She's the Man / Roy Kent

Chapter twenty two.

   Roy rolled his eyes. "I meant Spain."

   "Oh," She slowly nodded, glancing up from the menu to appraise him. "Well, we can't do that either. I have a twin."

    That garnered another eye roll. She leaned across the table and pressed a slow kiss to his mouth. He softly caressed her sun-reddened cheek. Her hand cupped his working jaw. They both smiled into it.

    It was something they did quite often here, smile. Everything made them grin. The local children who chased them down the street, posing football questions in broken English. Those rare instances where a cloud would hug the sun, granting them shelter from the sweltering heat and a fleeting feel of home. Freshly squeezed orange juice with breakfast, and with lunch, and sometimes even with dinner. The tiny sand crabs which seemed to favour Ada's company. The view from their flat's terrace, which was good for star gazing, and perfect for people watching (they spent their lazy evenings playing a game that the Tartt twins used to love; picking a random person on the street and giving them a backstory – her boyfriend lacked imagination, and he refused to do the funny voices that Jamie always committed to, but it was still fun).

    They kissed a lot more too – which was really saying something because Ada and Roy had always been kissers. But it was different here. Their days were just full of them; kisses under stone arches, kisses in markets, salty kisses on the beach, sweet kisses after ice cream, breathy kisses during sweaty sex (and it truly was sweaty, because their accommodations lacked proper air conditioning), kisses randomly planted on the other's mouth in the middle of a conversation, slow kisses on the balconies of candlelit restaurants.

    "I should probably be the one to order." Ada mumbled against his lips, softly pecking him two more times before sitting back in her seat. "Because, well, me Spanish is way better than yours."

    "The Macarena doesn't count." Her boyfriend grunted, vaguely amused.

     "Roy," She tilted her head and began reciting the lyrics in a dramatically earnest tone. "The only reason you and I are together is because tu cuerpo es pa darle alegría y cosa buena."

    He squinted. "Fuck's that mean?"

   "See?" Ada grinned. "I'm ordering."

    She regretted that decision, and her genetically engrained initiative, as soon as they were done eating. When their plates were cleaned. When their serviettes were crumpled. When their translated bill arrived. Because, according to the tab, what followed their starters (a fresh mixed salad and an ample selection of tapaz), and what preluded dessert (a shared slice of bizocho with a creamy centre), was their agreed upon main course; a shallow pan of crispy, seasoned Paella.

    Paella, with rabbit meat.

    "It-- it tasted. . . like fucking chicken."

      Roy shovelled the last of the cream dessert into his mouth. "Tasted better than chicken, to be fair."

    "I just. . ." Ada quietly sniffled, ignoring him. "You know, I was thinking about getting one as a pet."

     He set his pastry fork down and furrowed his brows. "A rabbit?"

    "A bunny, yeah," She nodded. Her hand reached for his much larger one, and their fingers instinctively interlocked. "We could've gotten one. Raised it together."