“Maybe she’s crazy? What was that business about showing the world what’s written on your heart?” I throw the fake cigarette to the ground and grind it with my toe. Brinn laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulder as we cross the street.
“I have no idea. What about calling your mom?” he asks as we peer into the window of a bookstore.
I slide my arm around his waist. “I haven’t spoken to my mom in about a year.” Why bother pussyfooting around it? Bring on the questions.
“Really? Why not.”
I move to stand in front of him. “You see...I ....” How do I say it? “Twice now I was headed for the altar and bailed. The second guy she didn’t like or, should I say, approve of. You think she’d just be relieved that I didn’t go through with it, but not my mom. My mom is angry that I left Max at the altar. She’s upset that I got engaged to this artist, she’s angry that she found out because my brother saw it on Facebook, and really fucking pissed off that I made a spectacle of our family name, once again, by dumping him on the way to Vegas a few days before the event.” I watch the questions cross Brinn’s face.
His eyebrows shoot up higher with each incident until they nearly reach his hairline. “You’d actually get married in Vegas?” He smiles.
I laugh. “I like you. You’re all right.” I know he wants to ask more but he doesn’t and I appreciate that. It’s not a story for the sidewalk in a tourist town.
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” He leans forward, gently swiping his lips across mine. It’s spontaneous and sweet and makes me want him more.
“Even though I have a potty mouth?” I say, using my sassiest two-snaps-girlfriend tone and bobbing my head for emphasis.
“It’s shocking sometimes. But hell, watching you take a guy out is too, so there’s that.” He shrugs.
“So guys are the only ones who are supposed to cuss? Like there’s a language for women and language for men? Language discrimination.”
We walk along the sidewalk, purposefully bumping each other every few steps.
“I know it’s a gender bias. I get that. But sometimes men like to have some things to themselves.”
“So you want curse words? You have a penis. We don’t have penises. That’s not enough?” I drag him into a shop of stones and crystals.
“Dammit, I dunno, and I’ve a feeling this conversation is gonna get me in trouble with the bunny in you.”
I laugh. “Seriously, what is it though?”
“Maybe the Neanderthal in me doesn’t like it. It can be unattractive.”
“So because I have a potty mouth, the attraction you feel for me is somehow diminished?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He rubs his brow with the palm of his hand and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask as I step into his space.
He leans closer to me, his face mere inches from mine. His breath on my lips.
“Can you imagine? What if my attraction is diminished somewhat? What would our sex be like if that wasn’t the case?” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “Just think of all the things I could make happen for you. Like multiple orgasms. Oh, wait. I’ve already done that.”
We stare into each other’s eyes. I’m reliving every single touch and in those seconds they cumulate into a rush of sweet and unlocked desire. My knees threaten to buckle as I watch his eyes turn a darker green and his pupils dilate. I know he’s thinking of us together. When I place my hand on his chest, his body vibrates beneath my palm.
“I suppose in the interest of science I should consider giving up naughty words for a few weeks. See what happens,” I whisper.
“Science would be appreciative, though I bet there’re some ‘naughty’ words that would be OK.”
His lips brush against mine, lightly at first and then again with more urgency. I grab his shirt and kiss him hard and fast, our tongues entwined. I push him away with the same force and step out of his space. Throwing him down in a store is not on my list of planned events.
“Mm.” I lick my lips then scan the counter for a lifeline. My gaze settles on onyx colored stones. “I should also grab some of these.” I scoop up a handful of loose hematite stones because they’re supposed to stimulate sexual energy. “In case this flame fades. Maybe they’ll help preserve some of my sexual energy for the future, just in case I bunny it all out now.” I want to crawl into this man’s skin and stay there until I’ve had my fill.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Oh no, you don’t. I’ve got plans for us.”
“I do too, and I bet mine would make us both feel real good. Nice and relaxed.” He steps toward me but I step back.
“No, we’re sticking to the plan. It’s not every day you have a birthday.”
He shakes his head and scrubs his palms down his face. “I’ll meet you outside.” Before turning to leave, he tugs at his shorts. I quickly pay and find him leaning against my car.
We drive back to Daytona and spend the afternoon on the boardwalk playing arcade games like skeet ball, trying to squelch our current of sexual desire. Instead, we channel it into the competitive streak we discover we each have, get roped into a few games of beach volleyball outside the Deck, and walk along the beach enjoying the warm ocean water. We avoid talking about the psychic and spend the energy on more enlightening conversation such as our favorite foods and movies. To my relief, I find he doesn’t have a shellfish allergy and, with what I hope is a covert text to Jayne, move forward with my plans for the evening.
I drive him to my place where, thanks to Jayne, a picnic awaits us, including a birthday cake. The hurricane lamps glow, and the kaleidoscope colors of the setting sun are our backdrop.
Jayne’s placed a beautiful linen cloth and the tableware from my kitchen on the table. Two candles, a bucket of chilling champagne, and two covered dishes are out. She’s pulled it off better than I imagined. I probably owe her my kidney or something, but it’s a nice way to cap off his birthday. We’ve done something silly that he would never do, a fun day playing games—the dream of any kid—and the adult nice dinner out.
Brinn looks down at a side table that holds the cake. “You got me an airplane shaped cake?” Amazement and joy cover his face.
“Mmm. I wasn’t sure if you like chocolate or vanilla, so it’s strawberry. I’m told a Publix buttercream cake can’t be beat.” Apparently the grocery chain is famous for their frosting.
“It can’t. Wait until you try it.” His eyes are alight with pleasure as he looks from me to the cake.
“Well then, by all means, let’s eat so we can get down to the cake.” I gesture to the table with our food.
I light the candles before I lift the covers from the dishes. The full yet subtle aroma of creamy sauce and lobster greets us.
“That smells good. Lobster, right? Is that what all the shellfish questions were about?” He helps me into my chair and as he pushes my chair in, his hand grazes mine, leaving my skin tingling from the touch.
“Mainly yes, but it was nice getting to know you better. Like yesterday at the bar, I wasn’t sure what you would want to drink. You ordered a pilsner the first time I saw you and a Guinness last night, but that might have been a one-time thing. I like learning about you.”