And the tattoos. Did I mention the tattoos?
Black ink on dark skin.
I can barely make out the letters of the Latin quote on his forearm, but I can.
fortes fortuna adiuvat
Fortune favors the bold.
Very Cam.
Very hot.
Very lickable.
He sets my stroopwafel on my mug of coffee. The steam melts the caramel and softens the cookie. The caramel seeps into the drink. Sweetens it.
His hand skims my knee.
Mmm.
Yes.
Here.
Now.
More.
All.
"Where are you going, sweetness?" he asks.
"Now."
"Now?"
I motion to the bathroom.
He shakes his head.
"Why not?"
"Because I said so."
"If you're going to torture me, you should entertain me."
"How's that?" He slides his hand up my thigh.
My eyes flutter closed.
"Like this?" He presses his palm against me, over my jeans.
"Cam. Please…"
"Right here?"
No. The cafe isn't crowded, but it's not private either. I shake my head.
He pulls his hand away.
"Mean."
"Always."
I suck a breath through my teeth. Try to find a single coherent thought. "Conversation. You should talk to me if you're not going to fuck me."
"About…"
Uh… Forearms. Hands. Lips. Shoulders.
Must touch him.
Must kiss him.
Must mount him.
"What you do for fun." For example, fucking me or thinking about fucking me or fucking himself.
"I work too much. I don't have time for fun."
Or… things that aren't sex. Must think about something other than sex. "What about soccer?"
"That's it."
"That's all you do? Work and soccer?"
"I read." He pulls the stroopwafel from his cup and takes a bite.
"You read?"
"Is it that surprising?"
Talking. Not mounting. Yes, I can do that. I even like doing that. "Not if I picture you reading in bed."
"Naked?"
"You're always naked when I picture you."
He smiles. "You too."
Mmm. "What do you read?"
"Mysteries."
"Mysteries, really?" I can see that.
He nods. "I'm a sucker for secrets."
"Secrets or uncovering the truth?"
"Two sides of the same coin."
That's true. "I watch them sometimes. On TV." For a second, I feel insecure about my more lowbrow tastes, then I catch sight of his smile.
He's teasing.
He's teasing because he likes me.
"You're watching Sherlock?" he asks.
"Too slow."
"Of course."
"An hour and a half is too long for an episode. That's an entire movie!"
"You're impatient."
"I can be patient."
He smiles. "You can wait, but you can't do it patiently."
"I've been waiting since… a long time."
"Since I made you come at the lingerie shop?"
"That was a long time ago."
His smile widens. "Four and a half hours."
"See. An eternity."
He breaks his stroopwafel in two and offers half to me.
"Thanks." Mmm, it's perfect. Soft on one side, crunchy on the other, cookie and caramel and sweetness. "Does that mean soon?"
"What soon?"
"Cam!"
His eyes meet mine. "You know what I'm going to say."
"Maybe. Maybe not?"
He nods.
"I should do the same to you." I take another bite. Let the delicious cookie caramel hybrid dissolve on my tongue. "Maybe I'll fuck you tonight. Maybe I won't. I'll see how I feel."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Really." I finish the cookie, fold my arms, try to cop his in-control posture. "I enjoy making you wait."
"I enjoy waiting."
"Ugh, you're ruining it."
"You're full of shite."
"I had you going?"
He shakes his head.
"For a minute?"
"Not a second."
I make a show of pouting.
He leans across the table to press his lips to mine.
Mmm, he takes like coffee and sugar and Cam.
He pulls back with a heady sigh. "Soon."
"Really?"
"I like how eager you are."
"I'm just… uh…" Very eager. "Honest about what I want."
"I like that about you."
"And I… uh… when you say soon, you mean…"
Again, he smiles. "Soon to anyone."
Okay, I can live with that. Maybe. In theory. But only if I do something besides stare at his beautiful forearms. "Are you going to actually eat that stroopwafel?"
"Do you want it?"
"Well, yeah, it's a cookie. But it's sweet. Even for me."
He takes a bite and offers the rest to me. "It is, but it's familiar. Like home."
"That's how I feel about the Royal Milk Tea at Boba Stop. Indie and I went there every day, after school, when she walked me home. Well, all spring. During soccer season, I got home after she was at work. And it was too late for tea."
"Too late for tea?"
"I know my limits."
He raises a brow.
"Usually." Sometimes.
He picks up his spoon. Stirs his coffee.
"Did you like Amsterdam?"
"I did."
"For the Absinthe or the uhh… art."
"Van Gogh Museum?"
Right. That explains the prints.
"Both."
"You like art?"
He lets out a hearty laugh.
"What?"
"Isn't Ninety Day Fiancée high art?"
"Yes."
"So don't you like art?"
"If it includes excellent reality TV content."
"But not visual art?"
"It's okay. I mean—" I point to a print of a famous painting. Flowers in a vase. All swirly and yellow. "It's flowers. Am I supposed to be moved?"
His smile widens.
"What?"
"Art is like anything. More interesting the more you know about it."
"And you're going to tell me things about it?"
"Later. If we go to the MoMa. After this maybe."
My lips curl into a frown. "You're teasing, right?"
He shrugs am I?
"What, uh, what else did you like about Amsterdam."
"The music scene."
"You like EDM? Really?"
"I can't?"
"I thought you liked mumbling grunge guys."
He chuckles. "I do."