“Oh my—”
“Mouth closed.” She applies the lipstick carefully. “I’m not saying you need to drag him to your bed. Though you should. But it would be nice, if you had an hour here, alone with him.” She studies her work. “Press together.”
I do. “It would be nice.”
“Text me if you need more time.”
“More time for what—”
“You’ll know what.” She applies one more coat of lipstick. Drops the tube in her purse. “Is it okay?” She motions to the drinks.
I’m not sure if she’s asking about my tolerance for alcohol or my tolerance for going off my routine.
Either way, it is.
It has to be.
I nod.
She smiles good. Turns back to the guys. “Where’s our next drink?”
“Who’s getting that one?” Holden asks.
“You.” She hands it to him. “Daisy wants a taste of everything.” Her voice gets low. Heady.
I guess Oliver is distracted enough by the thought of sex with Luna. He doesn’t notice the implication.
Maybe it’s something about the forbidden. He wouldn’t touch her. He knows it would mess things up.
Knowing you can’t have something—
There is something about letting desire consume you.
I want that again. To have that in a healthy way. I want a craving I can sate.
I want Holden. “She’s right. I want a taste of everything.”
“You sure?” he asks. “I’m buying you a drink tonight.”
“Me too,” Holden says.
“You know I am,” Luna says. “But I won’t cry if you want one that’s non-alcoholic. Even though it totally defeats the point of this trip.”
“I’m not here for that,” I say.
“Really?” She raises a brow. “Because I remember you wrote off my idea of Hawaii. Even though the weather is perfect this time of year.”
“Is weather ever bad in Hawaii?” It’s like Southern California. Always nice.
“It rains,” she says. Like a light drizzle is going to ruin the bliss of seventy-five and slightly humid. Or make the ocean less inviting.
“It was because of price, I swear.” Really. I’d love to be in Hawaii. But one night in Hawaii, in two hotel rooms, would be nearly as much as our entire stay in this Airbnb.
She nods uhuh. “Lie to your brother, but I know the truth. You’re here so you can finally have your fix.” She winks. And by fix, I totally mean Holden’s dick.
No comment.
We move on to the next drink. A not at all sweet mix of gin, lime, and soda water.
Then a refreshing mix of grapefruit, soda, tequila, and lime.
A similar drink, only with Mezcal. Apparently, that’s some super strong version of tequila.
The final drink is a margarita. A real one, with scratch lime and a hint of agave.
Thank God Oliver is fixing all these. He uses as little sugar as possible.
But, fuck, this is tart. Way too tart for me. I let Oliver drink that one.
Sip the mix of grapefruit, soda, and lime. It’s such a perfect blend that I forget the tequila is there.
I barely taste it.
We all hold up our glasses. Clink them together.
“To Daisy’s birthday,” Oliver says.
“To finally being legal,” Luna says.
I laugh as I tap my glass to hers. “To finally being legal.”
Chapter Eighteen
Holden
We spend fifteen minutes on the beach, watching the waves crash into the sand, joking about nothing, counting down the minutes to Daisy’s birthday.
She looks gorgeous in her red dress. It’s bright for her. Tighter than what she normally wears.
She doesn’t look quite like herself.
No, that’s not it.
She looks like a different version of herself.
A grown-up.
It’s impossible to see anything else.
Between the soft waves falling at her shoulders, the snug dress, the subtle makeup—
She looks so much the girl I saw this morning. Fuck, the dress is the same color. But there’s something else. Some change.
Something that screams I’m an adult woman with desires of my own.
Maybe it’s the moonlight—it casts her in an angelic glow, bounces off her light hair and fair skin.
Maybe it’s the booze—I had most of three cocktails and those are Oliver pours. They’re strong.
Maybe it’s my cock getting demanding.
Or maybe it’s something else. Something we shared today. Something that’s all her.
She squeezes my hand as she climbs the rocks to the sand.
Oliver pulls out his cell. Opens the clock app. Counts down the seconds to her birthday.
Ten, nine, eight—
She moves closer.
Seven, six, five—
He readies a bottle of champagne.
Four, three, two—
Luna squeals.
One.
At once, we all say, “happy birthday.”
The cork goes flying. Foam spills from the bottle. Fills my head with way too many ideas.
Luna holds up the champagne flutes. Helps Oliver fill them.
Then we all toast again.
Now, it’s official.
It’s possible.
I’m no longer a sick fuck for wanting her.
Just a guy who knows a beautiful woman when he sees one.
Who wants a sweet, innocent angel who asks him questions about using condoms during blow jobs.
Fuck, the thought of some asshole ordering her onto her knees—
I hate that fucker.
I have to keep her away from him.
Sure, it’s not going to be me. But it’s not going to be some jerk who doesn’t deserve her either.