precision in his body, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s my mate and I’ve never moved as fluidly as I do when he’s there in the water with me. Rather than focusing on synchronicity, we’ve shifted to building a contrast between us, a comparison between my dynamic movements around him and his quieter, more subtle motions.

I can tell he’s exhausted. His hair, still wet from when I washed it in the shower, hangs in wet curls around his face. He put on a white t-shirt and soft shorts, while I sprawled out in nothing but a jock and t-shirt.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask.

Javier looks at me, and there’s something to his expression that makes my chest ache. I’m not used to seeing anything but certainty and confidence from him. He reaches for me. “I need you,” he says softly, like he’s admitting something.

I go to him, climbing up to sit astride his lap and draping my hands over his shoulders. “I’m here.”

His head tips back, looking up at me adoringly. “Yes, boy,” he breathes. “You are here, and you are perfect.”

Our mouths meet. It starts sweet and slow, a lazy, indulgent kiss like we have nothing but time. When Javier’s tongue slips into me I groan, pushing my body against him.

Javier presses his palm against my packer and I gasp into his mouth. “Think you can come from me touching your cock like this?”

I thrust my hips, and the pressure—fuck, the pressure of the soft silicone against my dick is perfect.

I do it again.

“Good boy,” Javier grinds out. “Just like that. Take what you need.”

It’s euphoric, humping his hand like this. His hand shifts to grip the base of my packer and it’s real, it’s perfect, he’s jacking me off and it feels good, so fucking good.