Page 54 of Second Tide's the Charm
Just as well, since when we talk, things wind up murkier. Kissing him is pure bliss. The sweep of his tongue along mine, the needy way his hands gipped my hips, lifting me up and onto him, is enough to have me reaching for a glass of water to slake my thirst.
I wish I could separate the physical from my feelings. Agree to be co-workers with benefits, or whatever, but I can’t, and from his confession, neither can he. I can’t kiss him and not want it all—the connection, the friendship, the love.
I’ve kissed other men in the years since we were together but felt nothing. No desire to bring them into my life, to open myself up to them. Without the emotional connection, the physical stuff has never been worth wasting time on, which is why my intense desire for Adrian is so alarming. What I feel with him is unique, all-encompassing, specific to him, and that’s what has me coming back for more, incapable of sticking to our strictly-work relationship.
We’ve been dodging each other’s glances all night, in only the way two people altogether too aware of each other can. More than once I’ve caught his gaze dip along my body, drinking in the curves accentuated by the seams of my dress. It’s been a long time since a man looked at me with such open longing, or maybe I just recognize the hunger in his eyes because it’s the same hunger eating away at me despite the half-dozen hush puppies I’ve put away.
He’s in the process of finishing the last bite. He licks his thumb, and a blush blooms against the pores of my cheeks. Adrian goes still, and that’s when I realize it’s not that he’s watching me, he’ssensingme. With his eyes, yes, sometimes. But other times it’s like there’s a pulse of energy between us, a wavelength we’re both on, and when my emotions ripple to the surface, there’s a brush against the piers of his subconscious, or somewhere deeper, maybe.
I deal in what can be measured and tested—in chemicals combining to form DNA expressed in biodiversity. In temperature ranges and food scarcity and predator and prey. But what’s between Adrian and me isn’t quantifiable. How I felt for him was too close to the love my parents always talk about—the life-altering, heart-over-head kind of love that had them tossing away scholarships and reshaping their dreams. And though that was never the case for us, I worried that the shift in priorities was inevitable, and that’s why I pushed him away, before he let me go.
I duck my head, nervous my thoughts are written on my face, even though people have never been able to read me, not unless I spell things out for them. But Adrian is different. He sees into my heart—what I don’t express or can’t find the words for. He’s always seen me, known me.
And he let me go, in spite of it. That, more than anything, is why I’m scared to let him in again.
The last bite goes sandy on my tongue, and I force it down, dry-throated, and take another gulp of water. Gabe, who’s quickly becoming a friend in the effortless way I wish I could’ve managed with Adrian all those years ago to save myself a lot of heartache, squeezes past the crowd and leans between us to grab me a napkin from the garnish station.
“Serrano peppers get ya?” he asks, and I nod, though the fritters have the perfect amount of heat. He gives Adrian’s shoulder a squeeze, but something’s tense between them. “Came over to check on you. Ready to get out of here?”
Adrian’s eyes flick to mine. “Uh, is Marissa heading out too?” The same concern from earlier creases his brow, and while I’m grateful for it, I also wonder what it’s costing him to show me this kindness.
“I’d say she’s pretty settled in.” Gabe hooks an elbow on the bar, turning toward me. “But she’s asking about you. Says you’ve been hiding out long enough.” He delivers the message with a complicit grin. “I get it, though. I’m all for socializing, but after twelve hours on the water, I’m ready to tap out too.”
I shake my head. “Nah, she’s right. I should go be sociable.”
The thought of going over to the crowded table and mustering up the effort to smile and act interested in strangers’ life stories sounds exhausting. But Adrian’s done enough by giving me an excuse to stay over here, and Gabe’s clearly ready to go. “Let me just settle my bill and I’ll be over there.”
“I got it,” Adrian says. “But you don’t have to—”
Angie plunks a cocktail in front of him, interrupting whatever he was about to say. “Got an admirer.” She nods at the neon-blue drink. “The woman at the end of the bar ordered this for you.” Using tongs, she plops a maraschino cherry into the glass, with a look of consternation. “People using our establishment as a pickup joint? This is what Rhonda’s brought us to. I hope she’s happy.” Without waiting for a response, she moves off, barking out an order to the bartender.
Brows up, I peer at the drink. “That is...a choice.” Inspecting it, I ask, “Are those gummy dolphins?”
“Sharks,” Gabe says. “It’s their newest signature drink. Inspired by our man Adrian.”
“Shut up.” I roll my lips tight against a smile, but it’s no good holding it back. Rising off my stool to peer at the menu, I scan the drink section. Gabe helpfully points to a cocktail midway down the page.
“The ‘Shark Hero’?” I read aloud, delighted, and glance toward Adrian.
His face is a mix of amusement and chagrin, like the year we spent Christmas with his parents, and inside his stocking was a tie with sharks wearing sunglasses, which his mom insisted he try on. She texted me the photo she took, and I kept it as my lock screen for a long time afterward, smiling every time I saw his face.
I’ll have to settle for a mental picture of his cute expression this time, since I’m pretty sure snapping candid photos of your co-worker is frowned upon.
“Kind of on the nose, don’t you think?” Gabe leans around Adrian to peer at the group of women Angie pointed to. Hard to tell who sent it since they all keep looking our way, expressions ranging from eager to embarrassed to starstruck. “Hitting on you with a drink invented in your honor?”
Adrian ventures a look at the women, who elbow each other until one of them steps out from the group. He whips his head back around.
“Interested?” Gabe asks, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting on Adrian’s response.
“Heck no,” he says, and I exhale. “The last thing I need is for Rhonda to take credit for setting me up with my future wife.”
Future wife.We never talked about marriage specifically, but we did dream of a future together. I didn’t want to get too technical, not until planning became critical, and by then, all the logistics overwhelmed me, made me worry our relationship would change. That taking the next step would make me resentful, chip away at the magic that always existed between us.
But there was a time when I thought I’d marry this man, and now he’s talking about meeting his future wife over cocktails. The food I just consumed suddenly isn’t sitting so well.
Gabe picks up the drink and holds it high. “Thanks ladies.” He salutes them with the glass before taking a giant glug. They might not have heard him over the chatter, but his meaning was clear enough. The woman looks at her companions, hesitating, then lets them tug her back into the group.
Setting it down, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bleck, that was awful. Photogenic, though.” He eyes the drink speculatively, then pulls out his phone and snaps a photo, glancing toward me with a shrug. “Content.”
