That’s the torture right there.
“Say Uncle,” she purses her lips and sits up straight, looking down at me. I stifle the urge to buck up against her.
“Never,” I retort, sitting up and grabbing her hands easily. Our palms lock and fingers interlace. Tighter this time. Both of us are exerting pressure, pushing each other. Testing our strength. Matching one another. It’s just enough to maintain balance, any more or less and we’d topple over.
Her shirt has flown up, caught in the breeze and I catch a glimpse of her delicate architecture as her ribs are bared. And above that a sheer, green lacy bra, no mistaking the rosy, pebbled peaks of her nipples shining through. The best combination of pink and green that I’ve ever seen.
Pupils wide, heart pounding, mouth-watering, we hover like this till I’m overwhelmed by my almost vampire-like thirst to possess her. My abs are trembling. My nuts ache.
“Isla,” I say her name, not even sure what I mean to say next. I ease our hands down to the sand.
“Jackson?” She arches her back, and I die a little with the need to pull her against me.
“Yes?” I say, turning my head, holding my breath, and listening. I swear I can hear her heart pounding.
Isla shifts her weight and exhales, as if she’s come to a decision.
“Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”
I release her hands, lift her off me, and drop back, lying flat on my back on the sand and staring at the impossibly blue sky, I take a deep breath and exhale, still smelling the peppermint oil. Isla stretches out beside me.
The mint does help clear my mind.
“I just wanted to check in to see how you were feeling about the dates. There have been too many curveballs at every stage. I don’t think you understand how much I have riding on this,”
Isla sighs as she props herself up on her elbow. “I have a reputation to protect too, you know?”
“I know.”
“Well, I still believe a love match is possible for everyone, despite your software’s obvious issues and limitations.”
“Limitations? Issues? What exactly are you talking about?” I sit up and brush the sand away.
“I’m sorry, but your app is flawed.” Isla sits up too and crosses her legs. Despite looking like a wild child with tousled hair and sand stuck to her knees, she speaks with certainty and quiet authority. “If you re-collected the data and ran everyone’s profiles now that they’ve met, you’d get different results.”
“I doubt it,” I scoff. “They’re all adults. Their personalities are pretty well set.”
“Being an adult has nothing to do with it.” Isla shakes her head, looking at me with an expression somewhere between pity and wonder. “Don’t you think people are capable of change?”
“In theory?” I ask. “I guess. But it’s unlikely that change will stick. It’s like teeth after you wear braces. Without a retainer, they tend to revert to their naturally fucked-up state.”
“Maybe that’s true with teeth,” Isla says. “But people aren’t static like that. They don’t have a natural state. People are constantly changing. Your DNA is changing as we speak, and that’s a factor of a million little things. The sunlight, exercise, yourlibido,…” she shrugs and pauses to look into my eyes. “Don’t even get me started on chemistry. How can anyone trust an app that totally ignores that?”
“Chemistry is overrated.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“No, it’s not,” Isla rises on her knees and scoots forward until she is kneeling between my legs. Her hands reach around to tangle in my hair. She dips her head down, aligning her cheek beside mine. She then turns her head until her lips are a fraction of an inch from mine. I can feel her breath. My heart speeds up.
“You have a surprisingly yellow aura for such a grumpy guy, Jackson,” Isla traces a finger along my jawline and over my lower lip where the bite has almost fully healed.
“What color is your aura then?” I ask.
“Blue,” she sighs, playing with my hair. “Do you know what happens when our auras collide?”
“Green?” I guess. And although I can’t see the glow, somehow I believe her. I believe her because the moment she touches me, my favorite color seems to grow brighter.
“Mmm hmmm,” she says, almost but not quite kissing me. Her lips brush mine without touching, yet close enough to feel.
“What do the colors mean?” I ask.
