I'm on the escalator down to the baggage claim when I see Nick holding a sign. He spots me and gives me a lazy smile. One I find myself returning. I step off the escalator and walk toward him. Trying to act normal. Trying to pretend I'm not nervous.
"Hey Jas," he says.
His blue eyes are shining a little. He's wearing shorts and a polo shirt, trailing a black suitcase behind him. The sign, which I realize now is a piece of loose leaf paper, reads "JASON" in big, messy sharpie letters.
"Hey Nick," I reply. "Nice sign."
He grins, folding the paper and tucking it in his back pocket. "Wanted you to be able to find me."
"I found you." Again, I find myself smiling back. "Alright, where to?"
"Rental cars are over there," he says, pointing beyond the baggage claims. Revolving doors lead out to a vista of palm trees and terracotta buildings. "You got a bag you're waiting on?"
"Nah, all in my duffel."
"Then let's go."
###
Our rental car is comically small and bright red. Nick insists on driving. He rolls the windows down to let the breeze in. We wind our way out of the airport parking lot, heading north on the small island. The sun's high in the sky. Cacti and other strange plants dot the landscape.
"You been here before?" he asks.
"Aruba? No. Have you?"
"Once, in college." Something cross his face--nostalgia, maybe. "Spring break."
I wonder what Nick was like in college for a moment.
Then he answers me: "I was very drunk the whole time."
He weaves through roundabouts, following directions from his phone perched precariously on his thigh. The little blond hairs on his legs are shining in the afternoon sun. I let my arm hang out the window, take in the natural beauty of my surroundings.
"Here," Nick says, turning and pulling up a driveway.
I lean forward, peer out the windshield. A small stucco house with a red roof. There's a pool and a hammock tucked to one side, a small patio with a wooden table on the other. Palm trees dot the property. And there's a solid fence keeping things private.
He turns off the car, and I hear the waves crashing in the distances.
"This is amazing," I say.
Inside, the house is airy, smelling softly of the ocean. We carry our bags inside, set them down on the simple stone floors.
I turn to Nick in the kitchen. "What--"
He's kissing me before I can finish my sentence. I find myself laughing first, then returning the kiss. Remembering the last time. Letting myself remember. Because, fuck, it's been months, and he feels as good as I remember.
He pulls back, breathing hard. "Fuck," he mutters.
"We're here for a week," I remind him.
"We are?" He shakes his head gently, his arms winding around my waist. "I guess I get to savor you, then."
His lips are soft but his kisses are hungry. I let him steer me into the whitewashed wall, press me against his body. He's warm and he's not at all gentle and damn it, I'm gone.
Nick leans his head back, and I chase his lips. He laughs. "Think we should actually look at the bed first?" he asks.
"Ah-- Probably." I feel my face turning red.
"Come on," he says, pulling me into the air. I almost yelp. Wrapping my arms and legs around him for stability, I steady myself against his chest. "You good?" he asks.
"Yeah," I breathe. "I'm good."
He starts walking us out of the kitchen, down the hall, pausing occasionally to kiss me. We reach the bedroom and he sets me down on my feet, his arms still wrapped loosely around my body. I reach up and touch the side of his face, his smooth cheek, and his eyes close briefly. Savoring, as it were.
"You missed me," he says.
It isn't a question. His fingers toy with the bottom of my shirt, pulling it up a little, touching the small of my back.
"Yeah." My breath catches. "I did."
Nick smiles, leans into me, kisses me again. My hand moves from his cheek to the back of his head, pulling him closer. His hands work up my back, under my shirt, gently stroking my skin. He moans softly into my mouth. Unwittingly, I do the same to him.
When that kiss ends we're both breathless. He's panting, actually. There's sweat on his forehead, the air conditioning isn't that strong.
"Am I that hot?" I tease, wiping away the droplets.
"Yes," he says. His eyes, the bright blue, have darkened with need. "Yes, you fucking are."
He tackles me to the bed. I sigh as I feel his whole body weight pressing into me. But his mouth's on the side of my neck, planting soft kisses on my skin, humming gently as he works his way down to my collarbone. His hips are moving against me, too, maybe involuntarily, but I can feel him trying to fuck me, both of us fully clothed.
"You been good for me?" he murmurs into my neck. I groan, and he puts his mouth to my ear. "Have you been good for me?" he asks again.
My hips jerk into him, and he laughs. The sound, right in my ear, is enough to elicit a full moan.
"Fuck, Jas," he says, and it's almost a growl. He gets off me, pulls his polo shirt over his head. Drops his shorts to the floor. Then he's back on top of me, kissing me hard.
"I'm still dressed," I tell him between kisses.
"Well, fix that," he says.
"You're on top of me," I remind him.
Nick laughs. "Alright." He stands up again, looks down at me as I take my shirt off and struggle with the button on my shorts. "Fuck," he says, watching.
"Lube?" I prompt, shimmying out of my shorts and briefs.
"Right."
