Page 23 of Stick Games
“Gabe.”
“Yeah, babe.”
“Marco…”
9
Emilia
We spent far more time at the cenote than we planned, and now, after returning the four-wheelers, showering and changing, we’re sitting at the poolside bar, waiting for our friends to come back. Only problem is, we head back home tomorrow, and I’m not quite ready for this adventure—this exploration—to be over.
Would Gabe consider moving this hook-up from the Caribbean to Boston? I frown at that thought, because the truth is, I want more than a vacation hook-up.
“Something on your mind?” he asks as I sip my fruity drink.
I shrug and toy with my straw.
“It’s still your ‘yes’ day,” he reminds me. “If you have something on your mind, you should tell me now.”
Just then the bartender puts two shot glasses in front of us. “What’s this for?” I ask, and pick one up to read the inscription. Truth Serum. I laugh at that.
The bartender grins. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Much,” he adds with a grin. “But you both look like you have something on your mind and I thought this could help.”
I set my glass down and he unscrews the cap from the bottle of tequila.
Gabe picks up the salt and holds it out. “I’m game if you are.”
“Okay.”
He takes my arm, licks it, and sprinkles salt on. Okay, was that supposed to turn me on? He does the same to his arm and hands me my glass. I clink it with his. We both swallow the contents in one gulp and as it burns down my throat it sucks the air from my lungs.
“Ohmigod, Gabe.” He hands me a lime.
“Suck this.”
We both suck on limes and a hard quiver goes through me. “One good thing about this,” I say as I grab a napkin and press it to my lips and squirm on my stool, “This will kill any germs we might have caught from the muddy water.”
Gabe laughs, picks up the bottle the bartender left on the bar and refills our glasses. “Before we drink, we ask a question and tell a truth.” He cocks his head. “You want to go first?”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes and glance at his crotch. “I lied, it’s impressive. Is that what this is all about? You getting me to admit that.”
He laughs hard and the bartender chuckles and saunters away. He salts us both up and hands me my drink. I slick the salt and swallow it fast. Goddamn. It still tastes like poison. I slam my glass down and gasp for breath as I suck on my lime.
Gabe sets his glass beside mine. “My turn.” I brace myself, because he has a strange look in his eyes.
“Okay, what?”
“Do you really hate me calling you Millie?” I arch my brow. I guess I was expecting something different to come out of his mouth, something that might touch on what’s really happening between us. I hesitate, my thoughts swirling. His eyes search mine for an answer, and when I don’t give him one right away, he nods. "Fine. If you hate it, I’ll stop," he says, his voice tinged with something I can’t quite place. Disappointment? Hurt?
“Oh, now you’ll stop, will you,” I shoot back. “You’ve been doing it ever since I knew you.”
“I told you. It suits you.”
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “I’m cute.”
“Hey.” He takes one of my hands in his, a spark igniting between us. “The truth is, I call you Millie because… well, because I wanted my own special name for you, because you’re so fucking special to me.”
I’m special to him…
