back.
"Hi," Nate said, and I got the feeling that the only reason his smile wasn't wider was that he was trying very hard not to let it. At least, that's why mine wasn't.
"Hi," I said.
"Well," said Nate, kicking out the chair opposite him so I could sit, "what do you want to do today?"
"Anything," I said, meaning it in that moment. We could sit here all day drinking lukewarm coffee and I'd be wholly content.
Nate nodded. "Okay. You wanna get scooters again and hit up the places we didn't see last time? I could take more pictures of you looking like a serial killer to show your friends and family when you get home."
That also sounded lovely.
"Yeah, if by serial killer you mean international male model superstar, then yes."
"Of course that's what I meant," he said, nowhere close to placating, and not being at all stealthy about sneaking a strawberry off my plate.
I pointed my butter knife at him, choice weapon of the serial killer about town. "You're on thin ice, buddy."
Nate rolled an insouciant shoulder, letting my empty warning slick right off. "Nah, you'd be caught within days. Those nice people over there are going to remember that I was last seen with you."
I followed the line of his gaze to where a group of young holidaymakers were tucking into their breakfasts with avid enthusiasm, paying absolutely no attention to us. "What's to remember? They haven't even noticed the both of us staring at them."
It was the perfect set-up, though I didn't realize it until Nate was out of his chair and leaning over me.
"This," he said. With his hands on either side of my face, Nate bruised a kiss to my lips.
Where last night's kiss had been tentative and curious, this one knew exactly what it was doing, and what it was doing was lighting a white fire inside me that burned its way from my core to the tips of my nerve endings.
And fuck, but if it wasn't fantastic.
After an eternity that managed to condense itself into what must have been only a matter of seconds, Nate pulled away, the light in his eyes playful and a little bit smug. He patted my left cheek twice, as if to jolt me out of catatonia, which I might have normally found an unfair presupposition, but it turned out that I kind of needed it, because I didn't even remember having stood up or circling my arms around him.
"Yup," I said, once I remembered how to form words. "That-- that leaves an impression."
Nate laughed softly, and I kissed him again, for the hell of it.
One of the girls at the other table did a "Whooo!" at us, and while I slowly shriveled up and died of embarrassment, Nate inclined his head toward her to acknowledge her approval.
"You guys are so cute together," our personal, onewoman cheerleading squad offered without provocation.
"Oh, thanks," Nate said, beaming, his fingers playing with the back hem of my shirt.
We chatted with the affable group, all Australians, for a few minutes, trading tips on what things to see and places to avoid. They invited us along on a day trip they were taking to another of the nearby islands, but Nate graciously declined for the both of us.
Once they left, we sat down again and Nate leaned forward conspiratorially. "We're cute together," he announced.
"In all fairness, I think that's mostly down to you. I'm just happy to be here."
Nate made a face at me. "Come on, I wouldn't have started flirting with you if I didn't think you were cute. Better than cute."
"Oh," I said, pausing with a fork of pineapple halfway to my mouth, "you really were flirting that day? When we first met? I didn't-- I can't tell these things."
"Yeah," he laughed. "I was definitely flirting. I noticed you right off the bat, and I said to myself, 'Self, you will regret it forever if you don't talk to him.' So I did."
"Huh," I said.
Nate cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. "You don't believe me, do you?"
I shrugged, making a noncommittal sound.
"Emory," he said sternly, "you're a very handsome young man."
"Well, now you just sound like my Aunt Catherine."
"Who is
"Hi," Nate said, and I got the feeling that the only reason his smile wasn't wider was that he was trying very hard not to let it. At least, that's why mine wasn't.
"Hi," I said.
"Well," said Nate, kicking out the chair opposite him so I could sit, "what do you want to do today?"
"Anything," I said, meaning it in that moment. We could sit here all day drinking lukewarm coffee and I'd be wholly content.
Nate nodded. "Okay. You wanna get scooters again and hit up the places we didn't see last time? I could take more pictures of you looking like a serial killer to show your friends and family when you get home."
That also sounded lovely.
"Yeah, if by serial killer you mean international male model superstar, then yes."
"Of course that's what I meant," he said, nowhere close to placating, and not being at all stealthy about sneaking a strawberry off my plate.
I pointed my butter knife at him, choice weapon of the serial killer about town. "You're on thin ice, buddy."
Nate rolled an insouciant shoulder, letting my empty warning slick right off. "Nah, you'd be caught within days. Those nice people over there are going to remember that I was last seen with you."
I followed the line of his gaze to where a group of young holidaymakers were tucking into their breakfasts with avid enthusiasm, paying absolutely no attention to us. "What's to remember? They haven't even noticed the both of us staring at them."
It was the perfect set-up, though I didn't realize it until Nate was out of his chair and leaning over me.
"This," he said. With his hands on either side of my face, Nate bruised a kiss to my lips.
Where last night's kiss had been tentative and curious, this one knew exactly what it was doing, and what it was doing was lighting a white fire inside me that burned its way from my core to the tips of my nerve endings.
And fuck, but if it wasn't fantastic.
After an eternity that managed to condense itself into what must have been only a matter of seconds, Nate pulled away, the light in his eyes playful and a little bit smug. He patted my left cheek twice, as if to jolt me out of catatonia, which I might have normally found an unfair presupposition, but it turned out that I kind of needed it, because I didn't even remember having stood up or circling my arms around him.
"Yup," I said, once I remembered how to form words. "That-- that leaves an impression."
Nate laughed softly, and I kissed him again, for the hell of it.
One of the girls at the other table did a "Whooo!" at us, and while I slowly shriveled up and died of embarrassment, Nate inclined his head toward her to acknowledge her approval.
"You guys are so cute together," our personal, onewoman cheerleading squad offered without provocation.
"Oh, thanks," Nate said, beaming, his fingers playing with the back hem of my shirt.
We chatted with the affable group, all Australians, for a few minutes, trading tips on what things to see and places to avoid. They invited us along on a day trip they were taking to another of the nearby islands, but Nate graciously declined for the both of us.
Once they left, we sat down again and Nate leaned forward conspiratorially. "We're cute together," he announced.
"In all fairness, I think that's mostly down to you. I'm just happy to be here."
Nate made a face at me. "Come on, I wouldn't have started flirting with you if I didn't think you were cute. Better than cute."
"Oh," I said, pausing with a fork of pineapple halfway to my mouth, "you really were flirting that day? When we first met? I didn't-- I can't tell these things."
"Yeah," he laughed. "I was definitely flirting. I noticed you right off the bat, and I said to myself, 'Self, you will regret it forever if you don't talk to him.' So I did."
"Huh," I said.
Nate cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. "You don't believe me, do you?"
I shrugged, making a noncommittal sound.
"Emory," he said sternly, "you're a very handsome young man."
"Well, now you just sound like my Aunt Catherine."
"Who is
Similar Books
