Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

My eyebrows perk up, as if to question his statement, and he doesn’t miss it.

“If there is a next time. If you want there to be one. Or whatever. Fuck.” He whispers the last word, scratching the back of his neck, and I finally decide to put him out of his misery.

“I’m perfectly happy as we are, but I’m intrigued by the idea of an air mattress in the back. Is that what the people with their trunks raised are doing?” He looks out at the dozen or so cars around us and nods. “Hmm. Well, it probably would have been too cold to do that tonight anyway, so I think you made the right call.” I offer him a smile, and I can almost see his nerves physically settle. “So, how does this work, anyway? How do we hear the movie?”

His grin widens, those side-by-side dimples causing my stomach to flutter. “Oh, pumpkin, I have so much to teach you.” He licks his bottom lip, and I squeeze my thighs together.

Is everything an innuendo now? Will I ever be able to be around him again and not feel like this? Like everything we say and do is a lead-up to something else? I kind of like it, but I don’t want it to feel like there’s pressure for us to always be like this. Is that what being in a relationship is? Is it just constant sexual innuendos and trying to get each other naked? Shit, I hope not. There’s no way I can keep up with that.

Rafael points to the screen in front of us, which is playing ads for local businesses, but I can’t hear any sound. “In a couple of minutes, the screen will start playing the movie, and all we have to do is set the radio to the right frequency.” He lifts the tickets the man at the gate handed him. With his tongue poking out of his lips, he plays with the radio buttons for a few seconds, then a jingle for a pizza place starts playing in the car.

“So, you’re saying that we get to sit here while essentially wearing pajamas, in a private vehicle, eating all the snacks we want, where no one has to see us or talk to us, and we can control the volume of the movie?” He laughs, a proud uh-huh spilling out. “This is the best night of my life. Books. Private dinner. Private movie. Gourmet desserts. I might have to keep you forever, Machado.” The weight of my thoughtless and hypocritical words, considering what I just said to him at the restaurant, hits like a bag of bricks straight to the chest. His smile falters, and he looks away, fiddling with the radio, then adjusting his seat, moving it back as far as it can go, and reclining it a bit. I do the same, attempting to fly past the awkwardness I caused.

The screen changes again as the movie starts and Rafael turns the volume up, not too loud. 10 Things I Hate About You begins playing, and the parallels between the story and the screen and the one playing out in real-life between the two people in this car become impossible to ignore. I couldn’t stand the sight of Rafael when we first met. I made so many assumptions about who he was. Look at us now.

About fifteen minutes in, he reaches back for the boxes of desserts. We got everything but the sorbet, for obvious reasons. He opens one up, offering it to me first with a plastic fork and spoon that Morgan must have packed for us. I take the plastic cutlery and cut into the cheesecake first. It’s good. A true classic with fresh strawberries. I try the brownie next, which is delicious. It’s when I try the chocolate chip cookie that my world changes. It’s so chewy and soft, and there are three different types of chocolate chips in it—milk, dark, and white chocolate.

I keep the cookie but close the box, knowing I won’t need any other desserts after I’ve had this one. On the last bite, I close my eyes and let out a satisfied moan. I let my head drop to the left, and when I open my eyes to thank Rafael for suggesting we get the desserts to go, I find him already looking at me, his eyes laser-focused on my lips.

“You can’t be making noises like that when you’re alone in a car with me, red.” He puts his box of desserts away slowly, never taking his eyes off me.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused and already a little turned on again simply from the way he’s staring at me.

He props an elbow on the center console and reaches for me, his fingers finding their way into my hair again. “I mean, if you’re gonna be making those noises when I’m with you, it better be because of me and not a damn cookie.” His warm lips touch mine, and I inch my body closer to his, seeking out his warmth. When I taste the cheesecake on his tongue, I moan again because it definitely tastes better like this, when it also tastes like him.

He kisses me slowly, deliberately, like he enjoys tasting me as much as I enjoy him. And in the next instant, my thoughts get pulled to a dozen different places.

Can anyone see us?

My neck hurts.

I want to get closer to him, but I can’t.

I decidedly do not like kissing in a car like this. Rafael must sense it, because he rears back suddenly. “You okay? What happened?” Every part of me knows he’s asking out of honest concern, yet it still makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like I caused this rift, and now everything is awkward and weird. I’ve been here before, of course. I know the drill. “Red, talk to me. If I did something, I want to know.” His hand moves from my neck to my shoulder, resting it there with a reassuring squeeze. I hate that he thinks he did something. I hate that I ruined the moment. So, I decide I might as well be honest about what’s happening.

“It’s not your fault; I was just uncomfortable. Because kissing in the car is kind of awkward when there’s this whole thing between us, you know? With the armrest and cup holders and everything. My neck was sore, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it all. I’m sorry. I always do this.” I wrap my hoodie tighter around myself, trying to ward off the impending feelings I know are coming. Guilt, embarrassment, regret, insecurity.

His left hand moves down my arm as the right one tips my chin up, but I can’t look at him. “You don’t need to apologize. I want you to be comfortable in every way. And when we’re kissing, I want us both to enjoy it, to be in the moment.” His thumb moves along my chin, drawing little circles.

“You’d still want to kiss me? After that?” I do look up at him then, needing to see his response.

“I’ll always want to kiss you, pumpkin.” His earnest smile makes my eyes water. Apparently, it also makes me impulsive as I push him back into his seat and hop over the console to straddle him.

“I think I could be comfortable like this,” I say as my breaths come faster, the adrenaline of simply doing without thinking pulsing through my veins. I watch as Rafael’s eyes glide from my eyes to my nose, lingering on my lips before they continue down to my collarbone and my chest, where my hoodie’s now gaping, exposing my tank top and the fact that I took the liberty of removing my bra earlier. “Is this okay?”

His answer is in the way his hands grab onto my hips, moving me closer to him. It’s in the tip of his chin as he brings his lips to mine. In the way his lips part, asking mine to do the same.

My hands find their way to his hair again, and I love the groan that reverberates through him when our chests press together, and my hips rock into him. This time, our kiss is hungry and urgent, and with every swipe of his tongue over mine, I grind harder onto him, reveling in the way his breaths grow more ragged and his grip on me tightens.

When I roll my hips again, feeling his hard length against my throbbing clit, I squeeze my eyes shut as a moan builds in my throat, forcing our lips apart. Rafael promptly latches onto my neck, his warm lips covering every inch of my skin.

“May I touch you?” I swear I feel my panties disintegrate.

I open my eyes for a brief moment, only to give him my answer so we can move forward with the certainty that he never has to ask me that question again.

“You can always touch me.” I cradle his face in my hands and kiss him softly. “I want you to touch me,” I say against his lips before tasting him again. Then his hands are everywhere. Gripping my ass to align us better, around my waist, where his fingers graze my skin, up my back, where they massage and soothe, and finally around my torso, where his strong hands take hold of my breasts, his thumbs flicking my nipples back and forth over my top until I can’t take it anymore and I’m gasping for air.

There’s nothing but us in this moment, and when his hip thrusts up into me in time with my own movements, I teeter on the precipice of my orgasm. My back arches, bringing my chest closer to his face, and he yanks at my top, baring my breast to him where he licks and sucks my over-sensitive peak. I open my eyes to watch him and, as is usually the case, find his eyes already on me. This time, though, I see something I’ve never seen before: desire.