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His groan drowned out her gasp. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. She pushed against him as he braced her body in his big hands. Surrounded by the dust and debris of other people’s lives, they played their game, their bodies locked as they used each other, gave, used again. It was primitive sex. Raw and raunchy. Bad-girl sex. Exactly the way she wanted it.
“DON’T LOOK AT MY STOMACH,” she said as she pulled her panties back on.
He brushed her cheek with his finger. “Because?”
“It’s round.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t have to say it like that.” She shoved her legs in her shorts, sucked in her stomach, and zipped them. She’d started the whole strip-search thing when she’d dragged him into the garage after he’d made a quick trip into town. She’d told him she’d gotten a tip that he was trying to smuggle Slim Jims. He said there was nothing slim about his Jim. She’d backed him against the wall and said that was for her to decide. Eventually she had to concede he was right.
“It’s your fault I’m gaining weight,” she said. “Having nothing but diet fucking food in the house makes me crazy.”
His eyebrow gave a gratifying lift, but he didn’t comment on her obscenity. “What about all that crap I feed you every night in the boat?”
“Exactly,” she said. “If I had decent food, I wouldn’t be gorging myself on your junk food stash.”
“You’re right. It is my fault. I promise. No more chips. No more licorice whips. I’m cleaning up my act.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He laughed and pulled her into his arms, as if he wanted to kiss her. But they only kissed when they were in bed—deep tongue kisses that mimicked what was happening with their bodies. Sex with Panda was like being in a porno movie but without a third party involved. He let her go and wandered over to inspect a pile of junk. His restlessness had returned. Unlike herself, the island’s enforced confinement was chafing at him. He wanted action.
She slipped back into her platform flip-flops as he studied a mirror framed in broken seashells and asked, “Didn’t this used to be in the downstairs bathroom?”
“No.” She loved lying. It was a whole new experience.
“Bull. This was there yesterday.”
“Really, Panda, you have lousy powers of observation for a cop.”
“Hell I do. Stop rearranging my house. And stop messing with my pig.”
“You didn’t like the eye patch? I think it’s—” She broke off as she saw Panda pick up a folded piece of yellow notepad paper from the grubby garage floor. She hurried toward him, hand extended. “Must have fallen out of my pocket when you ripped my shorts off.”
“I didn’t rip— What the hell is this?” Like the suspicious person he was, he’d unfolded the paper and started to read.
“Give that to me!” She tried to grab it from him, but he held it out of reach and read over her head.
“‘Reverse bucket list’?”
“That’s private.”
“I won’t tell a soul.” He scanned the page and grinned. “Frankly, I’d be embarrassed to.”
When he finally lowered the paper it was too late. He’d read everything.
REVERSE BUCKET LIST
Run away from home*
Dress like a skank*
Sleep around
Use f-word whenever possible*
Get drunk in public
