Page 129 of Wild Hit
Her smaller hand is in mine, and I jerk my head toward the door, which makes some drops of who knows what land on my face. Her lips, pink and swollen, form a quietyesthat I know more than hear. The drunk singing has started, and it would be impossible to have a real conversation here.
Audrey’s the one who tugs at my arm toward the exit, and I follow her. Deliriously, even. This is just the beginning of us walking together for the rest of our lives.
The corridors in the staff building are still lit up but empty. Everyone who earns a paycheck from the Wild organization is crammed into the clubhouse. Our steps echo and Audrey doesn’t let go of my arm for a second, not even while we climb some stairs that start looking familiar, or when she shoulders a metal door open into the night.
The wind seems to cradle us into the outdoors. Automatic lights come on and finally I recognize where we are. It’s the terrace over the staff entrance, where we once officially became friends.
Audrey whirls around to face me, her mouth opening to speak. And I can’t help myself, I cover it with my own, now fully free to show how much I hunger for her. Moaning and holding her tight isn’t enough, and I bury my hands in her wet and messy hair. A sound comes out of her that makes my blood boil, and my heart tries to claw into her chest.
“Miguel,” she groans my name, nearly decimating me on the spot. “Miguel… Miguel…”
“Audrey,” I rasp out against her lips, caressing them with mine while I try to catch my breath. “You make me wild.”
“So do you.” Her feminine laugh sets me even further ablaze.
My head is spinning. I’ve wanted this moment so much, so damn hard, that I’m afraid of myself. Of this feeling that is swallowing me up right here, right now.
Leaning my forehead on hers softly, I draw in a ragged breath and open my eyes. “I wanted you to know something.”
“Wait,” she pants hard. “Why are you still able to think?”
I laugh. “Trust me, Iamabout to lose my mind.”
“Oh, okay.” She offers the sweetest, most lethal smile. I can’t wait to wake up to it every morning.
I kiss it. Gently. But I can’t pull away for the longest time. Her hands run up my chest, one of them resting over my booming heart. Not to be outdone, I bring her flush against me by her waist.
“You’ve never been my hard place,” I mutter against her lips, my tongue running against them for a quick taste. “You’re my soft place, my sweetness, my joy, and I officially want to ask you out on a date.”
“Just one?” She looks up at me, brushing my hair away from my forehead. “Because I want at least a million.”
“Deal,” I respond, palming the curve of her lower back like it’s the only anchor I have to reality. “Then let’s have our first one.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” It’s a damn shame that I have to let go of her for even one second, but it’s only to ask for her hand. “Dance with me.”
Audrey throws her head back for a laugh, the untidy braid falling off her shoulder. “But there’s no music!”
And that’s when I hear it, a soft pitter patter all around us, the gentlest of sounds that transports me to the stormy night that brought down my carefully built resolve of just being her friend. I smile as the first cold drops hit my shoulders.
“Look at that, the heavens are giving us a little waltz. Let’s dance in the rain, mi vida.”
She draws in a breath, and her chin trembles. Her eyes are bright, though, two gleaming jewels that bore into me like only she can see me—the real me, with all my virtues and my flaws.
Her delicate hand falls on mine, and the other one finds my shoulder. “I have two left feet,” she jokes, barely containing her happiness from breaking out on her face.
“Don’t worry, just follow me.” I find her lips again, and slowly, we start our first real date, dancing in the rain.
EPILOGUE
DECEMBER
“Audrey Machado,” my dad says, bushy eyebrows nearly meeting, his mustache arched in discontent. “Would you leave some of that cake for Martina?”
“It’s Marty, Gramps. Besides, I kinda want cheese instead,” she fires back as she brings a big square of gouda into her mouth.
“Does anyone want more coffee or tea?” Consuelo asks, holding a thermos up for view. At first she wasn’t too fond of the idea of lowering to sit on a mat that’s spread over the cold grass of a public garden in the middle of Orlando.
