by Lucy Eden
“That looks like fun,” I said.
“Wanna try it?” He squeezed my hip again.
“No.” I cut my eyes at his absurd suggestion.
“Why not?”
“Okay, first of all, it’s a terrible idea. And second of all, I can’t get my hair wet.”
“Why can’t you get your hair wet?” He reached up and twirled a lock of my hair around his finger before releasing it. Usually, unsolicited hair-touching wasn’t something I’d tolerate, but for some reason I didn’t mind when Mike did it.
Shit. I liked him.
“Because I went to the salon and got it done for my very important work thing on Monday, and I need to make it last until then.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded and returned his hand to my hip.
“But you should go.”
“Not without you.”
“Come on. I dare you.”
“Okay.” He turned to face me before putting his hands on my hips and turning me to face him. “If I run through that fountain, I want something in return.”
“What?” I asked, biting my lip, hoping the answer was another kiss.
“I want another kiss.” His smile faded, and I suddenly felt like I was in the middle of a serious business negotiation. Mike could’ve had all the kisses he wanted without running through the fountain, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun.
“Fine”—I held out my hand for another shake—“but you have to really get in there, not a quick jump in and jump out.”
“Whatever the lady wants.” Mike began to toe off his sneakers and unbutton his pants.
“What are you doing?” I squealed.
“I’m not gonna run through there with my clothes on.” He continued to undress to whoops and hollers from the gathering crowd. I turned around to see that Mike had more than a few admirers, female and otherwise. I could see why.
He was standing in front of me in a white tank top and black boxer briefs. Every muscle on his six-foot-something frame was chiseled, well-defined, and incredibly distracting, and not just to me.
“See something you like?” Mike’s mocking tone alerted me to the fact that my eyes had traveled further south than I intended, and I felt my face heat.
“Shut up and get in the fountain, pretty boy,” I said.
“Yeah, get in the fountain!” a high-pitched female voice squealed beside me. She was a tall, thin, pretty girl who looked a couple of years younger than me, with waist-length brown hair and a deep tan, wearing knee-high Uggs, denim cut-off shorts, and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt with the strings of a pink bikini tied around her neck. Before I could think twice about it, I reached up, grabbed the back of Mike’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. The crowd cheered.
“What was that?” he asked with a grin when our lips separated.
“A down payment,” I whispered.
It definitely wasn’t jealousy or some weird primal urge to claim Mike as mine, because that wouldn’t make any sense. Would it?
“You know this is a double standard, right?”
“I don’t make the rules.”
“I’m not complaining,” he laughed.
“Give me your phone. We should memorialize this.”
Mike reached into the pile of clothes I was holding in my arms, retrieved his phone, unlocked it, and then handed it to me.
“Go!” I said, holding up the phone.
Mike took off running toward the fountain and almost slipped on the slick stone surface, making the crowd gasp. Once he secured his footing, he raised his fists in triumph and the crowd cheered. He then began strutting through the jets of water like Mick Jagger while the crowd clapped a beat, succeeding in getting himself soaking wet. Mike’s water show continued with more silly dance moves, during which he was joined by more kids, and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t hold the phone straight. He finished his routine with a poorly executed moonwalk before he held out his hands with his eyebrows raised in question and yelled, “Are you not entertained?!”
I nodded, still laughing, and he walked toward me with his deadly dimples on full display. The white tank top clung to his chest and torso, outlining well-defined pecs and what was definitely a washboard.
“That was amazing,” a voice called from beside me. It was the woman in the Ugg boots, and she was joined by a slightly older man who had his arm around her waist. She was holding a towel. “Here. We just drove in from the beach and we always carry spares.”
“Thanks.” Mike grabbed the towel and started drying off.
“Babe,” she addressed the man holding her. “This guy jumped into the fountain to impress this pretty girl. Remind you of anyone?” She planted a kiss on his lips, and I noticed her giant diamond ring.
“I would dive into a million fountains for you, baby doll.”
“I’m Cam, and this is Beckett.” She tilted her head at her husband. “We’ve been together for twenty years,” she said proudly.
Twenty years?!
This woman would have to be at least in her late thirties. How was that possible? “Married for fifteen. How about you two?”
I was too stunned to speak. Then I realized that I’d have to tell this woman that I’d only met Mike this morning. Before I could open my mouth, Mike put his hand on my shoulder and spoke for the both of us.
“Three years.” He winked at me when I shot him a questioning glance.
“That’s so cool. You thinking about getting married?” she asked as Mike handed her the damp towel, thanking her.
“Yeah, I keep asking and she keeps turning me down.” He sighed and shook his head. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I’m holding out for a ring like yours,” I replied to our nosy new friend, and I heard Mike snort a laugh under his breath.
“You’re smart.” She tapped her forehead sagely. “But don’t keep him on the hook too long. There are only a few good ones left.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I smiled at her, and Mike and I watched her lock hands with her husband and walk away.
“Okay.” I whipped around to face him. “How old do you think that woman was?”
“I don’t know,” Mike shrugged. “Twenty-four. Fifty-seven. It’s hard to tell sometimes. And I wasn’t really paying attention to her.” He gazed down at me before using the back of his fingertips to caress my face. His fingers were still damp with a slight chill, and it was oddly refreshing.
“Do you have a hair tie?”
“Do… Do you need a hair tie?”
Mike laughed at my confused expression.
“Don’t all women walk around with a hair tie on their wrist?”
“No. Not all women.”
He reached under the pile of clothes I was carrying, grabbed my wrist and held it up. There was a thin black hair elastic under my watchband.
“That’s anecdotal, and it proves nothing,” I said.
“I’m gonna get dressed, and you’re gonna use that hair tie to put your hair up, because I’m about to kiss the hell out of you and I don’t want to be responsible for any collateral damage.”
5
And kiss the hell out of me, he did. After he got dressed and I pulled my hair up into a messy top knot, Mike wrapped one arm around my waist and wrapped his other hand around the back of my neck and pulled me into him.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered before he closed the distance between our mouths. I didn’t waste any time before wrapping my arms around his neck and parting my lips, sliding my tongue into his eager mouth. He let out a low growl when I pressed myself onto my tiptoes and clutched handfuls of his wet hair. I didn’t want him to have any doubt that this was exactly what I wanted. Every inch of my flesh was shimmering with electricity. Mike’s palm roamed my back and his fingertips grazed the skin along the waistband of my jeans, radiating heat to the rest of my body.
If we were in a movie, it would be one of those shots where they put the camera on one of those circular train-track thingies, a song
like “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer would play, and digital fireflies would be added in post-production. If the crowd’s reaction was any indication, “Pony” by Ginuwine would have been a more accurate song choice. A chorus of howls and whistles surrounded us with cries of “Get a room, you two,” and someone definitely said, “They are gonna fuuuuuck,” making us laugh so hard that we broke our kiss.
“We should stop,” I whispered.
“You’re probably right,” he said before brushing his lips over mine again. I giggled.
“So, where are you taking me now?” I asked, pressing two fingers over my lips, which were tingling with sensation.
“Wow. I definitely did not plan this far ahead. I was sure I would have driven you off by now.” He began to look around before he paused and pointed behind him. “Movie?”
I liked the idea of spending time in a dark enclosed space with Mike, so I nodded. We walked to the ArcLight and bought two tickets for the next movie.
By some stroke of divine intervention, I got to spend two hours looking at Chris Evans and kissing Mike’s face off in a dark corner of the theater. I even let him get to second base.
“Were you thinking about Chris Evans when you were kissing me?” Mike asked with a smirk when we left the theater, hand in hand.
“Do you want me to say no, or tell you the truth?” I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth and grinned up at him. Mike answered me with a deep belly laugh before leaning down and planting a kiss on my lips. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that I was thinking about you and Chris Evans at the same time?”
Mike paused mid-step and furrowed his brow in mock concentration for a second before nodding. “Actually, yeah. That does make me feel better.”
I laughed and playfully slapped him on the chest. He covered my hand with his, and we continued to walk.
“So, what did you think about the movie?” he asked.
“I thought it was great.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Hmm.” I had to think because I honestly didn’t remember watching the movie. “The part where they took the knives out?” I smiled innocently at him and shrugged.
Mike snorted a laugh and said, “I love you.”
My heart stopped and I looked up at him. “What?”
“I meant I love your sense of humor. You’re so funny.” Mike blushed again.
“Mm-hmm.” I gave him a skeptical look.
“Seriously.”
“Well, I love the way your face turns red when you’re embarrassed.”
Mike flushed brighter and wiped a hand over his face.
“Thank my dad for that.”
“Thanks, Mike’s dad.” I grinned at him, and he kissed me before we stopped in front of another building.
“I want to take you one more place before we call it a night.”
“Mike.” I looked up at a brightly lit canopy and people walking in and out with luggage. “This is a hotel.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Really, Jordyn? After everything we’ve been through?” He hit me with a mock scandalized expression. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
I laughed again as he led me inside, but I’m pretty sure my mind had been in the gutter since he kissed me.
We ended up in a bar on the second floor. Mike ordered himself a Voodoo IPA and I decided to stick with tequila and ordered a cocktail called The Wicked Witch.
“This place is pretty cool.” I nodded, looking around.
“Told you.” He smirked. “So, what should we toast to this time?”
“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “To Montague.”
“Montague?”
“That’s what I named the lion. His friends call him Monty.”
Mike laughed again. “Okay, to Monty.”
“To Monty.”
We clinked our glasses together and took a sip. My drink was spicier than I was expecting, and it made my lips pucker.
“Good?” he asked.
“Very good,” I responded, and noticed he had a thin mustache of foam on his upper lip. I reached out and wiped it away with the pad of my thumb. Mike captured my wrist and sucked the tip of my thumb into his mouth.
“Mike,” I whisper-shouted. “We’re in public.”
“I don’t care.” He leaned forward and kissed me.
“Well, I do,” I laughed and pushed him away.
“Fine”—he fake-pouted—“but this isn’t over.”
I chuckled and looked around the bar. It was dark and sexy with a lot of wood and red velvet.
“This lounge is designed to look like a prohibition-style speakeasy.”
“That’s cool.” I reached for my glass.
“And when the Wizard of Oz was being filmed, the actors that played the munchkins threw wild parties, had orgies, and trashed the hotel.”
I froze with my drink halfway to my mouth.
“For real?”
“Allegedly.” He shrugged and took another sip of his beer.
“So, you brought me to a speakeasy in a hotel famous for its orgies?”
“When you put it that way, I guess I did.” He chuckled.
“I approve.” I nodded and took another sip of my drink. I snuggled next to Mike on the velvet couch, and he put his arm around my shoulder.
“So, your mom is Colombian?”
“Born and raised.”
“And your dad?”
“Dad was born and raised in Chicago and he is Irish, Scottish, and Italian.”
“What do your parents do?”
“Well, my dad is a semi-retired entertainment lawyer and my mom ran a modeling school for a while, but now she does pageant consulting.”
“Did your sisters ever model?”
“My mom forbade them from ever going into modeling so, of course, my little sister, Erica, has been modeling since she was sixteen.”
“How old is she now?”
“Twenty-three.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“A little. The only person I ever spoke Spanish with regularly was my grandmother, and after she passed away”—he shrugged—“I guess I got out of practice. It’s a little embarrassing.”
“Your grandmother lived in the US?” I asked.
“My grandmother lived with us. When my parents got married and Mom found out she was pregnant, my grandmother moved in to help out and stayed.” He shrugged again.
“That must have been nice.”
“Yeah, it was. She had the best laugh, and she loved practical jokes. She was also lethal with a wooden spoon. Watching her and my dad fight was always hilarious.”
“Really?”
“Yes, my grandmother refused to learn English, and Dad never learned to speak Spanish aside from a couple of words, but that wouldn’t stop them from having all-day screaming matches. Sometimes, Mom would translate, but usually, she would ignore them.” He laughed at the memory, and I found something else I loved about him.
“That must have been tough for them.”
Mike laughed. “Nah. Those two loved each other. It was the weirdest thing. My dad lost his mom when he was a kid, so I think my grandmother was like the mother he never had. Her funeral was the first time I’d ever seen him cry… Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I wiped my eyes. “It’s the tequila. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, I can’t end the night with you in tears.” He planted a kiss on the top of my head and sat up. “Do you want another one?”
I nodded.
“Same thing, or something different?”
“Surprise me.”
Mike signaled for a server, ordered himself another beer, and a drink for me called Glinda the Good Witch. “To balance things out,” he said.
“I have another question for you.”
“Another question?” Mike laughed.
“Yes. Am I asking too many questions?�
� The drinks were making me sentimental, giddy, and a little bold.
“Never. Ask away.”
“Do you consider yourself an alpha, beta, cinnamon roll, alphahole or rake?”
“Hmm, I never thought about it? I did go through a rake phase in college.” He shrugged. “What do you think I am?”
“Wait, go back to your rake phase.”
“Ugh. I’m not proud of it, but I was a horny college kid who’d spent most of my teenage years reading books that contained a lot of different ways to seduce and satisfy women.”
“You used your powers for evil.” I gasped and slapped him on the bicep.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” He bopped my nose with his fingertip. “Now, answer my question.”
“I wasn’t sure at first, but after you freaked out about that kiss at the fountain… definitely a cinnamon roll.” I tried to stifle a laugh.
“I didn’t freak out.”
“You kinda did, but I thought it was sweet.” I leaned up and kissed him.
“Hmph,” he snorted.
“Why did you tell Cam that we’d been together for three years?”
“Mostly because I didn’t want to tell her that I stripped down to my underwear and jumped in a fountain for a girl I’d only met eight hours ago.”
“Are you ashamed that you made a fool of yourself publicly for a kiss?”
“I would dive into a million fountains for you, baby doll.” Mike mimicked Beckett’s voice and I giggled for longer than I’d meant to, making him chuckle.
“And partly because I wish I’d met you three years ago.” He kissed me again.
“I have a question for you,” he asked when our lips separated.
“We have been together for three years, so…” I shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s your super important work thing on Monday?”
“It’s a job interview.”
“Okay…” He raised his eyebrows, apparently not satisfied with that answer.
“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m being cryptic, it’s not like a top secret, CIA-type interview. I’m just really excited about it, and I’m afraid if I talk about it too much, I’ll jinx it. I know it’s silly.”
“It’s not silly.”
