“Okay,” I said, because I couldn’t say no. I grabbed the sweatshirt from him and slid it on. Warm, cozy, and smelled just like him. I was half considering jacking this tomorrow when I headed back to NYC.
“‘Okay’?” He was looking at me like he was waiting for the punch line.
I slid the hood into position for good measure. “Okay.”
“Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, Lucy Larson,” he said, winding his arm around my neck and pulling me close, “you go and do something totally unexpected. Like listen to me.”
I slid my hand into the back pocket of his jeans as we headed toward my little slice of beachfront property. “Also in the fine print, below ballbusting,” I said, hip-checking him, “soon-to-be wives are required to keep soon-to-be husbands on pins and needles at all times.”
“Ahh,” he said, “I really need to check out all that fine print.”
“If you don’t get to reading it, I’m sure I’ll manage to give you a real-life demonstration of each and every point somewhere along the way,” I said as we approached my beach towel. “What’s for dinner? And please don’t pull a can of caviar and a bottle of champagne from that bag or else I’m calling for an intervention.”
He held out the paper bag for me. “Because I knew it would . . .” My brows lifted. “. . . absolutely not make you happy or unhappy, because money has no say in your happiness meter”—he popped his brows, obviously pleased with himself—“I picked up a few fish tacos from a street vendor and some cheap beer from a gas station.”
He grinned like the devil and shook the bag. I grabbed it and plopped down on the towel before tearing it open. “Fish tacos from a street vendor and PBR?” I said, not sure whether to go for the beer or the tacos first. My stomach made the decision for me. “That, my love, makes me very, very happy.” I pulled out a wrapped taco and tossed it into his lap once he sat down.
“Of course a dinner that cost me ten bucks would make you happy,” he said, tearing the wrapper back. “Can you be any more infuriating?”
That was the million-dollar question.
Snagging a beer from the bag, I twisted the cap off and handed it to him. “Wow. You really missed the fine print if you don’t know the answer to that, babe.”
He bit off half the taco and rolled his eyes. “Eat your dinner,” he said around a mouthful of food. “I can hear your stomach grumbling from over here.”
Tearing my wrapper back from mine, I tapped his before taking a bite.
Damn. Okay, so Cali could rock the sun, the beach, and the fish tacos.
“Good?” Jude asked as I continued the love affair in my mouth.
I remembered my manners and waited until I’d swallowed my food before answering. “Good is an insult to the greatness that is this fish taco.” I took another bite as Jude grabbed another beer out of the bag. After twisting the cap off, he held it out. “Finish it with a swig of this and life will be redefined as you know it, Luce.”
I didn’t even wait to finish chewing before I took a drink. Holy taste-bud orgasm.
“Yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said, clinking his bottle against mine before taking a drink.
“I. Love. You,” I said, taking another bite. “So. Much. So, so much.”
Stuffing the other half of the taco into his mouth, he stared at me in that way I’d grown accustomed to. Like I was everything he wanted and everything he ever would want. I don’t know how his eyes were able to express this, but they did. Finishing his ginormous bite, he molded his hand against my cheek. “I love you. So much. So damn much, Luce.”
Leaning into his warm hand, I clinked my bottle against his. “Cheers.”
TEN
Two fish tacos, two beers, and two hours later, I was still not ready to leave. Not even close to it.
“You want the last one?” Jude asked, holding out a taco.
“It’s all yours,” I said. Scooting behind him, I skimmed my hands up his shirt. “You want a massage?” It wasn’t so much a question as a formality. In four years, I’d never known Jude to turn down a massage.
“Hell yes,” he said around a mouthful of fish taco.
Applying pressure, I worked my thumbs up the muscles of his spine. He sighed, leaning into my touch. “Does that feel good?”
“Hell yes.” He dropped the taco and hung his head.
I pressed my thumbs into the exposed muscles of his neck. “How about this?” I said, never sure how much pressure he’d want applied. Some days it was barely any, like he just liked the feel of my hands on him. Other days I couldn’t seem to punish the muscles hard enough. “Is that still all right?” I asked, pinching the muscles running from his neck to his shoulders.
He groaned. “Hell yes.”
“Sounds like it’s a ‘hell yes’ kind of night.”
He hung his neck lower, giving me better access. “Hell yes.”
It’d been dark for a while, but we’d watched the sun set earlier and it was a sight I knew I’d never forget. I was starting to understand what the tens of millions of people who lived here saw in the place.
“Could you imagine doing this every night?” I said, working over a nasty knot around his shoulder blade. “Tacos and cheap beer on the beach?”
“Sounds like one hell of a life, Luce,” he replied. “I’d be down with that.”
o;Okay,” I said, because I couldn’t say no. I grabbed the sweatshirt from him and slid it on. Warm, cozy, and smelled just like him. I was half considering jacking this tomorrow when I headed back to NYC.
“‘Okay’?” He was looking at me like he was waiting for the punch line.
I slid the hood into position for good measure. “Okay.”
“Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, Lucy Larson,” he said, winding his arm around my neck and pulling me close, “you go and do something totally unexpected. Like listen to me.”
I slid my hand into the back pocket of his jeans as we headed toward my little slice of beachfront property. “Also in the fine print, below ballbusting,” I said, hip-checking him, “soon-to-be wives are required to keep soon-to-be husbands on pins and needles at all times.”
“Ahh,” he said, “I really need to check out all that fine print.”
“If you don’t get to reading it, I’m sure I’ll manage to give you a real-life demonstration of each and every point somewhere along the way,” I said as we approached my beach towel. “What’s for dinner? And please don’t pull a can of caviar and a bottle of champagne from that bag or else I’m calling for an intervention.”
He held out the paper bag for me. “Because I knew it would . . .” My brows lifted. “. . . absolutely not make you happy or unhappy, because money has no say in your happiness meter”—he popped his brows, obviously pleased with himself—“I picked up a few fish tacos from a street vendor and some cheap beer from a gas station.”
He grinned like the devil and shook the bag. I grabbed it and plopped down on the towel before tearing it open. “Fish tacos from a street vendor and PBR?” I said, not sure whether to go for the beer or the tacos first. My stomach made the decision for me. “That, my love, makes me very, very happy.” I pulled out a wrapped taco and tossed it into his lap once he sat down.
“Of course a dinner that cost me ten bucks would make you happy,” he said, tearing the wrapper back. “Can you be any more infuriating?”
That was the million-dollar question.
Snagging a beer from the bag, I twisted the cap off and handed it to him. “Wow. You really missed the fine print if you don’t know the answer to that, babe.”
He bit off half the taco and rolled his eyes. “Eat your dinner,” he said around a mouthful of food. “I can hear your stomach grumbling from over here.”
Tearing my wrapper back from mine, I tapped his before taking a bite.
Damn. Okay, so Cali could rock the sun, the beach, and the fish tacos.
“Good?” Jude asked as I continued the love affair in my mouth.
I remembered my manners and waited until I’d swallowed my food before answering. “Good is an insult to the greatness that is this fish taco.” I took another bite as Jude grabbed another beer out of the bag. After twisting the cap off, he held it out. “Finish it with a swig of this and life will be redefined as you know it, Luce.”
I didn’t even wait to finish chewing before I took a drink. Holy taste-bud orgasm.
“Yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said, clinking his bottle against mine before taking a drink.
“I. Love. You,” I said, taking another bite. “So. Much. So, so much.”
Stuffing the other half of the taco into his mouth, he stared at me in that way I’d grown accustomed to. Like I was everything he wanted and everything he ever would want. I don’t know how his eyes were able to express this, but they did. Finishing his ginormous bite, he molded his hand against my cheek. “I love you. So much. So damn much, Luce.”
Leaning into his warm hand, I clinked my bottle against his. “Cheers.”
TEN
Two fish tacos, two beers, and two hours later, I was still not ready to leave. Not even close to it.
“You want the last one?” Jude asked, holding out a taco.
“It’s all yours,” I said. Scooting behind him, I skimmed my hands up his shirt. “You want a massage?” It wasn’t so much a question as a formality. In four years, I’d never known Jude to turn down a massage.
“Hell yes,” he said around a mouthful of fish taco.
Applying pressure, I worked my thumbs up the muscles of his spine. He sighed, leaning into my touch. “Does that feel good?”
“Hell yes.” He dropped the taco and hung his head.
I pressed my thumbs into the exposed muscles of his neck. “How about this?” I said, never sure how much pressure he’d want applied. Some days it was barely any, like he just liked the feel of my hands on him. Other days I couldn’t seem to punish the muscles hard enough. “Is that still all right?” I asked, pinching the muscles running from his neck to his shoulders.
He groaned. “Hell yes.”
“Sounds like it’s a ‘hell yes’ kind of night.”
He hung his neck lower, giving me better access. “Hell yes.”
It’d been dark for a while, but we’d watched the sun set earlier and it was a sight I knew I’d never forget. I was starting to understand what the tens of millions of people who lived here saw in the place.
“Could you imagine doing this every night?” I said, working over a nasty knot around his shoulder blade. “Tacos and cheap beer on the beach?”
“Sounds like one hell of a life, Luce,” he replied. “I’d be down with that.”