Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Daisy squeezes her friend's hand like it's a life raft.
I press my palms into my thighs. I want to be the one there, holding her hand, bringing her comfort.
It's ridiculous. That's not within my skill set. Yeah, I make things happen. But only when no one realizes I'm pulling strings.
Let me hold you, kiss you, love you is not in my vocabulary.
I push the thought as we taxi, collect our stuff, climb off the plane. Onto the concrete.
It's hot. Hotter than an August day in Venice and without the beach breeze. We're too far inland at the moment. Or maybe this is just the west coast of Mexico. Hot as fuck, always, all the time.
We squeeze into a bus, ride it to the terminal, break to piss and change, wait in a series of lines. Baggage. Customs. Immigration.
The other side of the airport is a zoo. Men and women hawking timeshare presentations and exclusive shows crowd us. They say hello in English and Spanish, offer deals, grab at hands.
I reach for Daisy reflexively. No one stops me from wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her through the crowd, leading her out of the airport. Back to hot concrete.
Oliver's gaze goes straight to my hand, but he doesn't say anything. Just nods drop it. And I do.
"Fuck, it's hot." Luna shrugs her hoodie off her shoulders. Shoves it into her dark purple KanKen. She turns to Daisy. Holds out her hand.
Daisy nods. Slides my hoodie off her shoulders. Offers it to her friend.
Luna shoves the sweater into her backpack. Struggles with the zipper. Slings it over her shoulder.
Oliver gives her now exposed body a quick once over. She's wearing a white crop top, charcoal high-waist shorts, bright pink high-tops.
She looks hip as fuck. And hot as fuck too. In that cool girl, I don't care what you think way.
If I didn't know better, I'd buy it. But I have a sister. Sure, Ariel doesn't know shit about fashion, but I've learned enough about women. That effortless look takes a lot of time and energy.
And, well—
I guess my effortless attitude isn't all that different.
"It is really hot." Daisy pulls out her reusable water bottle. Sucks the last drop. "Where's the Uber pickup?"
Oliver stares at his cell. "That way." He nods to the left. "You want me to find a vending machine?"
She shakes her head. "I'm okay. It's a fast ride, right?"
He checks the screen. "Twenty minutes."
She nods okay, takes her friend's hand, follows us around the corner.
The directions are incomprehensible. There are cars in front of us. Signs for pick up to our left.
Confused tourists heading right.
I follow a couple with a giant red suitcase to a bus stop.
There are half a dozen locals—the casual demeanor is a giveaway—standing under the shade.
Three sets of tourists stare at their cells. A car with a bright Uber sign stops. One of the couples gets into it.
This must be it.
We try to avoid the heat. Try to talk about anything else. But fuck, the sun is bright. I need to be in the water. Now.
After a five-minute wait—it feels like twenty—a car stops, asks for Oliver.
I open the door for the girls. Help my friend with their suitcases.
Oliver takes the seat next to the driver.
I take the one in the back.
Next to Daisy. Of course, she's in the middle. Her friend is an evil genius.
Or maybe it's just her accommodating nature. She's so fucking sweet. Always putting other people first.
I close my eyes. Will the air-conditioning to cool me off. Try to ignore the warmth of her skin.
I'm in my shorts now. Her bare skin is against mine. Her leg is against mine. I'm not as pale as my brother or sister—they inherited Dad's coloring, I inherited Mom's. I'm a shade darker than she is.
I always think of her as a beach babe, a California girl who belongs in the sand, but all her features are light. She probably burns as badly as Ariel does.
She probably needs sunscreen over every inch of her soft skin.
Fuck.
Not helping.
I press my palms to my thighs. Look out the window. Try to ignore the proximity of our bodies.
To ignore the way she glances at our limbs. Then stares.
Chain restaurants and local stores blur together. A boutique. A salon. A Cheesecake Factory. Strip malls, busy roads, bright sun. It's like we're in Orange County, not another country.
Sure, the signs are all in Spanish, but everything else is the same.
The radio booms with shitty pop music. Oliver makes small talk with the driver. A mix of Spanish—the one class he nailed in high school—and English.
Luna lies back and listens to her headphones.
Daisy turns toward my side of the car. She motions to my lap. Then the window. "You mind?"
No, baby, this is exactly where you belong. "Sure."
She leans over me to look out the window. The strip malls fade into a block of hotels. The ocean comes into view in all its deep blue brilliance.