Surviving Us (14 page)

Chuckling, he subtly presses his crotch against my ass as I scoop some pineapple and melon onto my plate. “They’re saying you’re already thinking about where and how I’m gonna give it to you later,” he whispers gruffly into my ear.

I burst out laughing and spin around to slap his chest with my free hand. “Oh my God, you’re such a dick.”

He playfully nips at my earlobe. “And you like that too.”

Funny, I do.

After both of our plates are loaded down with every kind of breakfast food known to man, we saunter back over to the tables, and luckily a couple of people have left, so we’re able to sit together.

“Seriously though,” I say once we’re settled, “there’s nothing to worry about. Kayden and I are strictly friends. I promise you.”

Davis pops a piece of bacon in his mouth, peering at me through his dark, thick lashes that every female alive would be jealous of. “No single guy is
just friends
with a pretty girl. Trust me on this.”

“So we aren’t friends?”

“I think you’re cool as shit, but we aren’t
just friends,
” he states matter-of-factly, “and your boy is pissed ‘cause he knows that.”

“Whatever,” I wave my hand in the air, not wanting to continue the conversation much longer, “just know how I feel about it . . . about him and
you.
Don’t feel threatened or go all Neanderthal on me when I have small group with him and
your
girl, Peyton, this afternoon.” He grumbles under his breath, so I reach across the table and shove a biscuit in his mouth. “Stop it.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “While we’re here, I’m yours.”

Finally, I get a smile. “Damn straight you are, Trouble.”

AFTER WE FINISH BREAKFAST
and morning session, in which Alex the Architect spends the majority of the time explaining how the sugar age of the 18
th
and 19
th
centuries still heavily influence the island’s unique building style, I make my way down to the beach. If it’s even possible, the postcard-worthy setting waiting for me when I descend the grueling stairs is even more vibrant and impressive than the day before. Absolute scenic perfection.

I claim a couple of beach chairs set up together—one with my body, the other with my bag—and order a bucket of beer while I wait for Davis. Not five minutes after I sit down, two locals in swimsuits approach my chair, one of them carrying what looks like a small briefcase. I’d seen a group of these guys off to the end of the beach yesterday, but it seemed they’d stayed to themselves then. A little nervous about what they want from me, I glance around to see if anyone else is around, but everyone is either out in the water or over at the bar.

“Good morning, lady,” the taller of the two says in an accent so heavy I can hardly understand him.

“Morning,” I reply politely, pushing my sunglasses up on my head. “How are you guys?”

The shorter, pudgier guy smiles and tips his head in greeting. “We have some handmade jewelry, if you like,” he explains, opening the case and showing me an assortment of beaded bracelets and necklaces. “We have the best prices right here.”

I sit up and take a closer look at the variety of colorful trinkets, quite impressed with some of them. “These are very pretty,” I say honestly, “but I don’t have any money with me today. Will you guys be back down here later this week? I’ll be sure to buy some before I leave.”

“Is everything okay here?” Davis’ voice, heavy with concern, calls out from behind before they have a chance to reply.

Twisting around in my chair, I smile as I see him hurrying over to the three of us. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just looking at some of these bracelets and telling these guys I’d buy some before I leave.”

Davis stares them down, towering over them both with his six-foot-three, intimidating frame. “Is that
all
they offered you?”

“Yes, that’s it. Calm down, tough guy,” I laugh.

The taller guy sticks his hand out and smiles. “Hey man, I’m JT, and this is my friend Ron. We didn’t mean no trouble, just offering the lady some jewelry.”

They do some weird guy-handshake thing and the glower on his face disappears. “Davis. Nice to meet you both. Sorry, I didn’t know what was going on.”

“No worries, man. I understand you gotta protect your girl.”

Davis doesn’t address his comment; instead, he asks with a hopeful face, “Hey, were you guys part of the group playing cricket out here yesterday?”

Ron shuts the briefcase and grins. “Yah, man, that was us. Why? You play?”

“No, but I’d love to learn how to. Y’all got your equipment with you again today?”

“Every day, man. Come with us over there.” He points over to where some other locals are hanging out by the tree line. “Let’s get a match together.”

“Yeah, awesome,” Davis replies enthusiastically. “Let me grab a beer and I’ll be right there.”

Ron and JT retreat to the opposite side of the beach, yelling out something in their native tongue to their friends. Davis sits down next to me on the chair and lowers his soft, full lips to mine. “You wanna come over there with me? Learn how to play too?”

“Uh, no, I did mention I have the gracefulness of an elephant on roller skates, didn’t I? I’ll lay right here relaxing and listening to music while I watch you guys.” Laughing, I grab an ice cold beer from the metal bucket between the chairs and press it against his chest. “Here ya go. I already ordered us a bucket.”

He flinches as the frosty bottle hits his skin, quickly seizing it from my hand. “You are so bad,” he steals another kiss, “and you’re gonna pay for that later. Now watch how I go show these boys how to play their own game.”

“Should I get some cheers ready and be prepared to bring a drink when you snap your fingers too, Mr. Modest?” I raise my eyebrows, chuckling under my breath.

His thumb swipes affectionately across my cheek. “That’d be perfect, sweetie pie,” he teases. “I knew you got me.”

“Get outta here.” I lean back in my chair, still giggling. “Go have fun.”

One last kiss and he stands up, that cocky smile I can’t resist flickering across his face. “I’ll be back shortly, beautiful.”

My heart flutters around in my chest as he struts off as I wonder what in the hell I’m getting myself into. Lowering my sunglasses back over my eyes, I watch him greet the rest of Ron and JT’s friends, his self-confidence around the group of strangers unmistakable. Within minutes, they’ve organized a game and are running up and down the beach, laughing and having a good time.

It doesn’t take a sports journalist to recognize Davis’ natural athleticism; anyone with two eyes can see how he moves with agility and swiftness like no one else around him. I’m trying not to gawk, but the smooth, nimble movements of his tanned, toned body are something I just can’t keep my eyes off of. What I’d give to have a tenth of his physical poise and presence.

I want to ask him why he quit playing football, why he doesn’t give it another shot, but he’s made it quite clear he doesn’t want to talk about the plane crash or about his life back home. Apparently, he still keeps his body in excellent shape, and because he never used up any of his college eligibility, he could try out and walk on anywhere he wants to. I’m afraid to bring up the subject though, scared he’ll close me out completely, and I’m really having fun hanging out with him.

Headphones in, I finally force myself to stop drooling over Davis and his cricket domination, and close my eyes to relax for a bit. The next thing I know, my chest and stomach are doused with cool, refreshing drops of water, eliciting a surprised squeak from my throat. As I pry my groggy lids open, I see him standing over me, laughing as he wrings out the legs of his soaked swim trunks, intentionally getting me wet.

“Wake up, sleepy head. You need more sunscreen.” He sits down, pulling one of the buds out of my ear and sticking it in his. “What are you listening to anyway?”

He makes a funny face as Anthony Kiedis croons in both of our ears about when he finds his piece of mind. “Red Hot Chili Peppers?” Seriously? Have they even put out an album since we’ve been alive?”

“Hush your mouth,” I scold. “
Blood Sugar Sex Magic
is definitely in my top ten albums of all time, and this song is brilliant.” I scrunch my nose up at him. “Sorry if I’m not your normal teenage girl listening to Nicki Manaj or whoever else is topping the charts this week.”

“So you’re a music snob,” he says with a grin, removing the headphones from our ears. “It’s okay; I kind of am too. My friends used to always make fun of the stuff I listened to.”

“Really? What do you like?” I question, eager to learn more about who he really is.

Grabbing my hands, he draws me up out of the chair. “Let’s go cool you off before you overheat. We can talk more out there.”

As promised, once we’re out in the water, Davis finally starts to open up to me a little. Careful not to push, I allow him to share what he feels comfortable talking about, adding little tidbits about myself here and there. I learn he has a secret love for old school Delta blues, his favorite color is green because it reminds him of grass and he loves to be outside, and he’s exactly one year, one month, and one day older than I am.

“Favorite movie?” I ask before splashing him mischievously.

He pounces before I have a chance to escape, grasping my wrists and hauling me close to him. Wrapping one brawny arm tightly around me from behind so I can hardly move, he uses the other to tickle me relentlessly. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

I squirm and squeal, not really trying at all to get loose. “I’m sorry,” I gasp between breaths. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“Mhmm,” the tickling turns more into soft caresses, and he nuzzles his face into the nape of my neck, “I don’t believe you for one minute, Trouble. Now what did you ask me?”

My body immediately reacts to his touch, his closeness stimulating the deep-rooted hunger to feel him intimately again. “I asked about your favorite movie,” I rasp, leaning my head back against his chest, relishing the feel of his wandering hand dipping into my bikini bottoms.

“
The Departed
is hands down,” one finger slips inside of me, “the best movie I’ve ever seen.” Then another finger. “What about you?” His thumb starts rubbing my clit in a circular motion. “Can you pick a favorite?”

“Huh?” I grunt. My mind no longer cares about music or colors or movies; the only thing I can focus on is his wicked fingers pumping in and out of me, driving me absolutely insane. It’s a good thing his other arm is securing me snugly against him; otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d be thrashing around in ecstasy, drawing all kinds of attention over to us.