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I always liked Redix’s little sister, Renie. But like his mom, she runs every time she sees me. Renie hates being stuck in the middle of whatever this is, which breaks my heart.
How I never met his nephew, Renie’s son. I see him around the pool. I’d love to meet him, but I’m not picking that scab tonight.
This is too much fun, too easy just catching up with him.
“I can’t believe you still have your car,” he says. “Need me to get it tuned up for you?”
“Nah. I’ve taken good care of it.” Like the care he’s showing me now. “Thanks, though.”
“Those bruises on your shins, on your wrists.” He notices my marks? “They from all the fighting you do now?”
“Yeah.”
I don’t notice them anymore.
But I notice him and the small patterns he’s making in the carpet.
“Do you have competitions?” he asks. “I’d love to cheer you on.” That makes him grin my way. “I’m proud of you. My sister tells me about the work you do. She’ll text me articles if you make the news. I bet your parents are proud too.”
He’s kept up with my career? And he’s proud of me? “Thanks.” I don’t know what to think, but it makes me feel… a lot. “We don’t have competitions in Krav Maga. It’s too brutal. It’s fighting to stay alive, not for sport.”
“That’s my Candy Cade.” He turns off the vacuum. “I loved how you fight.”
Loved?
So we’re past tense now?
Not for me.
Talking to him, watching him so close, all feeling returns. To my ankle. To my heart. To the part of me only Redix brings to life.
He sets the vacuum aside, grabs my watering can, and starts wetting my hurricane plant, and I can’t help it. The swirling leaves. The attention he gives. Dirty thoughts fill my head. “She wants every drop.”
He’s pure porn looking like that.
That cocks his half-grin. “Does she now?”
He pours the last stream down his torso, water flowing over the rocks of his abs and soaking the top of his jeans.
Oh shit, fuck straws.
My tongue wants to lap those drops up.
This is more than how we flirted as teens.
This is a desire in adult bodies at salacious levels. It’s shallowing my breath.
He stares at me for too long before swaggering back into my kitchen. Setting the can down, he starts nosing in my fridge while I map the shredded muscles down his back, ones I crave to scratch again. I’d rather he nose between my thighs.
“Got anything to drink around here that’s not alcohol?”
“The ocean.”
“Funny.”
He pours himself a cup of pineapple juice. Sipping on it as he returns to the living room, a lucky stream dribbles down his naked chest.
It’s not fair.
