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“It’s a good thing I have you then,” she says coyly.
“Is that why you like me, because I’m old?”
“You’re not old.”
“Older than you,” I point out.
“Just old enough to know how to treat a girl right.” She smiles and a blush colors her cheeks. “But I don’t want you to use our age difference as a reason to pull away from me.”
I take the taco from her hand and place it back in the container.
Resting my forehead against hers, I say, “Baby, you have a hold on me, and I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to.” I pull her to me so I can kiss her, tasting the street corn on her tongue.
She snakes her arms around my neck and kisses me so slow that I feel it deep in my belly. She’s someone I could lose myself in and it scares the shit out of me, but there is no way in hell I’m going to stop kissing her.
* * *
The umbrella wasa great idea as I lie on the blanket and look up at the stripped pattern through my sunglasses. It’s a hot, sunny day, and since we didn’t have swimsuits, we improvised. I took my shirt off and Sasha tucked the edges of hers under her bra to hold it in place, exposing her belly. Her head rests on my bare torso and I lazily drape my arm across her stomach.
“I can’t remember the last time I came to the beach to just relax.”
My store is only a couple blocks over, but I have rarely taken a walk along the boardwalk, or simply sat in the sand, staring out at the ocean. Today feels like one of those rare days where I don’t feel the pull of responsibility.
“I’ll have to make sure you do it more often.”
“You might have your work cut out for you,” I warn her. “This was an extenuating circumstance.”
“I like a challenge,” she says casually.
“I can see that.”
My fingers trace a lazy pattern on her stomach, and she giggles at my touch. The smell of sunscreen and the sound of the waves makes me tired.
“What made you stop playing the guitar?” Sasha asks, unexpectedly.
My fingers halt their lazily patter. Because I take too much time to answer, she says, “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, it’s just unexpected,” I explain.
“I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”
“And you choose now to ask?”
“It feels like I have permission to now,” she says, coyly.
“Because we slept together?”
“Is that what you call it?” She tips her head so she can look at me.
I chuckle. “I’d call it something else, but this doesn’t seem like a beach conversation.”
Sasha sighs and my stomach tightens in response. She digs her bare feet into the sand while I resume making circles on her stomach.
“You’re very direct.”
She turns her head to look at me again, and I move my glasses down slightly so I can meet her gaze.
“Something tells me that’s not a bad thing with you,” she says bluntly.
