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“Four.”
“Hmm. What do you want to do?”
Anthony gives me a look that sends blood flooding to my cheeks. “I know exactly what I want to do,” he says. “But I’ll understand if you want to take in the scenery.”
I reach for my glass of OJ and take a deep sip. We’d fallen asleep together in his bed last night. Woken up late, and gotten up later still after our decision to indulge in one another again. Anthony had entered me from the side, one of his hands on my breast and the other between my legs, until both of us were fully awake.
The memory makes me blush.
“Let’s stay in,” I say.
His lips curl. “Let’s.”
“But we have to walk along the beach again, and we definitely have to swim in the pool.”
“I’m starting to think you have an addiction.”
“To pools?”
“To swimming.”
I hit him with my elbow. “Or I’m just trying to getyouto swim. I still can’t believe you’ve had this house for a year and never taken a dip in your pool.”
“Well, I’m rarely here.” He cuts into a piece of toast, the swell of his bicep flexing with the movement. “I think this is the fourth time I’ve been in the house since I bought it.”
I put my fork and knife down. “The fourth time?”
“Yes,” he says. “I told you how much I hate this place.”
“No, you said it was your biggest concession. It’s a beautiful place. The beach, the pool…”
He makes a dismissive sound and polishes off the last of his breakfast. Reaches for his coffee. “All of which I won’t be able to see one day. This ocean view is a complete waste, and it probably accounts for more than half the value of this place.”
“The view, perhaps, but you’ll still be able to enjoy the beach when you can’t see it.” I almost stumble over the words, but they make it out in one piece. “You don’t need your eyes to swim, and listening to the waves is lovely.”
“I suppose so.”
“How did your family and friends respond? Are they supportive?”
He pushes his plate away and turns on the chair, an eyebrow raised at me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that an insensitive question? I’m really sorry.”
Anthony shakes his head. “I’m not hurt,” he says. “I’m just wondering how you’ll fit in all your swimming if you’re planning on spending the day asking me every blind question under the sun.”
“Every blind question under the sun?”
“Yes.” He picks up the last piece of toast from my plate and feeds it to me, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. “If I can choose between swimming, fucking you and talking about my vision, I know which one I’ll rank last.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
“I do.”
“Can I just ask you one last question before we head out into the sun?”
Anthony sighs, but doesn’t object, turning my chair to face him. Skilled hands move over the two buttons on my shirt I’d managed to close. “I’ll endure it,” he says.
“Do you have a bucket list of your own? With things you want to see before it happens?”
