Page 6 of Love Off Course

Camilo

C arson struts out of the bathroom wearing a borrowed pair of my board shorts, grinning my way. “I was thinking?—”

“Oh, here we go,” I groan as I change into a pair of swim trunks. “This is never a good thing.”

“It’s always a good thing,” he argues. “Maybe you ought to ask her out.”

I glower at him. “No.”

“There’s chemistry, man. You’re like some Latin lover boy, right? Woo the gringa.”

“Dude.” I snort and shake my head. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m brilliant, CZ. She’s angry because she needs a hot little Mexican boy in bright yellow trunks to lure her into his bed.”

“See, when you say it like that, it sounds creepy.”

He starts to dance—over the top, I might add—pulling out some moves Patrick Swayze would be proud of. “Baby, oh, baby…” He waves me to him, winking.

“How are you even married? Did Krissy just feel sorry for you? Took one for the team of womankind?”

“Besides being a hunk?—”

“Don’t say hunk. You sound like the old fuckers you hang out with.”

“I’m excellent at eating puss?—”

“La la la. I can’t hear you.” I pretend to cover my ears so I don’t have to hear him describe in detail how he pleasures his wife.

“And I fuck like a stallion?—”

“Stop, Carson, just stop.”

He makes an exaggerated show of grabbing my dresser and thrusting his hips toward it while waggling his brows at me. “Just like this.”

I crack up laughing and shove him. “Let’s go. I can’t take any more of this torture. We have work to do anyway.”

We throw on some tennis shoes and head outside of my villa.

Since the place is now booked up, he’s rooming with me.

As soon as I hear Elton on the record player playing nearby, I smile.

All the stress of the last few months fades away.

Truth is, I missed home. I missed the chaos and the love and the food.

My crazy ass family and friends. As much as I love soaring above the clouds, I’ve always been tethered here.

Everyone needs a home base and this hotel is mine.

My abuela is sitting outside the little villa she uses for her home and a spa. One of my cousins must have already boarded her windows for the storm. She sits in a flower-print muumuu, a giant pot of clay between her legs, and is singing along to Elton as she works her clay.

“ Abuela ,” Carson greets as he strides up to my grandmother to give her wrinkly cheek a kiss. “Did you miss me?”

My abuela doesn’t speak English, but she understands Carson.

Hell, I think anyone over the age of sixty does.

He speaks their geriatric language. She smiles at him, revealing her gums, and I shake my head.

Her dentures are around here somewhere. I used to terrorize my younger cousins when we’d find them lying about all over the hotel and chase them as I pretended to chomp them with her fake teeth.

“ ?Preparando una caldo? ” I ask as I bend to kiss her. Making a pot?

She shakes her head and squeezes the soft clay in her arthritic-ridden hands. “ Para la cara, nino. ” For the face, child.

“ ?Donde está Mamá? ” Where is Mamá?

She points toward the front office. My mother is barking out orders to my cousins Mateo and Nicolás.

They’re both giant, sulking young men who tower over her, but they obey her because she’s the ruler of this roost. While the guys start hammering up boards, I sneak up on my mother.

When I bear hug her from behind, she squawks at me.

I have her arms pinned so she can’t swat at me.

I spin her around until she stops yelling and gives in to laughter.

Finally, I set her to her feet and kiss the top of her head.

“ Hola, Mamá .” Hello, Mamá.

She pulls away and gets her swat in, whacking me right in the stomach. “You can’t sneak up on me like that. I’m too old.”

“You’re not old,” I argue, grinning. “You’re young and beautiful and smart and?—”

“What do you want?” Her dark eyebrow arches up.

“Can’t a boy tell his mom he loves her?”

“You’re sucking up, mijo . You want something.”

I don’t. Used to. I’d butter her up so she’d let me go flying with Alejandro or run off in the jungle with my cousins or swim in the rain. I’m a grown man now. A man who has desperately missed his mother.

Her features relax and she hugs me. “Eduardo is making a feast tonight. Will you come?”

God, I’m such an asshole. Last time I was here, I was being a dick and avoided him as much as possible.

“Of course.” I kiss her head again. “I better go help board this place up so it doesn’t blow away.”

“You think this storm will be bad?”

“I have a feeling that it’ll make its mark.”

When she goes back to griping at my cousins, I sneak away. I end up stopping to help Linda tie down the restaurant patio furniture for a good half hour before Carson decides to grace us with his presence. The wind is beginning to pick up and I smell the storm coming.

“In the wild, the alpha males protect their cave from predators,” a high-pitched male voice sings. “The beta males with pink collars roar in appreciation.”

Carson busts out laughing and I cock my head at the dude in my face with a camera. It’s the Damian Birch. He’s found pink eyelashes and applied sparkly pink lipstick to his lips. His outfit is straight out of a bubblegum factory. So much pink. And spandex. And tight.

Look away.

I shudder. No man should ever be forced to look at another man’s junk so proudly displayed in pink spandex.

Lawton snorts nearby and I shoot him a glare.

“Don’t mind us, boys,” Damian chirps. “We’re just immortalizing this vacation forever by making a video journal. As soon as I get Wi-Fi, I’m uploading these clips.” He waves me off with a manicured hand. “Go on. Continue doing your manly deeds and I’ll continue to watch you sweat and flex.”

“I’ll watch too,” Lawton says with a shrug.

“Where is our waitress?” a hostile, prissy voice shrieks from inside Eddie’s.

I start for the door but pause to point at Carson. “Did you guys know he can dance like Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing ? I saw it with my own eyes earlier. The way his abs move…”

Carson shoots me an exasperated look and I shrug.

Fucker had that coming. I leave him to Damian and Lawton, who are giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.

Inside Eddie’s, I let my eyes adjust to the darker environment and seek out the source of the diva meltdown.

Sitting at a table in the middle is Sheridan, Estefania, and Kyle.

Where Estefania and Kyle are happily chatting, Sheridan sits like she has a pole up her ass—straight and perfect posture—while she glowers toward the kitchen.

Their glasses are empty and the basket of chips in front of them is nothing but crumbs.

I can see Eduardo sweating his balls off in the kitchen as he prepares dinner for everyone.

I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle of Corralejo, tucking it under my arm.

It’s cheap tequila and it’ll grow hair on your chest, but it’s a local fave around here.

I peek in on what Eduardo’s working on, offer him a wink, and then grab another basket of chips before sauntering over to the table.

Sheridan’s eyes are everywhere but on me.

Fair enough. It gives me time to check her out.

Her hair has been pulled back into a high, sleek ponytail and not a hair is out of place.

She’s wearing less makeup, as though she showered and only reapplied mascara and lip gloss.

It gives her a more innocent look compared to when I first met her.

Her outfit screams boardroom bitch, but she’s still hot.

I drag a chair across the aged tiled floor, loving how the loud sound rankles her. She can’t help but look at me now. Her gaze roams up my bare, sweaty abs and along my chest before she settles her heated brown eyes on mine.

“What are you doing?” Her shiny lip curls up.

“Brought a peace offering.” I set the chip basket on top of the other one and then unscrew the lid to the Corralejo. “Drink?”

“Pass,” she grumbles, but based on the way she eyes the bottle, she needs a drink. “I’d wanted Hennessy or Chardonnay but apparently that request just gets you laughed at.”

I pour some into her empty glass before doing the same for both Kyle and Estefania. “We’re simple around here. What can I say?” I smirk at her. “So, what’s everyone up to?”

“We are three friends talking about—” Estefania starts but gets cut off by Sheridan.

“Idiot pilots.”

“Someone say my name?” Carson asks, pulling up a chair and sitting next to me.

I take a swig of the Corralejo straight from the bottle and pass it to him. “We’re outnumbered and not wanted here.”

Carson snorts. “Nonsense. Everyone loves a pilot.”

“They are handsome,” Estefania tries, making Kyle laugh softly.

“I’m more of a seaman lover myself,” Sheridan says, lifting her chin primly.

Carson chokes on his tequila and Kyle’s face blushes. Estefania’s eyes widen.

I grin at Sheridan and lean in. “Seaman? You’re a seaman lover?”

The ice that seems permanently formed around Sheridan’s being suddenly cracks. I notice the exact moment she realizes her error.

“Oh my…” she trails off, her neck blazing crimson. “I meant…well, I meant exactly what I said, but you children can’t behave!”

“We are behaving,” I argue with a laugh. “You’re the one telling us how much you love seamen.”

“I mean a man with a boat, you idiot,” she hisses, but her brown eyes are alight with amusement.

“I’m a man with many boats who also loves semen,” Damian crows as he prances up to us and plops down in my lap. He waggles his sculpted brows at me. “Oh, honey, is that an anchor in your pocket or are you happy to see?—”

I playfully push him out of my lap. “Apparently, our abejita here loves seamen, not semen.”

“You’re a lesbian?” Damian asks, his face totally serious. “That explains a lot.”

“Wait,” Carson interjects. “Explains what? How does that explain anything?”

“I’m not a lesbian,” Sheridan grumbles.

Carson scratches his head. “I’m still wondering what makes you think Sherrie is into chicks. I mean, I know I didn’t misread the way she checks out my boy?—”

“I most certainly do not check out your boy,” Sheridan huffs. “And it’s Sheridan, not Sherrie.”

“Sherrie-dan was not looking at the handsome pilot’s glorious abs,” Estefania chimes in, coming to her rescue, miffed on her behalf.

“Glorious abs, huh?” I ask, flashing Sheridan a crooked smile.

She rolls her eyes and sips her tequila. “Nothing I haven’t seen before and certainly nothing special. And I’ve seen a lot of abs because I like boys and not girls.”

“Girl, same,” Damian cheers out, holding his hand out for a high-five. “Even if you are a female Autobot?—”

“What’s an Autobot?” Lawton asks, joining the growing fray of crazies.

“Metal robot. Basically a good guy, but kind of scary and hella tough,” Damian explains. “You ever seen Transformers ?”

When Lawton says he hasn’t seen Transformers , Damian squeals and launches into a detailed explanation of his “favorite movies ever.” Kyle tattles and whispers that his favorite movie ever is Moulin Rouge , but no one calls Damian out. I’m chuckling as they drag another table over.

“I’m a good guy?” Sheridan mutters, her brows knitting together in confusion.

My smile is wiped from my face as I stare at her. For one brief second, her wall is down. She’s not sad or pissed. She’s lost. In unfamiliar territory. Desperately needing a lifeline.

I poke the proverbial bear to remind her she has claws.

The girl needs to be fierce in order to survive the world she’s created for herself.

“A good guy with good lips.” I smirk at her as I rake my gaze down her front. “And good tit?—”

She tosses her drink at me. As soon as the tequila hits my eyes, I howl. Fuck. It burns. Holy shit. I totally deserved that, but still.

“Oh my God,” Sheridan cries out. “I forgot this wasn’t Sprite.”

My eyes are watering, and I can’t see, so I rub at them. Delicate hands grip my wrists. Everyone is laughing or talking over each other. It’s chaos and I can’t even see.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Sheridan hisses, pulling me up and out of my chair. “Come on.”

Blindly, I follow my abuser to my death. Or the bathroom at Eddie’s, which may as well be death with how stifling hot and cramped it is inside. Like a hot coffin in hell.

“Lean over so we can rinse your eyes out,” she sasses.

“I can’t believe you blinded me, woman.”

“That’ll teach you to gape at my boobs.”

“They’re nice boob?—”

She grabs a handful of my hair and pushes me toward the sink. “Hush.”

“You’re a mean little thing. I changed my mind,” I mutter. “Not a good guy. You’re the villain, abejita .”

“Villains always have cool cars,” she tosses back, splashing the lukewarm water in my face.

“What kind of car does my villain have?”

“I’m not your villain.”

“This is my story. You’re in it. You’re mine.”

She huffs, but it lacks her usual fire. “I have a pearl-white Jaguar F-Type.”

“Does it go fast?”

“Really fast.”

“Do you like to go fast?” I peek at her now that my eyes aren’t burning so much.

“I like to get there in one piece.”

I turn off the sink and rise to my full height. I love how she has to crane her neck up to see me. In the small space, she doesn’t have much room to escape. “You ever just enjoy the ride? Roll down the windows and let the wind mess up your hair a little?”

Her brows crash together. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I…because…I…” She sighs. “I don’t know.”

“I like your lips.”

She parts them. “I thought you liked my boobs.”

“I like those too,” I tell her with a smug grin. “I like a lot of things about you. Apparently I have a thing for villains.”

“I’m the good guy,” she tells me primly. “Damian already said so. You can’t change the rules.”

“Oh, I don’t change the rules.” I lift my hand and gently drag my thumb along her cheek. Her eyelashes flutter. Then, I reach back and tug on her hair tie. “I break them.”

She squeals in fury when I steal her hair tie and back out of the bathroom. I can feel her fire behind me as she follows. When I look over my shoulder to smirk at her, I’m caught off guard.

Blazing brown eyes.

Now messy chocolate-colored hair.

Pink cheeks from anger.

Fucking beautiful.

Damn.

A hurricane may be coming, but we have a storm right here with us. I’m struck in a single moment that makes my heart beat too fast in my chest that this girl is going to obliterate me.

Time to batten down the hatches and let her do her worst.

I’ve always wanted to ride a storm.