Wanna Bet?

Part 7

"Oh my God. We're going camping?" My hands flew to my mouth. This was too funny. Too ridiculous. Too perfect. I jumped the last foot separating us and threw my arms around him.

He chuckled as he held me close, his nose and mouth against my neck as he murmured, "Do you like it?"

"I love it," I breathed, inhaling as much of his crisp T-shirt and his fresh, all-Kiko scent. "You're adorable, do you know that?"

He lifted his head and rested it against mine. "We were talking about maybe camping in April you said you hadn't been able to go to the beach for the past four years because you've been so busy, so I thought––"

I kissed him before he could say more. This man. This man.

He led me to the blanket, carefully positioning me to lean against him while we watched the grill.

"This is perfect," I said. "All we're missing is a guitar and some tone-deaf acoustic OPM covers."

"I don't play, sorry. I tried learning, of course, but the bar chords defeated me." He leaned back, his smile growing wider. "I have another surprise." From inside the tent, he pulled out a plastic container with big fluffy marshmallows, squares of Graham crackers and a wrapped bar of Cadbury chocolate.

"Is this for real?" I laughed, opening it and attempting to skewer a marshmallow on a barbeque stick.

We tried roasting the marshmallows over the grill, which accomplished nothing, while we regaled each other with competing s'more methods from our respective camping experiences. Finally we gave up, ate our sausages and barbeque, popped open some beers and nibbled on the s'more components.

Somehow my earlobe was being nibbled on, too.

"I didn't know this was part of dessert," I mumbled, because it was hard to talk clearly, what with his mouth making pretty little shapes on my neck and under my jaw.

With an effort, he pulled back. He looked at me with that intent, focused gaze that never failed to make me feel like jelly. "You're so beautiful," he murmured.

"And you're gorgeous," I said back.

"It's not a competition," he laughed.

"That's good, because you'd win it, hands down." I wriggled up to him, folding my legs on top of his lap and putting my arms around his neck. "Kiko Trinidad. You're sexy, handsome, and sweet. Your domestic skills would put Martha Stewart to shame. And when you kiss me, my mind turns to stardust."

He pulled me closer with a sound that was part anguish, part joy.

"That first time I saw you, at the gym, it was like being shot out of a cannon. Those legs, pumping on that treadmill––" He swept his hand from my ankle to my thigh, caressing me under my skirt. "You made me lose my head, so the first thing out of my mouth was that stupid question about how fast you ran."

"It wasn't stupid," I breathed, because his hand was running up and down my thigh and how could a girl even think? I retaliated by rubbing the neck of his T-shirt, moving my fingers to splay against his chest. He hissed under his breath. "I remember telling you it was a poor attempt at a pick up, but I appreciated you soldiering on." I took my hand out and trailed it over his shirt, settling over his delicious abs.

"I'm persistent." He squeezed my thigh and moved to cup my ass.

"Mmm. I like that about you." I slid my hand under his shirt, where his skin trembled a bit at my touch.

"God, I love touching you." He rubbed his nose against mine as he said that, a puppyish gesture, which was undone when his mouth found the hinge of my jaw and sucked it.