Page 18 of The Sweet Spot

“Have you ever been outside of the U.S.?” I ask.

“No, but I will one day.” She peeks up at me. “My bucket list is about a mile long.”

“Where would you go first?”

“Oh, man. Santorini, Greece. Japan, the Maldives, definitely Brazil—so you’d better send me a postcard. I want to see Christ the Redeemer.” She pauses, and I chuckle. I’ll totally do it. “Marrakesh, Morocco. And I have to see the Northern Lights before I die. Doesn’t matter where—I hear you can even catch them in Northern Ireland.”

“Really? I did not know that.”

“I read about it in an article once and knew I had to see it.”

“That’s a pretty epic list,” I say. “I’ve been to Brazil a million times, but only because my dad lives there. Also, Mãe. She’s from there.”

“Is Mãe your mom?”

I nod. “Mãe is Portuguese for mom.”

“Ah.” She cocks her head, her eyes wandering over my face. “Is your dad from there, too? Sorry I’m being so nosy.”

“It’s fine.” I laugh, cuddling her closer. “My grandparents moved here before Pai was born, but he spent his summers back in Brazil and even went to college there. He’s always loved the old country, so no one was really surprised when he finally packed his shit and left for good.”

“How old were you?”

“When my parents split? Nine.”

She nods, biting that full bottom lip. I’d like to bite it for her. “That must’ve been hard.”

I shrug. “It was, but he was gone all the time by that point anyway.”

“Is Pai, dad?”

“You’re catching on.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you speak fluent Portuguese?”

“I’m a little sloppy. I’ll be fluent by the time I get back from Brazil.”

Silence falls again, but it’s comfortable this time. Someone squeals as they pass going the other way on the Sky Glider, and Wren laughs, her hand landing on my thigh. I don’t think she means for it to, but once it lands there, I cover it with mine. “Is that all?”

A tiny smile dances at her mouth. “I must admit I’m very curious about you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I’d ask your favorite food, but I seem to remember you having a thing for churros.”

I squeeze her hand. “Good memory.”

“Nope,” she murmurs, those jade-colored eyes shifting down to my mouth. “You’re just hard to forget.”

Sliding my hand around the back of her neck, I bring her closer. Her eyes close as the space between us dissolves. Our lips touch. She’s soft, just like I knew she’d be. I want inside, so I ask for it by running my tongue lightly over the seam of her lips. She opens for me, and I lick my way in, tasting her sweet, little mouth. She tastes like bubblegum and beer, and fuck, I’m stiffer than a surfboard right about now.

There’s a subtle jolt as the car we’re in crosses the top of the line and begins its slow descent to the end of the ride. I back off, opening my eyes as I subtly adjust myself.

It’s hard to keep it innocent when Wren licks her lips, like she’s still tasting that kiss. Her eyes drift open as she stares up at me.

“You’re really fucking pretty, Wren,” I say. I can’t help it. “You know that, right?”

Her face blooms into a smile, and she shrugs. “So are you.”

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