Page 24 of Scoreless Nights

“Those two seem to think you need bubble wrap and goggles,” he sighed, almost to himself. His hand went to mine and he moved it away from his face, but he still wasn’t looking at me.

“They’re looney, you said so yourself.”

“It must be hereditary,” he mumbled, finally looking at me.

My smile was weak, because I didn’t know if he meant that for me, or for him. Not that it mattered. At the rate we were going, our parents were going to seem like they wrote a book on the art of sanity.

“I don’t need bubble wrap,” I huffed, a little petulant.

“No, you need a spanking,” he growled.

That wasn’t the threat he intended it to be, at least not according to my body. My legs clenched together, and I pressed my nails into my palms to distract me from the path my thoughts traveled.

Cruz noticed, because his eyes darkened and started running down my chest, my stomach, and then my legs. He shook his head, telling himself no, but I didn’t hear him ask the question.

It was another few minutes of us silently facing off before he tilted his head up. “Ready for dinner?”

“What?” How did he expect us to enjoy dinner together after that?

“Did you forget we have a date?”

The look on my face must have been way more than confusion, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys then pulled my hand. He guided me toward the door, and I didn’t argue, or fight him, I was hungry, and despite our insanity, I wanted to spend more time with him.

When we were in the elevator, he was still holding my hand and he leaned over, nearly pressing his lips above my ear. “You don’t scare me, Lily.”

“Well you scare me,” I admitted.

“I’m trying to change that.”

“Not sure that’s possible.”

The elevator doors opened, and instead of pulling me forward, he held a hand out for me to go first. His other hand found the small of my back and he guided me toward his car, opening the door for me. I hesitated, and started to question what we were doing, but he leaned close again, his breath on my cheek. “Get in.”

My knees practically gave out and I got in the passenger seat without another word. His car was a stick shift, some black, sporty, two-door BMW that suited him, without being too flashy. Whatwasflashy were the veins in his forearms as he shifted us into reverse, and then into gear, as we left the parking garage. In fact, I could barely look at anything else until he slammed the brakes at a light and made me snap out of it.

We sped through the traffic of South Beach and away from the center of the city, past North Beach, and toward Bal Harbour. The music Cruz played was in Spanish, and I couldn’t help but sway my shoulders a little with the beat while watching everything we passed, and reading every sign, soaking in the sights of a place I never knew existed. It was unbelievably gorgeous, well-kept, and serene. Even when it wasn’t high-end shops and palm trees, the architecture, and the homes we passed, were unique in their characteristics and colors.

We pulled into an empty parking lot close to sundown and I followed Cruz’s lead, getting out of the car. We were walking alongside the Ritz, which was the only place that I could see that may have served dinner.

But Cruz took my hand and led me behind the hotel, toward a long, rocky pier. It curved into the ocean, right next to the inlet where boats were pulling in and out of the choppy water. If it hadn’t been for a few signs that other people had been there earlier, I would have assumed we were breaking the law. There were no sides or railings, and the wind seemed to blow harder and harder the closer we got to the end.

“What are we doing?” I finally asked, wondering why I blindly followed Cruz. It was eerie, being at the end of the pier, and looking back toward the land as if we were standing on the water itself.

“Dinner, remember?”

“Are we fishing with our hands?”

He gave me a look that told me I was ridiculous, but what else was there for us out there? We weren’t going to be catching a boat, there was no way one could safely pull up along the rocks the way the waves were crashing on them.

“Sit,” he instructed, then lowered himself down as well.

I crossed my legs like a butterfly while he stretched his out and leaned back on his arms. He took a few deep breaths of the sea air before he reached into his pocket and pulled out two candy bars.

“Dinner is served.”

I started to scoff at him, thinking he was fucking with me on a new level. But then I glanced at the candy bar again, and I gasped at the memory it triggered.

“La Primada Baracoa,” I croaked. “I haven’t had one of these since I was, I don’t know, seventeen?”

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