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“Yes.”
“Okay.” His thumb traces over my cheeks before dropping and Ivan moves back, running a rough hand down his face. “Just promise me you’ll stay close.” I nod, but his eyes narrow. “Use your words, Mermaid.”
“Why do you call me Mermaid?” I answer instead.
“Does it matter?” While the response could be taken as rude, his expression is playful, his grin delicious. “Would it make you happy to know?”
“It would.” More than he could ever know. Since we met, that’s been his name for me, much to the annoyance of almost every girl in our school. Rarely does he use my first name. It’s always Mermaid this or Sirenita that, and in Spanish, it sounds sinful coming from him.
This crush controls me. Ivan De Leon is my weakness.
“Miss Ibarra, I call you Sirenita because you remind me of a movie my little cousin used to watch on repeat.” Once again, he steps closer. Our skin touches this time, and his hands grip my waist—fingers flexing against the mostly bare skin there. “It was about a pretty girl who loves the water and who has bright red hair and expressive eyes looking for acceptance. Always curious. Always sweet.” Ivan lowers his face toward mine and inhales deep, this low, rumbling sound building in his chest. What would it feel like to kiss his lips? For him to make that sound against my skin? “I also call you Mermaid because when I look at you, I’m reminded of my favorite things. Is that enough of an explanation?”
“Yes.” It’s nearly a whimper, and his smirk deepens.
“Will you swim with me now?”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” Heat sweeps across my cheeks and I turn my head away, hoping he doesn’t catch my blush. Those words cause an ache in me, a need I try to control, but the pebbling of my nipples and clenching of my thighs are unstoppable; thank God he doesn’t call me out on it. There’s no doubt he noticed both. “Don’t look away, Amberlyn.”
And I return my gaze. As if I have any control over my actions.
I also swallow hard because the slight darkening of his eyes unnerves me.
“You ready?” Tone breathy. A slight whimper.
Ivan doesn’t answer me. Instead, he turns and without a word walks us deeper into the warm waters. Moreover, I follow without hesitation. Let him lead me until my feet no longer touch the ocean floor and I lean over, hands gripping his shoulders to keep myself afloat.
We stay like that.
No swimming. No movement other than the gentle sway of waves.
Ivan and I watch the horizon while ignoring the world around us. In the distance, someone calls his name, yet he continues to look ahead with an arm low on my back.
Peace surrounds us. This quiet is comforting.
I never want this moment to end.
But then he clears his throat. “Sirenita, we need to talk.”
“About?” Low. A little meek.
“A favor.”
“A favor?”
“Yes.” Regret flashes across his expression, but it’s soon replaced by the smile that causes butterflies to take flight in my stomach. By a soft touch to my back, fingertips dancing up and down my spine while his mouth lowers to hover over mine. His exhale is my inhale. His scent infiltrates my senses and had I not been leaning on him, I’d have found myself submerged. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Pretend to mess around with Thiago.”
Present . . .
* * *
I awake with a gasp, my heart pounding while sweat beads across my forehead. My mouth is dry and my muscles are tight, thighs clenching, and the wetness there is unmistakable. As is my shame.
