Page 45 of Personal Foul
“It’s nothing you need to worry about. Not tonight anyway. We’re going somewhere private, just the two of us.”
He laces his fingers in mine, pulling me back from the door as he reaches for the handle.
He insists on being the one to drive us, saying he doesn’t want to spoil the surprise. Despite my many attempts to convince him otherwise, he won’t give it away.
“Will you give me a clue?”
“A clue?” he asks, quirking his brow up.
His hand has been resting on my thigh, driving me wild every time he rubs his thumb over my skin. My body trembles, my breath catches in my throat, and I’m stuck trying to remind myself to breathe.
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do with you since I first moved to Miami.”
My eyes narrow in confusion, shuffling through the conversations we’ve had. He’s talked a lot about his mom and brother back in Denver, but I come up empty on anything else.
“Is this something I should know?”
“No.” He laughs. “I haven’t told you, but you asked for a clue. I’ve wanted to check this place out since I moved here. I thought I’d give you this little detail, wanting you to know why I decided to bring you here tonight. Plus, it’s quiet and private, and we won’t have to worry about anyone bothering us.”
It takes us about twenty minutes to get there, pulling into a residential neighborhood I’ve never been to before. I’m starting to get nervous thinking about his comment earlier tonight about us living together, wondering if he’s about to spring something on me I’m not quite ready for.
“Colson,” I say, dragging it out. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
“You didn’t buy a house out here or something, did you?”
He chuckles. “Nope.”
Flicking the turn signal, he pulls onto a side road leading down to the beach. I peer out of the corner of my eye at him, trying to read his mind. Just when I’m about to question him further, he slows and veers onto a narrow road, pulling into a secluded parking area overlooking the beach.
It’s quiet, unlike the rest of South Beach, notoriously known for being the best place to hit up if you’re looking to party. The white sand leads into the water, lapping along the shoreline. I almost wish he would’ve told me we were coming down here, picturing the two of us going for an intimate swim.
“How did you find this place?”
“This house right here belongs to a friend of mine.” He points to a white house on the other side of the privacy fence lining the side of the road. The back of the house, overlooking the ocean, is encased with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a mirror illusion.
Unless you were paying attention, you likely wouldn’t have noticed the road we turned down. Colson opens the door for me. He uses his car remote to pop the trunk, reaching for a small picnic basket and two blankets. My heart soars thinking about how thoughtful he was to plan ahead for tonight.
“When I was younger, my brother wanted to be a pilot. It was his dream. My mom worked hard to put me in different basketball leagues, getting me involved in any way she could. As a single mom, who was struggling to make ends meet, it was harder for her to do the same for my brother. I mean, what ways are there to help your son chase his dream of being a pilot when he’s six or seven years old?”
“Anyway, there were days she’d take us down to the park, letting us run around and play. There was a playground not too far from our place with a basketball court, so some nights she’d take us there, and we’d have a picnic. After dinner, she’d shoo me off and I’d head over to the basketball court by the jungle gym for hours until dark.”
I reach for the two blankets, sticking them under my arm resting against my hip while Colson carries the picnic basket.
We carry on down the path leading to the shoreline as he continues, “Other nights, we’d pack up our dinner, only this time she’d take us down to a small park overlooking the airport, and we’d eat dinner while watching the planes fly in and out. I always imagined all of the warm places they were traveling to and the cool things they’d get to see.”
We reach a small area underneath two palm trees lining the edge of the property, providing us with enough shade against the setting Miami sun.
Colson had come prepared with sandwiches, a container of fruit, and a bottle of wine with two glasses. We each have a glass of wine while the sun starts to set, the temperature turning cooler as the sun disappears into the horizon.
We sit here and share more childhood memories of growing up, digging into the basket of food. When it gets too chilly, Colson pulls out the second blanket, and I curl up in his arms beneath the starry night sky.
Despite how hard it is for me at times to talk about my childhood, I love hearing him share about his. It is like peeling back another layer of him, and the more I learn, the more I love about him.
Colson reclines back, his arms folded beneath his head with my head tucked next to his, my arm wrapped around his waist. We watch while planes take off, flying out of the Miami airport, trying to guess where they could be going. We talk about trips of our own we’ve been on and future vacations we hope to take together.
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” Colson asks.
