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Brooklyn hiccups. “You’ve made this oath before?”
“Only once or twice.” We cross the road, walking reasonably straight… I think.
“Wow,” Brooklyn says. “It all looks even better from here.”
I follow her gaze. The Intracoastal does look picturesque, but I think it has more to do with the gorgeous colors of the setting sun.
“Let’s hurry. It’s even better from the castle parapet.” I pick up the pace, but despite my best efforts, we don’t make it.
“I’m sorry. We’re already closed,” the guy in the booth says when we arrive.
The expression on Brooklyn’s face is unacceptable, so I dig into my wallet and slip the guy a few bills as stealthily as I can. “Do you think you could make an exception, just this once?”
“Fine.” The guy pockets the money and leaves his booth. “If anyone asks, you’re good friends of mine.”
Brooklyn places “my” papier-mâché face on the booth counter. “Is it okay if I leave Evan here?”
The ticket guy looks at me askance.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Better your hands be free.”
Brooklyn blows an air kiss to the condom-based Evan, then joins me in following our reluctant guide.
Once we’re inside the castle, the ticket guy leaves and I lead Brooklyn into the courtyard. She oohs and aahs at everything, which inspires me to recall some of the useless factoids I learned from the countless tours of this place my classmates and I took back in high school—like the fact that it’s made from coquina.
“Co-quinoa?” Brooklyn repeats. “Is that a companion of a seed masquerading as a grain?”
I grin loopily. “It’s a soft limestone composed of shells and coral.”
“Why make the castle out of that?”
“It makes the walls resistant to cannon fire.”
“Right,” she says with an eyeroll. “Because as every hermit crab knows, sturdy seashells are as strong as Kevlar.”
I shrug. “I’m just telling you what they told us during the tours. I’m not exactly a military engineer.”
She opens her mouth to say something else, but the view of the sunset from the parapet catches her attention. She stares at it, open-mouthed—as I stare at her instead. She has a classically beautiful nose, slightly-rosy-from-excitement cheeks, and?—
Fuck, she catches me ogling and moistens her lips.
Double fuck. I’m getting pulled toward those lips, like a pirate toward booty. And now I’m thinking about Brooklyn’s nice, round booty—like my hard-on wasn’t obvious already. I bend my head, unable to help myself, and whatever force is working on me seems to impact her as well because she tips her head back, her gaze locked on mine.
Our lips crash, and all pirate-ship and cannonball-related metaphors flee my mind. Brooklyn tastes like green tea ice cream and smells like yuzu and cloves—a head-spinning combination that makes me want to quadruple the million dollars I’m willing to give up to magically end up in bed with her. Maybe I’d even sextuple that amount… emphasis on the first three letters of that word, of course.
My hands slide into her silky hair as I sweep my tongue deeper into the soft recesses of her mouth, feeling her soft body molding against mine?—
Some asshole clears his throat. “We’re officially closed.”
Fuck. Brooklyn and I spring apart, and I have to take deep breaths to control violent urges toward the interrupter.
“I’m sorry,” says the guy I bribed earlier. “We have to close up.”
Looking somewhat confused, Brooklyn touches her kiss-swollen lips, making me crave them all over again. “Look at those lights on the boardwalk,” she says, apropos of nothing.
“Yeah. Gorgeous.” With a monumental effort, I drag my eyes away from Brooklyn’s face and take another deep breath.
“To the Bridge of Lions!” Brooklyn grabs my hand.
