“Plural?”
I nudge his shoulder with mine. “I’m wanting more than I have, remember?”
“Okay,” he chuckles, nudging me back. “Anything else?”
“A good book and several Mai Tais,” I say. “And what about you? Where would you be?”
“Standing in front of a frozen lake.”
“You won’t be cold there?”
“Well, it’s not Mai Tai weather, but I’d be dressed for it.”
My shoulder. His. “Or you could borrow something warm from a man you’ve just met.”
There’s more I want to say. Or ask, really. A frozen lake is a hell of a wish for someone raised in Southern California, but maybe it’s as simple as that. A wish for something he’s never had.
Either way, I keep my mouth shut when he touches me.
His pinky hooks around mine on top of a blanket nobody in the world can see, and when I don’t flinch, Jamie keeps going. It’s still careful, the way he takes my hand and threads our fingers together, and I wonder whether he keeps our hands resting on my thigh because it’s safer for him to be the one who will have to pull away.
I don’t care. I’ll give this beautiful stranger whatever he’ll allow himself to take, and then I’ll go home and pray for the chance to do it again.
“Do you let all the boys touch you after they buy you tacos?” he asks.
The levity feels out of place now, but I shrug. “Depends on how much I liked the tacos, I guess.”
“So, you liked them tonight?”
“I’ve liked everything tonight.”
My thumb arcs over the back of his hand in case it’s the extra reassurance he needs before the next several seconds are spent staring straight ahead, the silence brought to a gentle end when Jamie takesanother deep breath.
“I really don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You’re letting yourself get lost in something so much bigger than you and pretending your time here doesn’t count.”
He looks at me then. Really, reallylooksat me. “I want it to count.”
“So do I.”
“Mateo—”
I cut him off by pressing the fingers of my free hand to his lips, and his grip on me tightens almost imperceptibly in response. Without the benefit of more light, I can’t see whether his troubled blue eyes have been overcome by black, but his mouth opens against my fingertips. It’s not wide enough to suggest he has something to say, but the cockiest part of me thinks he’d let me slip them inside, even if it would be unfair to try.
“Have you done this before?” I ask.
In the next split second, I expect Jamie to close his mouth and frown or look away. Maybe let go of my hand. He could even stand and leave me all alone with the blanket and the arousal that warms my blood and kicks at my chest.
None of it happens, though.
I feel his fingers close around my wrist before he pulls my hand away from his mouth, and I barely have time to register his strength before he’s kissing me, the tenderness of it matched only by how goddamn sure he is. His confidence probably answers my question, and for a long time, I don’t worry about it, both of us opening for each other when something more passive isn’t enough. I don’t realize we’re not holding hands anymore until we have fistfuls of clothes and Jamie’s fingers are surprisingly light against my cheek.
He tastes vaguely of tacos and hope, and I think he could say the same about me.
When we take separate breaths again, our foreheads are pressedtogether, and I can feel him shake.
“Yeah, I’ve done this before, but it’s not—” Jamie trails off and steals the softest kiss before he goes on. “All the rides other people gave me—the places we went and the things we did—it wasn’t like this.”