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He toasted an exceptional bagel.
And he had the perfect touch with cream cheese.
NINE
“SPRAINED ANKLE”
(JULIEN BAKER)
As I sat next to Javi in his truck while he idled in the suicide lane outside The Surf Club, I tried to decipher what the white shoe polish on the front window was depicting without reading Tex’s white slashes that formed words.
I gave up, read the words Tex’s Daily Special: Mexican Mocha and decided the curves and jags beside it were supposed to be a sombrero…with tassels.
Javi made the turn, and my mind skipped from that to what I’d been struggling with since Javi finished the bottom half of his bagel, then took a break from breakfast to carry my suitcases up the stairs.
Nerves.
See, even before I finished breakfast, I noticed we’d slept in. So, not only was I in Javi’s space, and I didn’t have the accoutrement for any of my morning rituals (which meant starting two days without grounding myself in my rituals, something that was not good), I also didn’t have the time to do any of them without accoutrement because I had to get a move on in order to get ready for work.
But, onward from that, Javi was taking my bags up to his room.
And we’d only had one very weird date I didn’t claim as a date until after it was over (and still wasn’t committed to that claim).
When Javi returned, he sat on the stool beside me and murmured, “You get the bathroom first.”
That was when the nerves kicked in big time.
Sure, I’d been sucking face and rolling around on his bed with him not half an hour ago.
But calmer heads were prevailing, which every girl knew when she learned the boy she was really into was really into her meant one thing.
It was time to panic.
This, I did.
“We should talk about that kiss,” I blurted.
He slowly turned his head to me, and when I caught the sexy-hot fire of memory burning in his eyes, I squirmed.
“What about it, baby?” he purred.
I wish he hadn’t purred, because now I wanted to suck face and grope him at his kitchen island.
Even so.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I just…I don’t know. It’s important for me that you know I’m not that girl.”
He tipped his head to the side. “What girl?”
“I like for things to go a little slower.”
For a second, he didn’t move.
Then, roaring with laughter, he stood from his stool, bent low to me, grasped my head in both hands, tipped it to his, and still laughing, stated, “We go any slower, lil’ mama, we’ll connect when we’re eighty.”
I could feel my cheeks were aflame, and I had proof they were when his dancing eyes fell to them, and that was embarrassing, but I had to dig deep to my never very stocked reserves of bravery and sally forth.
“I just…just…just…”