Page 46

CHAPTER 46

LOGAN

“S o, I’ve noticed something.”

“Hmm?” I turn to Rose, since we’re stopped at the world’s longest red light just at the entrance of New Smyrna, where Rose’s mother lives.

Our hands are linked but she has my arm extended almost over her, and with her free hand she traces the lines of my rose tattoos. She already has the full story of what my tats mean to me—though she has no idea that a Rosalina Mena tattoo is in development—but this is the first time she actively tries to map them. It raises goosebumps all over my skin and I do nothing about it. It’s not like she doesn’t know I have the hots for her.

“First, you usually drive a motorbike. Second, you drive with the top off. Is it a pattern or am I reading too much into it?”

I tense as her finger leaves the ink to trace a vein on the inside of my arm. Now we’re moving toward electric shock territory, rather than just measly goosebumps.

“I love driving with the top off.” I pointedly look at her—more specifically, at her chest proudly on display in a bikini top themed with the American flag. We’re on our way to spend July 4 th at the beach with her mom, and there’s nothing more American than driving a convertible and wearing only bathing suits to celebrate this great nation. Yee and haw.

Especially because she’s freaking gorgeous. All that brown skin gleaming under the sun, those curves, that softness and?—

She cuts off my very dangerous train of thought but makes it worse, because she cocks an eyebrow and looks at my stomach. “Trust me, I’m really enjoying it too.”

Ah, yes. I’m also shirtless.

I run my left hand over my abs and she bites her lip.

The only reason why neither of us lose our minds right here and now is because the light turns green. Sighing, I focus back on the road.

Rose clears her throat. “Anyway, that’s not what I mean and you know it.”

She lowers my arm to her lap, gifting me a scorching brush against her bare abdomen, and it takes me a hot second to find my wits again. I’m pretty sure I’m only able to sober up because she’s asking about something kinda gnarly about my life, and I’m not going to hold it from her. I’m a full open book now.

“There’s a reason,” I start, allowing my brain some time to find the best way to explain this. I turn us into a street with old houses surrounded by palm trees. “When I was a kid, I used to hide in closets so I could escape the drama between my parents or from Lewis and his games. Until one day he discovered what I was up to and locked me up for a whole weekend.”

She gasps.

“So, I’m claustrophobic.” I shrug, stopping at yet another red light and facing her again. “I panic in small spaces or when I’m surrounded by a lot of people. Enclosed vehicles feel like closets to me, I can’t stand them for long.”

“Wait.” Something clicks in her brain. “Does ginger ale make it better?”

I startle a little, but it shouldn’t surprise me that she made that connection. “Fizzy drinks force my throat to open up when I’m in the very beginnings of an attack. Strong menthol candies work too.”

“Making a mental note to always carry some Halls with me,” she says, hugging my arm against her like it’s a precious stuffed toy.

“You know how else you could help me in those cases?”

“How?” she asks right away.

“By sticking your tongue down my throat.”

“Logan!”

I chuckle and the line of cars starts moving, so I set us in motion again. The GPS says that we’re just two minutes from the building where her mom lives, two blocks away from the beach.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t bring something?” I inquire to change the topic.

“Babe, no. My mom is going to have a whole feast ready. We’ll go back to Orlando weighing fifty pounds more each.”

“But not even a present?”

“Nah, she’s pretty chill. What you need to brace yourself for is the inquisition.”

We’re rolling down the street so I can only glimpse at her for a second. “The what?”

Rose offers me a sneaky smile and refuses to say anything further on the topic. I’m still trying to pry some hints when we pull into the gated parking lot and retrieve our beach bags, and even as I follow her on the way to the beach. She cleverly ignores me by calling her mom on the phone to tell her we have arrived and are looking for her.

There’s no need, though. I spot the hair right away. Turns out Rose gets her incredible curls from her mother.

“Mija!” The woman drops a pair of tongs on a little table by a grill, which is the center of a whole array of stuff—beach chairs, a massive umbrella, towels, floaters, two coolers.

Just how did she haul all this by herself?

I hang back as the two women take off and meet in a tight embrace that threatens with toppling them over. Where Rose is only in a bikini top and short jean shorts—emphasis on short —her mom is in some sort of flowy tunic, but also in ‘Murica motif.

They kiss each other’s cheeks with loud smacks. Mrs. Mena holds her daughter’s face to inspect her, fixes up her daughter’s hair, and declares, “Mija, you’re too skinny. I’m glad I get to feed you.”

My lips twitch. What she doesn’t know is that I’ve been feeding Rose for about a month now, and she’s very well nourished. The owners of our fave Korean restaurant and the Venezuelan food truck would agree.

“I brought another mouth to feed,” Rose declares, stepping aside to motion at me. “Mom, meet my boyfriend, Logan Kim. Logan, meet my mom, Diana Mena.”

I drop our bags in the sand and wipe my hand with my trunks before offering it to her. “Very happy to meet you, Mrs. Mena.”

She glances at my hand and doesn’t take it. Instead, she does a thorough scan from my hair—longer than most guys keep it—to the tattoos, and all the way down to my toes buried in the hot sand. When it’s clear that she’s not going to shake my hand, I lower it to my side.

Mrs. Mena turns to her daughter and blinks fast. “You just told me you got a good boyfriend, not that you won the lottery.”

Rose barks a laugh.

Now grinning, Mrs. Mena approaches me and I raise my hand again. But she keeps going and instead gives me a hug. It’s one of those that force me to bend forward, and she even pats my back.

“Just call me Diana,” she says, pulling away and holding me at arm’s length. “And you also need some more food. I can see your ribs, boy!”

“Those aren’t ribs, Ma. Those are muscles.”

“Well, muscles also need food, right?” The woman chuckles. “Tell me, is there anything you don’t eat?”

I answer right away, “No sugar or alcohol because I’m still in the middle of the season. Everything else is game.”

“Got it. Sit tight, the hot dogs are almost done.”

Rose motions at me to join her and she guides us under the umbrella. “Shouldn’t we help?” I whisper.

“Trust me, feeding us is her love language. Best we let her enjoy it.” Rose winks at me and pops her shorts button open.

I lose track of the conversation altogether, just watching avidly as she slides them down her thighs. As far as bikini bottoms go, this one is tame—high waisted and covering everything—but just the contour of her body gets my heart pumping.

I don’t think salivating over her daughter in front of her would be the best introduction to Diana, so I force myself to just sit beside Rose and stare at her mother.

“So, Logan…” Diana says clearly over the noise from the families around us, the crashing waves, or the birds flying overhead.

“Here we go,” Rose mumbles in my ear, again grabbing my arm and hugging it against her chest. No complaints from me.

“Yes?” I prompt her mom.

“I hear that you come from a baseball dynasty. Is that so?”

“I—Yes, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“What do you plan to do after baseball?”

“Also baseball, but in the coaching staff,” I say.

She looks over her shoulder. “Does that pay well?”

“Mom!”

“What?” Diana raises her hands. “I’m just trying to gauge if he can provide for you in the future.”

Rose grunts. “I’ll have a job too, you know?”

“That,” I say, pointing at Rose. “But also yes, it pays well. And I have invested most of my professional salary, so Rose and you won’t lack anything.”

This makes her drop the hot dog she was assembling on the table. “Me?”

“Rose told me you two are very close.” I scratch my head, wondering if I screwed up already.

“We are, but I thought Americans don’t give a hoot about the in-laws.”

I’m aware all of a sudden that at some point, my hand fell between Rose’s thighs and I’ve been running my thumb up and down her skin. I stop before this catches Diana’s attention, and make a plan to just put my arm around Rose when Diana’s back is to us again.

“Well, my father is Korean and I grew up more closely to his side.” After all, Korea is an easier trip from California than Sweden. “And uh, Koreans are very doting to their elders.”

“Then, are you?” Her eyebrows rise.

I take a deep breath. “Not to my own elders, I guess.”

Her eyes shift to her daughter, who says, “It’s very complicated. Logan’s family is…”

“They’re abusive and I cut them off.” They both look at me in shock for different reasons. Diana because no doubt she didn’t expect this. But Rose probably because she didn’t think I’d put it so bluntly. I try my best to appear nonchalant but make circles in the sand with my other hand.

Finally, Diana clicks her tongue. “Good for you. And you’re more than welcome into my family, but not because of your money.”

“Thanks?” I say when she adds no further color to that.

“That’s it?” Rose’s jaw drops. “No more invasive questions? He’s approved already?”

Diana heads our way with two paper plates heaping with loaded hot dogs and a potato salad, wooden forks wedged into them. As we take them from her hands she says, “I didn’t really need to. I know that he’s a good one based on what you’ve told me about him.”

My lips twitch a little but I say nothing.

“A good one?” Rose scoffs and reaches for a hot dog. “He’s the best one. A completely wild catch. A bit shortsighted at times but eh, no one’s really perfect.”

I can feel the rare phenomenon of heat in my cheeks, and I busy myself with biting into my hot dog. Flavors punch me in the mouth and I realize this isn’t your run-of-the-mill dog, but chorizo. Fortunately, even they pour their interest on their food, and for a solid half hour we do more chewing or drinking lemonade than talking.

After lunch, Diana laments that beaches here aren’t as good as the ones in her home country, with truly crystal clear water and white sand. Oddly, she misses that back there people can play music on their radios as loud as they want, but I think that would overwhelm me. They agree to introduce me to some guy named Oscar, and it takes me a few beats to realize that they’re talking about some singer and not a person, which makes them guffaw at my expense.

I don’t mind it at all, though. Rose’s mother is as easy going as described—talkative, buoyant, and friendly. Nothing that Rose has said indicates that this personality may change behind closed doors, the way I was conditioned by my parents, and I can feel myself relaxing the more time I spend in Diana’s presence.

I’ve never thought this about someone else, but I’m so damn glad that Rose grew up with healthy, loving parents, and that the only big suffering they gave her was losing one early. It’s why Rose is the smart, fun, and empathic person that she is. It’s why I love her.

*

Later, her mom has headed home for a moment to use the restroom and it’s just Rose and I under the sun. She’s tucked against me, her head on my healed shoulder while one hand lazily takes turns playing on my chest or my stomach. Then she finds one of the scars on my side, hidden from sight by the tattoos, but not to the touch. The scar is more of an indent than a relief, but she keeps running the tip of her finger softly over it.

“Will you tell me everything one day?” she whispers.

Lifting my head from the towel, I press a kiss on her forehead. “I can tell you everything right now if you want.”

“No, later.” She shakes her head, curls brushing my skin with the movement. “I’m happy right now and I think if you tell me, I’d book a flight to go beat up your parents.”

“Fair.” Shifting, I turn on my side so I can face her. She naturally tips her head back to look at me. “I can tell you something else instead.”

“Hmm?” She hums the same way I did back to her earlier.

“That I love you,” I say without much ceremony. “Maybe it’s too soon, but I’m pretty sure this is what that is, and I thought you should know.”

“Thank you for the news that I definitely needed.” I still as her leg slides over mine, the friction setting off more sparks than the fireworks to come. A slow grin stretches her pink lips. “And also, I love you too, and I don’t give a rat’s ass that it might be early. We don’t have to go at other people’s pace.”

“Agreed.” I run my hand from her waist, over the strap of her bikini at her hip, and down her thigh. Then I hike it higher. “I quite like our pace. Not too slow and not too fast. Just right.”

Rose swallows with difficulty and bites that thick lower lip that drives me wild. “Wait, what were we talking about again?”

I bark a laugh, just overcome by the effect we have on each other—pure joy, like I had never known it before. And if that’s not right, I wouldn’t know what right is.