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He snuggles into me. “Better be, or you’re going to have a lot of making up to do.”
“And how do you suppose I do that?” I reach down, and he’s already semi-hard. “Really? Thought you were dead.”
He waves his hand in my face. “You’re so much more to me than you should be.” My eyebrows raise at his statement. He nods and continues, “Are you a gypsy? I feel like I’ve been cursed.” He’s so tired he’s rambling, and I can’t stop laughing.
“So, liking me is a curse?”
He kisses me softly. “No, being without you is the curse.” And all the laughter’s gone as I sink into the moment with him. No one talks to me like that, and I don’t usually enjoy that kind of sentiment. I write it. I don’t live it.
Entering the gates is a bit like coming out of Dorothy’s front door when she touches down in Oz. The car twists through the manicured lawns and opens into the portiere. Both of our doors are opened by overly friendly men guiding us inside. My jaw drops as I realize the entire lobby is open to the ocean. A spectacular panoramic view of palm trees, the blue ocean, and the property dazzles. We’re invited to sit down on couches, as there appears to be no front desk. We’re joined by a woman holding a tablet and a tray with drinks.
“Care for some tequila?”
“Always.” Alex slurps his down.
She checks us in from the couch and lets us know that we’ll be taken to our villa by golf cart. I do not hate fancy places.
* * *
Sitting side by side on our chairs with the ocean at our feet, we doze holding hands. We’re present.
He turns sideways to look at me. “That’s a good look for you.”
“A bikini?”
“Insanely attractive. T0p of your class. High marks.”
“You’ve seen everything under this bathing suit, closer than anyone other than my gynecologist.”
“It’s what it chooses to hide and what it reveals.”
“I’m partial to the hip divots that let your trunks hang just on the edge of decency. I’ll never tire of looking at that.”
“Do you think once we’ve had two more drinks, they’ll carry us up the stairs to a golf cart and bring us to our villa so my teeth can remove your suit?”
“The Four Seasons doesn’t play. Of course, they’d do it.” I turn towards him, my white top gapping just a little to be alluring.
He shrugs and sips my drink. “Something with grapefruit and tequila. Super strong. If you get drunk, can I take advantage of you?”
“You’re asking now?”
“Me too and all, want to get consent upfront.” His chest is already tan from running without a shirt. He’s greased up a bit with sweat, and my mouth keeps watering. The divots are to die for. I’ve only ever written stories about the mythical V that leads you to the promised land, and now I can reach out and touch it. He’s my unicorn.
“You always have consent. Let’s go sit in one of those bed things.”
“Thank you.” He shifts sideways and reaches for my hand. I keep waiting for that jolt of electricity to fade. He’s wearing his podcast’s baseball hat, and his crooked smile is brighter than the Mexican sun. I look silly in my floppy hat, but he’s looking at me like I’m priceless.
I say, “You’re welcome. Thanks for coming.”
“Oh, we’re not done coming. But, beautiful, thank you for this.” He gestures all around us.
“It’s really nothing.” I don’t care about the money, just him.
He sits upon his chaise. “Stop. You figured out how to shut off my brain and relax. No one’s ever done that, including me. Occasionally a hard run will shut it down for a moment. I just spent ten minutes watching the water. Only thoughts in my head were your bikini and the sound and motion of water.”
Tears spring to my eyes. My voice is weak, “You’re welcome.” How does he mean this much to me already?
We leave our chairs for a giant circular thing with billowy curtains overlooking the ocean. I scoot in, and my suit rides up my ass.
