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“There are some people who eat food as opposed to pounding mimosas at brunch,” she informs me.
“Good thing we’re not friends with any of them. Gotta go, bye.” I hang up before Taylor asks who I’m down the shore with, as I’m not sure I’m ready to tell her about this thing with Fabio quite yet. Whatever this thing with Fabio is…
A sound startles me, and I jerk awake to find Fabio placing a takeout bag on the bistro table along with a six-pack of Mexican beer.
“I’m sorry. That took longer than I thought.” He walks over and takes a seat on the edge of my lounge chair.
“Depends on what’s in the bag as to whether or not I accept your apology.” The smell of something delicious reminds me I’m hungry, and my tummy rumbles. “What time is it?”
“A little after three in the afternoon.” Kissing the tip of my nose, Fabio says, “You got some sun.” He stands before extending his hand and helping me up—pulling me into his arms as he cups my ass. “Fuck, you are a sight in this bikini. I can’t wait to peel it off you and tie you up by the strings,” he says in a husky tone, squeezing my ass cheeks roughly.
“Still haven’t decided if I’ve forgiven you,” I warn him, smacking his hands away. I’m being bitchy, and I’m not sure why. He’s a made man; if he gets called into “work” he has to go.
“Then come let me feed you,” he says.
Maybe that’s the problem: I do get grumpy when I’m hungry. I have a seat at the table, and he produces a bottle opener and snaps the tops off two beers, placing a cut lime wedge on the lip of mine before handing it to me. “Aren’t you fancy?”
Fabio snorts. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but fancy isn’t one of them.” He pulls takeout containers from the bag. “Chips and queso.”
Damn, he’s speaking my love language. “What else you got?” I ask in a bored tone.
Producing more containers, he says, “Tacos. Churros. And flowers.” He pulls out a bundle of purple chrysanthemums.
“Well played, Mr. Fancy.” I tip my beer before taking a sip.
Fabio snorts a laugh. “Not my pet name.”
“No,” I agree, cocking my head. I still don’t have this man’s number.
We finish lunch, and it turns out I’m a liar. Fabio tosses me over his shoulder and carries me down the private boardwalk to the beach, where we spend the rest of the day frolicking in the sun and surf.
Chapter
Fifteen
Fabio
“I’m beginning to see a theme with your ink,” Katerina muses as she runs her finger over my triangle hazard symbol; part of the unfinished sleeve on my right arm. She traces her way down to the script underneath it—Pick Your Poison. “What kind of flower is this?” she asks, her finger outlining the wolfsbane in a vial.
“Monkshood.” Another name for wolfsbane.
“I’m not familiar.” She snuggles in my lap as nightfall descends; the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore a distant second to her melodic voice. I don’t comment, and she moves her slender finger to my platypus tattoo. Furrowing her brows, she asks, “Uh, why do you have a beaver tattoo?”
“I’ll have you know it’s a platypus, not a beaver,” I correct her.
“Excuse me for getting my aquatic mammals mixed up,” she sasses. “Why a platypus?”
The male platypus is one of the only living mammals with venom, but I just shrug.
She moves on to the next tattoo, tracing my four-leaf clover with Lucky 7 in the middle of it. “Don’t tell me a four-leaf clover is your good luck charm?” she teases.
“Alright, I won’t.” Nor will I freak her out with the meaning behind this particular tattoo.
She flicks my arm playfully. “And the beetle?” She continues tracing my ink.
“My old man owned a pest extermination company. Some in the family called him ‘The Bug Man’ as a slight,” I admit.
“How did your dad die?” Katerina wonders, continuing to trace my sleeve.
