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“I can, but no usually.”
“Why?” I inquire, in hopes of learning a little more about Mr. Handsome.
“Rockes mi músicaand I only listen tomúsica Latinawhen I’m at parties or clubs and I’m no controlling the music. It’s no really…how you say,mi onda?”
“Not your thing,” I respond.
“Yes, that.” He lifts his shoulder. “I like guitar solos or heavy drums more than the Caribbean beats.”
“It definitely surprised me to hear Metallica in your car. I just assumed Latino music was your thing. Goes to show we shouldn’t assume things about people.” His lips curl upward.
“My friends, we are allrockeros, rockers who love rock music. We areLos Frikis,” he tells me.
I lift my eyes to his. “Frikis? Like freaks? Why?”
“Because in Cuba everyone called us anti-social for the music we listened to, and people called us Frikis.”
“Anti-social? What does that mean?”
“Against the government.” Amaury shifts in his seat again as he’s speaking, releasing my hand. I’m not fully understanding what he means, but he doesn’t seem to like to discuss Cuba much, so I won’t push it.
“Tell me,te gusta Miami?” he asks, pushing the curls behind my ears, changing the subject he’s reluctant to continue discussing.
“I love it here,” I respond, a grin spreading across my face. “Of course, the weather is perfect but what I like the most is everywhere we went, there was a Latin flare. It’s so different than Boston. In most places, people speak Spanish and there’s almost always Latin or Caribbean music playing. And of course, the beach, I could live on the beach listening to the ocean waves crash.”
He takes one of my curls in his fingers and begins twirling and wrapping it around his finger. “Sí. In many ways, Miami reminds me of Cuba.”
“How so?”
“The people.El mar. Being so close to the water. It’s why I live in Miami Beach.” He gives me a lopsided grin.
“Do you live close by?”
His head shakes. “No too far from here.”
I feel my phone vibrate in my purse and stick my hand in to grab it and see a text message from Melida.
Melida:All OK?
“Sorry. Melida’s checking in and making sure I’m okay.”
“She’s a good friend to look out for you.”
Sol:Yes. Be back soon
I toss my phone back into my pockabook and peek up at Mr. Handsome. “Yeah, she definitely is. I should probably go, I still have to pack.”
“I know you leave tomorrow, but I want to see you again.Tú me cuadras.” He extends his hand and traces my jawline, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch.
“I’m not sure what that means or when I’ll be back in Miami,” I tell him. His gaze locks with mine and I swallow, my nerves coming alive and lighting up from within. My hands fidget on my lap, fingers rubbing with each other when he takes my left hand in both of his, enveloping and stroking it. I shift in my seat, putting some space between us.
Amaury leans into me; his scent mixed with the salty ocean air is intoxicating. “Tú me cuadrasmeans I like you Sol, a lot.” The thumping in my chest intensifies and I want Mr. Handsome to kiss me, although I shouldn’t because I barely know him. Despite us being strangers, I feel oddly at ease with him. Instead of kissing me, he rests his forehead against mine and rubs the tips of our noses. We take each other in. The rhythm of our breaths synchronizes.
Then his lips brush against mine, caressing and savoring them, and his whiskers tickle the skin around my mouth. His tongue glides across the length of my upper lip before he takes it away. He’s teasing me with his chaste kisses, stimulating every inch of my body, my nerve endings firing, my core igniting in heat.
Soft.
Sensual.
