Page 90 of Love Unwritten
I check my empty wrist. “Well, would you look at the time…”
¡Para! : Stop!
Before I can finish my sentence, Rafael releases his son, who comes running at me with his hands fully extended, his smirk reminding me so much of his father’s in that moment.
“Get her!” Nico rams into me, successfully knocking me over. My ass hits the warm sand first, followed by my back as he tackles me.
“I got you!” He reaches for my rib cage.
I could easily slip out from underneath him, but the way Nico looks over at his dad stops me.
“¡Papi! ¡Ayúdame!”
Rafael drops to his knees beside my legs and reaches for my right foot. His fingers brush the back of my calf, making me freeze before instincts kick in.
“No!” I attempt to yank my foot away from him, but his grip tightens. Invisible flames shoot up my leg, straight toward a place that should not be throbbing.
I consider kicking Rafael away, but my body freezes when his hand locks around my ankle like a shackle. He brushes the bottom of my foot with the tips of his fingers, and all hell breaks loose inside me.
Rafael is touching me, and instead of running away, I’m practically inviting him to continue.
I squeal when he teases my foot, ignoring the tightness in my belly that has nothing to do with being tickled.
“I told you she was ticklish!” Nico’s unhinged laugh spurs Rafael on.
¡Ayúdame!: Help me
I stare at the man holding my legs hostage. “I hate you.”
“Good.” He grins, and all hope is lost. I’m a goner for every single one of Rafael’s rare smiles, their scarcity causing an emotional supply-and-demand issue.
Being ticklish is the least of my worries because that strange tingling in my chest? The one that doesn’t stop, even after Nico loses interest in me and Rafael releases me from his hold?
It tells me I’m absolutely screwed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rafael
On our way to grab some Hawaiian shave ice after our beach day, I receive a new text from Dahlia.
DAHLIA
As requested, here are your weekly proof of life photos.
She attaches a photo of Jimmy B and Johnnie W passed out in their pen with miniature whiskey bottles thrown around them, one of Penelope with a set of purple and pink bows in her mane, and a blurry image of Bacardi hanging out in the corner of her stall like always.
ME
What’s happened to Bacardi’s coat?
DAHLIA
Lily and Josefina tried to even out her cut yesterday, but she wasn’t having it.
ME
She’s afraid of the sound clippers make.