He laughs, too. “Yael knows about us, of course—”
“I feel like the underwear purchase was a big clue.”
“It was, indeed, but if my manager, Melissa, knew that I was on a date, and that I was skipping out on a free day and going to the beach?” He whistles. “I would be in a lot of trouble.”
“You’re a grown man!”
He nods. “Sure, but there are some freedoms those of us in the public eye have to give up, and anything like this should be cleared. Especially if I am out with a woman—I wouldn’t be alone with a woman in public at home. Melissa doesn’t like to be surprised.”
“Does she know about Seattle?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, she knows everything? Even when you have sex with someone?”
“I mean, we don’t discuss it in such explicit terms,” he says, laughing, “but I let her know I spent time with someone there and it was just overnight, so I’m sure she read between the lines.” He pauses, sobering a little. “She doesn’t know that we saw each other again in the hotel in LA, though.”
My brows go up. “I’m a secret lover.”
“You’re a friend,” he adds, winking. “Right? My sister’s best friend from childhood. Of course we’d reconnect.”
“We’ll be good,” I promise. “I won’t even treat you like a celebrity. If you get hot, you can fan yourself—”
“Fan myself?” He pretends to start to turn the car around.
“—carry your own towel,” I roll on. “I won’t grope you out in the open.”
Alec laughs, changing lanes to exit in Long Beach.
I gape at him. “Are you really turning around?”
“We need supplies.”
Off the freeway, we park in front of a Walgreens, and I stare blankly up at the entrance. “Okay, I realize you’re a celebrity but you’re taking me to a drugstore? This date might be too fancy for me, Alec.”
He laughs. “Give me one,” he says. “Before we get out.”
I’m about to ask him one what, but he leans over the console, cups my face, and sweetly settles his mouth over mine. At first it’s just a peck, a drag of his lips, and then another that’s even softer, but then he’s tilting his head, coming at me deeper and longer, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth. When he grasps the back of my neck and holds me still so he can have his way with me, he is only one soft groan away from being dragged into the back seat.
Thankfully, he seems to swallow the groan but lets out a happy, breathy laugh into my mouth when I scrape my teeth over his lip. I remember this kissing; I remember thinking what a relief it was to find someone for the first time in my life who kisses the exact same way I do.
My brain shrieks in alarm at this thought. I’m taking a mental stroll across hot coals. This, whatever it is, is starting to defy an easy label. In reality, it’s a fling, and we both know it has a very clear expiration date. He gave me a secret iPhone, for fuck’s sake!
But flings don’t spend every free second together; they don’t sneak kisses every chance they get. They certainly don’t think how great it is to have found the kissing equivalent of a soulmate.
My heart fills with stars, expanding.
Alec pulls away, focusing on my mouth. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I pause, dazed. “Ready for what?”
He laughs, thinking I’m joking, kissing me lightly again. “Let’s go.”
Inside the store, we get bottles of water, granola bars, the sunscreen that we both forgot, cheap beach chairs, and various dorky floaty toys. He buys me an ugly Post Malone hat; I buy him some aviator sunglasses with iridescent pink lenses.
Back in the car, each of us wearing our gifts, he turns the music up; we roll the windows down and drive in contented quiet with his hand resting lightly on my thigh.
At least, it rests lightly at first. But soon his thumb strokes the fabric of my cutoffs to the rhythm of the song. Tiny circles widen and narrow, widen and narrow. Finally, he gives me a moment to breathe, moving his hand to adjust the volume, but then he returns and now it’s worse, because his fingertips toy with the frayed hem of the denim. Gradually, they sneak under, touching me featherlight, dancing aimlessly along the skin of my inner thigh, almost as if he’s doing it without knowing, but inside I am an inferno, with crackling campfire heat snapping beneath my skin. Does he know what he’s doing to me? Touching skin that he’s kissed, skin that has slid up around his hips, pressed against his face. Skin that feels bruised from the ache he’s building.