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“Twenty minutes. But you have to promise—no more jokes. I’m not kidding.”
“Lo prometo.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I mean it this time.” Roxi held her hand over her heart once again. “Stay here. I’ll get you another coffee. You have to be up all night—you’ll need it.”
“Okay. But, you have two strikes,” Gia said, “and can you get extra cream? The coffee’s not great.”
???
“See, that was fun,verdad?” Roxi asked as she unlocked the passenger side door by sliding her hand through the handle—no key required. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you laughing.”
“It was.” Gia smiled. She couldn’t help it.
“And you survived.”
“I did.”
“I kept my promise.” Roxi opened the door wide but blocked its opening with her body.
“You did.” Gia found the dark of Roxi’s eyes with her own and told herself to ignore the buzzing in her stomach. It had to be the caffeine. Not that she was catching feelings for the spunky rule-breaker with the killer legs and sexy accent. Definitely not that.
“So—”
“So?” Gia shifted her stance. “Can you drive me to the market?”
“Sure,” Roxi said, hand finding Gia’s hip as she slipped out of the doorway.
More buzzing.
Thatwasn’t the caffeine.
Under a yellow-hued streetlight they stood, each waiting for the other to do something. Anything. Pretend it was an accidental brush—a slip of the hand in a tight space. Or lean into each other and find out what the buzz was about. A couple holding hands walked by with a small dog on a leash. Cars passed. And they were locked in a moment reserved for romantic comedies: Will they, or won’t they? If they do, will it be as good as they hope? If they don’t, will they regret it?
When their lips met, Gia’s heart raced. She hadn’t kissed someone in the same amount of time she hadn’t had a drink. She hadn’t kissed someone without first having drinks in longer. The touch of Roxi’s lips sent shivers down her spine. She tasted like sweetened coffee and smelled like patchouli, an inescapable side effect of their evening in the bar. Her hand slid lower down Gia’s hip, and the heat building between them was more than just the summer night air.
Shit, Gia thought, but didn’t say. She’d pictured this moment, though it usually happened at the top of a khaki-washed mountain surrounded by sagebrush, sun setting in the distance in a fiery display of reds and oranges—not pushed up against the door of a pickup in the middle of a busy street with a flickering streetlight overhead. She’d imagined the fullness of Roxi’s lips against hers; how her hands would feel—smooth, strong. In this daydream, Roxi was aggressive, intentional. She didn’t ask permission—she went for it, and Gia went with it.
But this—this was nothing like she’d imagined. Roxi was gentle, cautious. She’d leaned into Gia’s body, looking for approval. She placed her second hand on Gia’s other hip and leaned closer, waiting for a sign. And then, when Gia reciprocated the lean, when she couldn’t wait any longer, Roxi kissed her—slow, at first, and then with the intensity reflective of the pressure that had been building between them. The pinhole drip in the dam had become a raging river. It was inevitable, this kiss.
“I knew you liked me,” Roxi said with a lilt when they parted.
Had it been one minute? Five? Gia lost track of time in the continuum where oxytocin spiked and lips met. “Of course I like you,” she sighed, her hand finding wavier than normal hair and smoothing it. She suspected she looked a wreck between the shoulder and sap and now, the freshly fucked hairdo. Had Roxi’s hands been in her hair?
“Then why’ve you been fighting it? You’re a grown up. It’s okay to followtu corazon.” Roxi placed a hand over Gia’s heart, the look of longing in her eyes unmistakable.
Another sigh, another beat to think. “My heart isn’t a reliable map. It gets me lost in the woods with no way out. And I’m a terrible survivalist. So, I have to follow my head. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”
“Wait, what? What does that mean?I’m sorry?”
“It means, I’m sorry. That was incredible, and I want nothing more to know what happens next. But I can’t do this right now, so I’m sorry. And I’m really running late—can you just take me to the market?”
Talk about killing the mood.
“Afterthat?You can’t do this? Afterthat,you’re sorry?” Roxi was halfway to the driver’s seat and muttering under her breath in Spanish. Gia didn’t need a translation.
The engine roared to life. AC/DC continued to blare through the speakers, this time, a song Gia didn’t know—it must’ve been a CD. The vanilla-scented air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror did nothing to clear the air. Roxi backed the truck out of its spot with the skill of a professional driver and accelerated without a word.
