this.”
“This?”
“Girls,” he clarified. “I’m not good at girls.”
She blinked, her high self-esteem and lack of English proficiency combining to confuse her. “I don’t understand.”
He patted her arm like a father. “I’m sure you’ll find a lovely boy.”
Oh Jesus. He was going to die a virgin.Stark humiliation swirled with relief as she turned on her heel and stalked off the dance floor. He glanced back at Camila to find her book covering most of her face, except her eyes. She lowered them quickly when he looked at her, but it was too late. He’d caught her staring.
He grinned, confidence rising inside him again, and made his way over to her, plopping down in the chair next tohers.
“Good book?”
“Riveting.”
“What’s it about?”
“Two families in San Diego just after the U.S. took California from Mexico.”
“Sounds old.”
She half smiled and finally looked at him. “It was written in the late nineteenth century.”
“Ah. Do you read a lot of Victorian literature?”
That made her roll her eyes at him. “Victoria might’ve been your queen then,but she wasn’t everybody’s. This is one of the earliest Chicano novels written in English.”
He shouldn’t have asked her about books. He’d been patting himself on the back for remembering the late nineteenth century meant Victorian. If it was more literary than
Jurassic Park,
he was in over his head. “So Chicano was…your king?”
“Oh my God.” She slapped the book against her thighs. “Wheredo you think I’m from?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I would’ve said America but your accent changes sometimes. Not a lot. Just enough to throw me off.”
She stuck out her hand to shake his. It was warm, soft and small, but powerful enough to shoot shivers of desire through him. “I’m Camila. I’m from Montana.”
“Montana? Like, in the U.S.?”
“That’s the only one I know of, yeah. Butmy accent might change because my dad’s Mexican. I usually spend my summers with him in L.A. and Baja. And Chicano isn’t a king. Or a president or any particular person. Chicano means Mexican-American.”
“Got it. So you’re Chicano.”
“Chicana, since I’m a girl.”
A very cute girl. Not sudden-stiffie gorgeous, but cute. He still held her hand. They both seemed to realize it at the sametime. She held his gaze and swallowed hard enough that he could see the muscles of her throat working.
“Do you have a name?”
He smiled. “Ash.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Ash.”
“You too, Camila.”
She slipped her hand out of his and pressed it against her thigh. Oh, fuck. Were his hands sweaty?
“So I saw you dancing with Bubble Butt. Did she take care of your problem?”
Ash blinked. “That was her?”
“Seriously? You didn’t even look at her face the other day at the beach? Yeah, that was her you were just dry humping.”
“Oh. Uh, no. Still got that issue.”
“Looking women in the eyes instead of the ass might help.”
“I’m looking you in the eyes.” And what stunning eyes. Even in this dim light he could drown in them. A hollow ache opened up lowin his belly, need pulsing hot and hard.
“My eyes are much nicer than my ass. I know this about myself.”
Okay, this felt like one of those girl conversations he would have to tread carefully around. Not exactly his forte. “I’m sure your ass is perfectly nice. I mean, I’ve never
seen
it—”
But I’d like to.
“It’s okay. I’d wouldn’t want the kind of body boys can’t take their eyesoff of. Conversations feel better than sex anyway. Not to disappoint you, or anything,” she rushed to reassure him. “I’m sure you’ll really enjoy it when you do it. Boys always do.”
She’d hidden so much meaning in that little speech that he didn’t know what to begin unpacking first. “So you’re not a virgin?”
Okay, apparently he was going for the most important shit first.
“No.”
Somehow that made him feel better.
“This?”
“Girls,” he clarified. “I’m not good at girls.”
She blinked, her high self-esteem and lack of English proficiency combining to confuse her. “I don’t understand.”
He patted her arm like a father. “I’m sure you’ll find a lovely boy.”
Oh Jesus. He was going to die a virgin.Stark humiliation swirled with relief as she turned on her heel and stalked off the dance floor. He glanced back at Camila to find her book covering most of her face, except her eyes. She lowered them quickly when he looked at her, but it was too late. He’d caught her staring.
He grinned, confidence rising inside him again, and made his way over to her, plopping down in the chair next tohers.
“Good book?”
“Riveting.”
“What’s it about?”
“Two families in San Diego just after the U.S. took California from Mexico.”
“Sounds old.”
She half smiled and finally looked at him. “It was written in the late nineteenth century.”
“Ah. Do you read a lot of Victorian literature?”
That made her roll her eyes at him. “Victoria might’ve been your queen then,but she wasn’t everybody’s. This is one of the earliest Chicano novels written in English.”
He shouldn’t have asked her about books. He’d been patting himself on the back for remembering the late nineteenth century meant Victorian. If it was more literary than
Jurassic Park,
he was in over his head. “So Chicano was…your king?”
“Oh my God.” She slapped the book against her thighs. “Wheredo you think I’m from?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I would’ve said America but your accent changes sometimes. Not a lot. Just enough to throw me off.”
She stuck out her hand to shake his. It was warm, soft and small, but powerful enough to shoot shivers of desire through him. “I’m Camila. I’m from Montana.”
“Montana? Like, in the U.S.?”
“That’s the only one I know of, yeah. Butmy accent might change because my dad’s Mexican. I usually spend my summers with him in L.A. and Baja. And Chicano isn’t a king. Or a president or any particular person. Chicano means Mexican-American.”
“Got it. So you’re Chicano.”
“Chicana, since I’m a girl.”
A very cute girl. Not sudden-stiffie gorgeous, but cute. He still held her hand. They both seemed to realize it at the sametime. She held his gaze and swallowed hard enough that he could see the muscles of her throat working.
“Do you have a name?”
He smiled. “Ash.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Ash.”
“You too, Camila.”
She slipped her hand out of his and pressed it against her thigh. Oh, fuck. Were his hands sweaty?
“So I saw you dancing with Bubble Butt. Did she take care of your problem?”
Ash blinked. “That was her?”
“Seriously? You didn’t even look at her face the other day at the beach? Yeah, that was her you were just dry humping.”
“Oh. Uh, no. Still got that issue.”
“Looking women in the eyes instead of the ass might help.”
“I’m looking you in the eyes.” And what stunning eyes. Even in this dim light he could drown in them. A hollow ache opened up lowin his belly, need pulsing hot and hard.
“My eyes are much nicer than my ass. I know this about myself.”
Okay, this felt like one of those girl conversations he would have to tread carefully around. Not exactly his forte. “I’m sure your ass is perfectly nice. I mean, I’ve never
seen
it—”
But I’d like to.
“It’s okay. I’d wouldn’t want the kind of body boys can’t take their eyesoff of. Conversations feel better than sex anyway. Not to disappoint you, or anything,” she rushed to reassure him. “I’m sure you’ll really enjoy it when you do it. Boys always do.”
She’d hidden so much meaning in that little speech that he didn’t know what to begin unpacking first. “So you’re not a virgin?”
Okay, apparently he was going for the most important shit first.
“No.”
Somehow that made him feel better.
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