Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,3
bounces his head back and forth in debate. “What about, X’s and Oy’s?”
“Never been.”
Thrill and disbelief simultaneously collide in his gaze. “Then that’s where we’re going.”
He immediately begins tugging me to the left, prompting me to playfully argue, “Do I have no further say?”
“Nope.”
“So, this debate is just over?”
“Yup.”
“And if I end up hating your choice?”
“You can decide where we eat for our second date, and I won’t put up any sort of fight.”
The comment initially stuns me silent, yet when Ax flashes me a sly smirk, it successfully keeps me that way.
Why do I feel like I should be more worried than I am?
Why is my brain screaming work statistics and recalling social media articles and horror stories about kidnappings that happen right off the shore while my gut is gnawing at me to acknowledge the good shit, like the way this guy has been effortlessly making me smile and laugh and feel comfortable every step of the way?
Our walk is a good distance from where my original date started. Along it, we talk about the local places we pass by, our favorite and least favorite things about each one. The fact that neither of us are clueless tourists nor even new to the area has us both even more elated to be in one another’s company. We complain over the crowded spots they’re known to hit in between throwing shade at the places that overshadow true gems we wish more people knew about. Our conversation passes as easily as our footsteps do, and when we arrive, it’s barely registered how far we’ve actually walked.
“Mind if we eat outside?” Ax questions at the same time we get in line to be seated. “I kind of prefer having my feet in the sand as much as possible.”
The statement has me smiling big again. “You, too?”
“Only thing better is the water.”
More joy jumps into my expression. “Morning or evening?”
“Depends on the mood,” he nonchalantly replies while we move up in the line. “Those cold morning touches sometimes give you that good jolt you need.”
“The kind that no fucking coffee could ever give you.”
“Exactly!”
His enthusiastic hand squeeze gets my heart pounding again.
“But man…sometimes those evening waves…,” he cuts the water behind us a loving glance, “those ones that come after they’ve been basking in the sun all day, soaking up all the heat, yet somehow don’t burn you so much as soothe you…” Ax drops his gaze back to mine. “Sometimes those are the best.”
An unexpected understanding wordlessly passes between us.
Never would’ve thought I’d come across someone who felt about the water like I do. Sure, many of the other chiefs and captains and other ocean crew care, but I’ve never heard any of them speak as though they possess a more cosmic or emotional connection. As though the ripples reflect their own inner turmoil or joy. As though the crashing sounds calm their restless spirit or rescue them from emotional trauma. Hearing another person have such a profound attachment to something I was starting to think I was the only person who did, stirs up more unfamiliar feelings that encourage me to ignore how illogical or even irresponsible our initial meeting was to see where this might go.
The hostess takes us to their outdoor dining area, and I’m happily surprised by the sight. There are neon, oversized pillows for us to sit on instead of chairs and tiny wooden tables that were originally designed to be footstools yet have been repurposed. We flop down onto our respective seating arrangements, hands parting for the first time since they connected, and I can’t help but frown at the strange loss immediately felt.
What the hell is going on with me?
I can’t…Well. Wait. Let’s trade that for shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be this attached to some random, beach-loving bombshell I literally just met less than an hour ago.
That’s crazy.
We’re talking “sit down with Nancy Grace to see how insane my train of thought is” type of shit.
All of a sudden, Ax cuts through my mental scolding to ask, “Is it weird that it feels weird not to be holding your hand right now?”
My jaw immediately drops in bewilderment. “I thought it was just me!”
“I thought it was just me!”
We share shocked expressions for only a moment more before he reaches across the small space and folds his hand with mine once more.
Almost instantly afterwards, he nods, lets a crooked grin appear on his sculpted face, and sweetly sighs. “Better.”
My fingers flex in agreement of their own