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The beach at half past midnight belonged to the crabs and us.
Mateo had changed out of his uniform into a loose white shirt, open at the neck, and he carried a bottle of mezcal and two glasses with the care of a man transporting organs. We walked until the music from the resort was a thump in the distance. Then we sat in the sand, shoulders touching, and I told him everything. The gym woman. The text message. The way I’d found out the dentist’s receipt didn’t match the story.
He listened. He actually listened. Then he took the glass out of my hand and put it carefully in the sand.
“Sophie,” he said. “Can I kiss you? Yes or no. No is fine.”
“Yes,” I said. “God, yes.”
He kissed me slowly, with a hand cupped under my jaw and a mouth that tasted of smoke and lime. I pulled him down on top of me. His weight was gorgeous, and I could feel him already hard through his shorts, pressing against the inside of my thigh. I slid my hands under his shirt and dug my nails into his back and he groaned into my neck.
“Soph-eee!”
We froze. Down the beach, a lantern was swinging, and the unmistakable laugh of a man from Leeds was carrying across the sand. Three figures were wandering toward us.
“Is that you, love?” Lou called. “We’ve brought snacks!”
Mateo put his forehead against mine and swore softly in Spanish.
→ I tell Mateo to ignore them and take him back to Cabana 12