Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I’ve lost track of everything around us, oblivious to the other people on the beach, even the lady who was staring at Cristiano. It’s absurd that I don’t care so long as Cristiano’s lips stay on mine. I slip my fingers into his hair and grip the thick strands. He pulls away, ducks his head, and groans into the crook of my neck. I don’t understand the Spanish he whispers against my skin, but his desperate tone makes me smile. I don’t trust either of us on this beach much longer.
“Take me back to my apartment” is what I tell him, when what I really want to say is Take me to bed. Please.
In his SUV, as we drive in silence, I try again to stop the uprising of worry. I prolonged it for a little while on the beach, but now it surges up, stronger than ever. I know Cristiano is the kind of once-in-a-lifetime man that could easily slip through my fingers. Our time together is going to be brief, and I’ll look back on this summer on Ibiza a decade from now, amazed that I managed to capture his attention for even this fleeting moment.
I wonder where he’ll be then, in ten years, if he’ll eventually marry or keep his sole focus on work. I don’t want to think of him with another woman.
“Did you finish your calls?” I ask him as a way of distracting myself.
He scoops my hand up in his and brings it back to his lap, our fingers intertwining on his thigh. “No. I’ll need to play catch-up at home.”
“Tomorrow, too?”
“Some.”
There’s a lot of weight in that word, and I know he’s downplaying his workload so I don’t feel guilty for keeping him away from the office today.
When I’m quiet, he glances over. “I’d do it again.”
I smile, and then because I don’t think it’s smart to keep giving him little pieces of me, I look away. “Me too.”
As suspected, our perfect day has its consequences. Cristiano is so busy Wednesday and Thursday I don’t see him at all. He doesn’t make an appearance at Aura and he doesn’t arrive after my shift to drive me home, either. I hate that I’m disappointed to have to walk back to my apartment with Antonio. Nice as he is, he’s not Cristiano. The fact that missing him consumes so much of my energy is proof of how far I’ve let this go. Annika and Simone would chastise me if they knew how caught up in him I am. Keep it light. No feelings—that’s their motto for summer relationships, and I’m trying hard to adhere to it. I’m keeping it light! I’m shoving down my feelings!
I’m so convincing that neither of them suspects anything. I’m quick on my feet at Aura, and I even sneak in a pre-shift surf session on Thursday morning with Thalia. We rent our boards at Playa Jondal, leaving euros in a jar, because the guy who works here is currently giving a surfing lesson to a group of kids. He waves when he sees us leave the cash and points to the longboards organized in neat vertical rows beside the shack.
“Fun job,” Thalia says, nodding toward the guy.
“Yeah.”
I think of when Winnie and I learned to surf back in California when we were young. My dad tried to teach us at first, but after majorly underestimating the amount of tears involved, he outsourced the task to a professional who successfully got Winnie and me carving waves in no time.
Thalia and I spend two hours out on the water, and by the time we lug our boards back to shore, my thighs are shaky from exertion. The first thing I do after I take a long drink of water is check my phone for a text from Cristiano. I know it goes against Simone and Annika’s motto to be this invested in a silly text, but I can’t help it. I thought about him way too much when I was out bobbing on the water, and it makes my heart jump for joy to see he’s reached out. He’s thinking of me, too!
“Who’s got you smiling like that?” Thalia asks, plopping down on the sand and digging inside her crochet beach bag until she finds a container of chopped cantaloupe.
I put my phone away without reading the text.
“No one,” I say, brushing away her comment before bending down to take a few pieces of the fruit she offers. The orange melon is so ripe, the juice spills down my chin and makes my fingers instantly sticky. “Ohmygod,” I exclaim, not caring that I’m talking with my mouth full.
She laughs. “I know. I could eat an entire melon a day. The fruit just tastes better here, I swear.”
She passes the container back to me and I greedily accept a few more pieces. I glance at my bag, thinking of Cristiano’s text and imagining what he might have sent. We’ve been messaging off and on over the last two days. Last night, he wanted me to let him know when I got home safely, and I assumed he would already be asleep, but he replied right away.