Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,31
piña coladas served directly out of the crop being praised, which is when Ax convinces me to join him for a dance to the Soca and reggaeton music that’s hard to resist. My normal overly self-conscious, somewhat shy, style is lured to desertion by the slow sensual rocking of his hips. They whisper to mine to forget the footing I might miss, to ignore the low ringing in my ear from nervousness, to forsake false ideals that I feel I have to have in order for my movement to be worthwhile. Even easier than it was last night, I slip away into the sea of sexual swaying our bodies can’t seem to stop doing. Our lower halves rock into one another until they’re greedily grinding. They shamelessly search out the friction that gets us both whimpering and moaning and panting to rekindle what was lost twenty-four hours ago.
I’m unsure of what exactly pulls me away. It could be the recollection of being referred to as “the help” or the realization that if we continue this body conversation in the bedroom, like we clearly both want, it might put me in the opposite position I’m hoping for. Hell, it might just be the fact we keep spilling our drinks on our feet making them sticky. Whatever it is, encourages me to lead us away from the music towards the shops.
To my surprise, Ax doesn’t put up a fight about the change of pace.
He simply does what I’m learning he does best.
Goes with the flow.
We talk a little more about my Trinidadian roots, my immediate family, and our somewhat superstitious attachment to the tropical fruit we’re here celebrating.
Eventually, we stop at vendors where we grab something for each of my grandparents before moving a few carts over to grab treats to indulge in. His excitement to try new food fills me with an unexpected amount of joy, and his reactions to them send me into a snickering frenzy.
“There might be too much pepper in mine,” Ax says in between points to his tongue. “I can’t feel my tongue.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those,” I jovially mock right before I have a bite of my grilled pineapple ice cream.
His tongue remains out as he pathetically tries to fan it. “Wub spat subposed da meme?”
“That you’re brave enough to try new things, but not brave enough to handle the heat.”
“I ike ea!”
“Yeah? Whose ike?”
He throws me a small glare and shakes his head. “U no wha I ed.”
“I know you sound like a bee stung your tongue.”
There’s a playful bump into me swiftly proceeded by him snatching away the ice cream cone. He gives the cool treat a long, licentious lick, instilling ideas and images in my mind I really should be avoiding, not longing for.
It takes a few moments for the dessert to cool his senses, yet the second it does he insists, “I’m gonna keep this one, and you,” he transfers the chow to my grip, “can eat the bowl of taste bud death.”
Another round of giggles bounces my shoulders. “You should be grateful this isn’t Grandmother’s. That shit could burn off your eyebrows.”
“I like my eyebrows where they are, I’ll have you know.” More chuckles pass between us. “I’ll just find a clever way to pass on the dish when she makes it. Maybe we’ll allude that I’m allergic to pineapple?”
“No. That would pretty much get you banned from our family.”
“Well, I damn sure don’t want that,” he sweetly says and steals another quick lick. “Maybe imply that I’m allergic to peppers?”
“Not much better.”
He struggles to decide whether to frown or smile. “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t want her to flat out state-”
“Which she would. She’s savagely honest.”
“I picked up on that during the story about her making a dessert that was going to help his slow swimmers get her another grandbaby.”
More laughter swirls around in the air.
“All I’m saying is I don’t want that shit to happen to me. I don’t want to come over for dinner and have her complain to my face, nonetheless, that I’m not man enough to be with her favorite granddaughter.”
The urge to blush is instant.
“Which, by the stories I’ve heard, it’s easy to assume you are.”
Our slow stroll towards where I’m parked continues, although, the subject slightly shifts. “Have you ever actually met a woman’s family?” I adjust the tote bag on my shoulder and push past the low hum created by my discomfort. “Like a woman you’ve been dating?”
Silence