Since my resistance was already shot, I relented. “Fine. But only because you have that rugged scar and you like Anyone’s Dough.”
“Two reasons. We’re making progress.”
William
I did like Anyone’s Dough. I also didn’t want the conversation to end. Plus, I needed her. Was it a crime that I would both benefit from talking to her, and that I’d enjoyed it so far?
Of course not. It meant I was a lucky bastard, as my brother Matthew would say.
We headed to the ice cream shack, a few feet away now that we’d managed to walk a good length of the boardwalk together. A group of guys were playing volleyball on the sand, yelling loudly in Spanish each time someone served.
“Chocolate or vanilla?” I asked.
“Vanilla with a chocolate shell,” she said.
I ordered for us both, opting for chocolate-on-chocolate since I was of the belief that you can never have too much of a good thing, and chocolate was one of those things. The guy behind the counter handed us our cones, and Jess reached into her the front pocket of her backpack.
I waved her off. “I’ve got this.”
She shot me a sharp look. Oh, she was an independent little American vixen. What a turn-on. Feistiness was like a good drug to me.
“You don’t have to pay for my ice cream,” she said firmly as she opened her wallet.
She was not going to win on this front. I grasped her wrist gently and tugged her hand away. “I am aware of that,” I said softly, looking into her eyes. Bright blue, like a clear sky. “I certainly don’t have to pay for your ice cream. I’m sure given your fantastic photographic skills, that you are more than capable of paying for it yourself. But I asked you, and more than that, I want to buy you an ice cream.”
“Fine. Thank you,” she grumbled, and I placed a hand on the small of her back as I led her over to a nearby table. She shrugged off my hand. I didn’t let it bother me. After all, I’d won the first battle–she’d agreed to spend more time with me.
“So,” she began, lingering on that word as she took her first lick of the ice cream. I wasn’t even sure if it was intentional, or if it simply couldn’t be helped, but let’s be honest–there’s just something about a girl’s tongue licking something sweet that makes a guy’s mind wander. Mine was taking a quick trip into its dirtier corners, of which there were plenty. Sometimes I wondered how my brain even found its way out of all that terrain to let me function as a normal human being in civilized society. Like right now, as I imagined the taste of her lips. The feel of them. The things she could do with that tongue…
“What’s your story? You’re obviously not from here.”
Like a slingshot, I’d been returned to Planet Clean. “You’re direct.”
“I am. So…” she said, her tone making it clear she was on a hunt for information and wasn’t going to stop ‘til she got it. She was relentless. Another trait I admired. It probably also meant she was fiery in bed.
Oops. There my mind went again.
“I’m an open book. I grew up in London, my parents are BBC producers, my older brother is a rock critic,” I continued and she raised an eyebrow at the mention.
“That must be a fun profession,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure he’s madly in love with his job, as well as his fiancée.”
“Glad to hear he has strong feelings for both. And you?”
“Am I madly in love with my job? Because I don’t actually have a fiancée,” I said in a faux whisper as if she’d suggested something terribly scandalous.
“Thank you for clarifying. Because you look like you’re about to be married.”
“It’s the scar, right? The rugged scar?”
That learned me a small laugh, which then turned to a quick intake of breath as she ducked. “Watch out,” she said, as a volleyball soared in my direction this time. I reached out a hand and caught it easily in my right palm. A guy in black swim trunks trotted over to me, shouting at his friend in Spanish, “Dude, you need to be more careful. You have the worst serve in the free world.”
I tossed him the ball. “I’m not sure it’s the worst serve. Maybe the second or third worst?” I offered and the guy cracked up.
“How’s your serve?”
“Not too shabby,” I said.
“Then come join us later.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Thanks man,” he said and high-fived me before he jogged back to the makeshift court.
I turned my focus back to Jess.
“You speak Spanish?”
“I do?” I asked playfully.
“Well, you just had a whole conversation with him in Spanish,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“I’m pretty sure that was just a couple lines.”
“Either way, I’m impressed.”
“Wait until you hear my Japanese then.”
She smirked. “Oh, I’m sure you speak Japanese too. By the way, nice catch.”
I shrugged. “I used to be a volleyball star back in the home country. It’s huge there on all our beaches, as I’m sure you know.”
“Right up there with soccer, I bet,” she said, keeping it up.
“But the Japanese thing?” I said, shifting to serious as I took a big bite of the ice cream cone. “All true. I’m studying East Asian languages at the University of Los Angeles.”