29. Kai

TWENTY-NINE

She knew all my secrets except one:

that I'm in love with her.

~ Unknown

The first drop of water feels like nothing. It could be mist or spray off the ocean, but the next droplets come with certainty, and suddenly we're in a squall—an unanticipated storm that blew in without warning. Our empty plates fill with water, the blanket is instantly soaked. The cooler, which had been sitting open, quickly gathers almost an inch of the downpour. We're up and scrambling around. I dump the water and we throw items pell-mell into the Igloo while I hand a towel to Mila to use as a shield against the wind and water assaulting us.

Her shirt is soaked. My clothes are drenched. Our hair is sticking to our faces and necks as we make a mad dash for shelter, yelling to one another over the hiss and splatter of the rain. The only available nearby refuge is a tiny hut. It's been out here as long as I've lived on Marbella, but it looks like it's been around for decades with its rotting wood and peeling paint. The shack backs up to the cliffs that line this section of beach. It's tiny—probably five by five at most. I'm certain I couldn't lay down on the floor unless I went corner to corner, and even that would be cramped.

I usher Mila inside and follow her, shutting the rickety door behind us. The air smells salty and a bit musty. There's sand and bits of driftwood and dried seaweed on the floor. The sound of the storm hitting the wood surrounds us. Mila's shivering, so I pull her in toward me, even though I'm not going to be of much use in warming her with my sopping wet shirt.

Her teeth chatter, but when she looks up at me, she smiles. And then she starts laughing.

"Oh my gosh! That came out of nowhere. I hope my guests are alright."

"I'm sure they're fine. Didn't you say Stevens was taking them on a marine bio cruise?"

"Yes. Two of the couples went. The other couple had massages at the Alicante."

"Well then, they're covered. Stevens has that interior cabin with tables. They're fine."

Leave it to Mila to think of others when she's shivering in a dilapidated hut during a sea squall.

"So … should we practice … our kiss?" Mila's voice is shy.

My arms are wrapped securely around her, my hands rubbing her arms and back to warm her up.

"I …" I don't even get to answer her before she's speaking again.

"Why did I suggest that? I was just thinking …"

I cut her off. "Just to get more comfortable, it might be a good idea. What do you think?"

"It might be wise." She nods.

I understand her shyness. It's natural. She's suggesting we kiss. We don't kiss. We're friends. That kiss we shared, though. I probably should heed my better judgment and avoid anything too physical with her, but she's right here, looking up at me with her doe eyes, her hair falling in wet waves around her face, her clothes soaked. I'm only so strong.

"Just for the sake of our ruse," I assure her.

It's not that I want to chalk up another intimate moment to this sham we're embroiled in. But I need to remind myself this kiss is like rehearsal for a play, nothing more. My heart has to listen to reason or I'll be in danger of crossing all the lines with her, and that would mean risking everything we have for something Mila never promised—something she already clearly told me I can't have.

"Of course. For the ruse." She nods.

"Of course," I repeat.

It's only awkward for a flicker of a moment and then our eyes lock. The heat I feel between us could set this hut on fire.

The tip of Mila's tongue darts out and she licks her lips. Then she lets out a short puff of breath as if she's girding herself to go in for the kill. Her nervousness rolls off her, making me question the sanity of what we're about to do.

"Hey," I tell her. "It's just me."

"That's the problem," she says softly.

"Friends kissing?"

"Something like that."

"We don't have to …"

The words don't make it out of my mouth because Mila reaches up, grips the back of my neck and pulls me down toward her. Once we're in motion I don't need any other encouragement. I'm all in. I pull Mila toward me with the hand I already have splayed on her lower back. She moves with my coaxing, melting against me with a soft sound I've never heard from her before. It's too much. Way too much. If this is acting, I'm calling the Academy.

Maybe Mila's not acting. This could be strictly physical on her part. She's a woman who hasn't been kissed by a man in years, with the exception of that kiss we shared at the hardware store. Maybe she's like someone who gave up sugar and finally takes a bite of a cookie. I'm beyond grateful to be the one Mila's breaking her fast with. I'm so happy that I could write poetry, hire a skywriter, and fall to my knees to thank heaven.

Our lips have barely touched and I'm a goner.

And then, Mila's hand starts to tug at my neck, like she can't help but drag me closer. And I smile. She smiles back, like a dream. Or one of those pick-your-ending stories. This. I pick this.

I tilt my head, angling my mouth over hers, gently brushing a kiss there. Practice? We don't need practice. We're naturals. If this were the world championships of kissing, we'd get the gold, and we're only just getting started.

I kiss Mila softly, intentionally restraining myself. Her lips brush against mine and linger. The slightest contact from her travels through me like a licking flame. I'm careful not to push past her unspoken limits. But then Mila starts to run her fingernails along the back of my neck, pulling me nearer with the arm she's got looped around my waist, and that's all it takes. I hold her to me. Our mouths dance and we confirm everything I already knew.

Mila's made for me. We fit one another. She's everything I want and need and can't get enough of. She's satiation and hunger, sweetness and spice. Depth and light, tension and relief. I run my hand down her hair, caress her arm, move my palm so her soft cheek is cupped in it.

The rain falls on the roof of the shack. We're secluded, separated from the world, oblivious to anything but how it feels to finally be in one another's arms again. I pour all my longing and feelings into this kiss as if it's our first and last. It may be.

Practice? This isn't practice. I never needed to practice with Mila. I want a lifetime of her kisses, her soft sighs, the way she feels when she mirrors my movements, telling me wordlessly that she feels this too.

I brush my thumb across Mila's cheek when I pull back. I have to stop. If I don't, this will go farther than we can handle. Maybe it already has.

Mila's breathing harder, her eyes bashful, studying the neckline of my shirt and then collapsing into me so I can't see her face when we part. Our arms are still wrapped around one another. The silence is thick with unspoken words, damp from the storm, heavy with fresh longing despite the fact that we quenched our thirst only moments ago.

Mila's head rests on my chest. I smooth my hand down her back. We don't move. We should. This isn't part of practicing. I'm afraid to breathe, to shift my weight. The slightest motion could push her away and this whole experience will pass as quickly as the squall outside, which I already sense is dissipating as it moves over the island and further out to sea.

"Um … so," Mila says, her words muffled in my shirt.

"Yeah." I smile down at her, but her face is still buried into me, her breath warm through the soaked cotton.

"That was pretty good practice." She looks up at me now, an expression on her face I've never seen before. It's playful and flirtatious.

"It was. I'd say we might want to take it down a notch in public, though."

"You think?" She giggles.

Her eyes drift shut and pop open again.

"What did I do?" She seems to be asking herself instead of me.

I take her chin in my hand and tilt it up. "Don't. Mila, we kissed. That's what we did. And, it will …"

I can't even finish my thought. It will serve the charade … keep Brad away … show my parents we're real …

That kiss wasn't an act. For me it wasn't. I might be able to lie to Brad. I've even brought myself to the point where I'm willing to deceive this whole island and my own parents. But I can't lie to Mila.

Mila smiles softly up at me. "I think the rain is stopping."

"Look," I say. "I know where we stand. You know where we stand. We're friends who kiss really … really well."

That much is true. It's obvious Mila wants to redraw the lines in her life. Whether this charade calls for it or not, I won't be kissing her again. Not on the lips. I can't. From this point forward, I'm going to keep my feelings on my side of the line. I'm here to do her a favor, plain and simple. If she wanted more from me, she'd give me a sign. Instead, she's been clear. I'm the one who muddied the waters by falling for her. She doesn't need to be burdened with my infatuation. I'll deal with that on my own time. For her, I'll dial it back.

"Yeah. We do." She covers her face with her hands and then peeks out at me. "We kiss … well."

"A plus, I'd say."

"Top of the class," she jokes back.

"Valedictorians of kissing," I say.

"If they gave out scholarships, we'd both be getting a full ride."

We both laugh as I open the door and hold it for her. The rain has come to an end along with this lapse from reality. Once we step out onto the beach, we're back to being Kai and Mila: two friends who kiss really, really well, but can't afford to go there. No matter what.

It's been a little over a week since my picnic with Mila. Eight days of being around her without kissing. Eight days into the eternity I'll spend wanting her and learning to quell my longings.

We spent an evening with my friends and their wives barbecuing on the beach and then hanging out around a bonfire last weekend. She fit in like she always does. As if she belongs in my world.

Brad showed up on the beach at the end of my surf lesson with Noah Saturday. Mila had told him he could. It felt like an intrusion on something sacred. But I don't get a say in how she allows him to inch his way closer to his own son. There's no easy way to make room for him, and she's being amazing, so I support her choices and stay out of the way.

I don't stay out of the way when he starts looking at her with the look a man gives a woman he wants. Those longing gazes might slip under Mila's radar, but I see every one of them. And I'm by her side each time, kissing her temple, wrapping my arm around her, whispering in her ear—whatever it takes to fend him off and continue to claim Mila as mine.

Even though she isn't.

I wake earlier than usual, but not before Bodhi.

"Hey. Want some coffee?" Bodhi offers when I round the corner into the kitchen.

Shaka looks up at me and walks over to sit at my feet. Then the dog just stares up at me, waiting for me to pet his head, so I do. I've given up resisting the mutt. He's not going anywhere. I may as well make my peace with him. Kalaine and Bodhi still tease me that I'm secretly in love with Shaka. I'm not. I just know when to throw in the towel.

I fill my mug with coffee and join Bodhi at the kitchen table.

"How was Noah's party?"

"Brad showed up on the fringes."

"I wonder what Noah thinks. Here's this random dude who keeps showing up all of a sudden."

"He doesn't seem to think much of it. He's so in the moment."

"The beauty of childhood."

"Right? When Noah saw Brad, he said, ‘Hey, Mom! There's that friend of yours from high school. Should we ask him to join us?' That's what comes from being raised by a gracious and inclusive woman. Noah's got hospitality in his DNA. So, Brad joined the party."

"So, how was it with him there?" Bodhi sips his coffee and studies me.

"I did my part to fend him off and keep him convinced Mila's not available."

"Fend him off Noah?"

I shake my head. "He was watching Mila when she didn't notice. I noticed. He's still got a thing for her. Big time."

"You'd think this whole contrived relationship of yours would send him a message."

"He's not crossing lines, but he's like a vulture circling. He's waiting for me to die so he can go in for the kill."

"Technically, vultures don't kill. You know that, right? They're scavengers. They eat the carrion of someone else's kill."

"Okay. So, he's waiting to swoop in when I die."

"To eat your remains?"

"To reclaim his wife."

"The vulture analogy isn't working for me here," Bodhi says, as if it deeply matters.

"Focus, Bodhi. Forget the vulture. Brad wants Mila. He's waiting for things to go south between us so he can make his move. And I can tell he's in it for the long game. He wants his wife back."

"Ex-wife."

"Exactly." I breathe out a sigh of relief. "Still, Mila's oblivious to how he looks at her. And it kills me, if I'm honest. Sometimes I think how unfair it is that he had her—all of her."

"Look who's got her now." Bodhi means for his words to be a consolation, but they're far from it.

"No one, man. No one's got her. I'm her fake boyfriend. As weird as it is, I'm in the same boat as Brad. We both want her and neither one of us gets to have her."

"Beg to differ." Bodhi smirks over at me. "I saw her leaning on you when we had our barbecue. Who was there? Me, Mavs, Cam, Riley, Ben, Summer, you. She didn't need to convince any of us. She's into you."

"Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that she's not ready to do anything about it. If she even is into me, she's not pursuing anything with anyone for years."

"Patience grasshopper."

I shoot Bodhi a look.

"Seriously. Be patient. A woman can change her mind."

I look down at my coffee and back up into the face of my best friend.

Bodhi smiles serenely. "Mavs did. If she did, anyone can."