MY MOM IS A HUGE ERNEST HEMINGWAY fan. She has all of his books on her shelf at home and loves to quote him frequently. So, of course, I couldn’t come to Key West without visiting his old-home-turned-museum for her.
“That was amazing!” mom squeals as I take a seat on one of the benches in the back yard area of the house, holding the phone so mom can still see my face on our video chat. I had her on video the entire tour, showing her every nook and cranny of the house. A cozy, black polydactyl cat is curled up on the bench next to me, and it doesn’t stir in the slightest when I sit. Apparently, the six-toed Hemingway cats are pretty famous, and therefore, pretty immune to all the petting and picture-taking that happens to them every day.
“That was pretty cool. Hey, maybe I could be a writer,” I joke, pulling my damp hair away from my neck. Still, the thought isn’t too far off. I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do after college, and the truth is, I was really fascinated by the tour. Ernest Hemingway was an interesting man. Oddly enough, even though he was one of the most prolific writers of his time, he was better known in Key West for his hunting, fishing, and fighting skills. And of course, his love for whiskey.
Sounds like my kind of lifestyle.
“You think so, baby?”
I scrunch my nose. “Nah, probably not. At least half the words in any book I write would be offensive.”
Mom giggles, roping her dark hazelnut hair around her fingers and draping it over one shoulder. “Oh gee, I wonder who you get that from.”
“Not me!” Dad calls out in the background and we both laugh.
“Well if it isn’t Skyler from Florida,” a voice twangs above me. Squinting against the rays of light streaming through the trees, I grin when I find exactly who I thought I would.
“Trevor, the trouble from Tennessee.”
“Who’s that?” Mom asks and I flip my phone, making Trevor blush and offer a half wave as my mom nearly falls out of her chair. “Oh my! Aren’t you handsome.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Mom scoffs. “Did he just call me ma’am? What am I, eighty?”
I choke out a laugh and mouth a sorry to Trevor, turning my phone back to my own face. “Got to go, Mom. I’ll call when we’re back on campus.”
“Don’t get into any trouble!” she teases just as I blow a kiss and end the call, standing to join Trevor.
“Your mom is hot.”
“Ew,” I laugh the word, adjusting my purse strap across my chest.
He barks out a laugh, loud and strong. “You are the last person I expected to find here.”
“What? I don’t look like the literature loving type of gal?” Did I just say gal?
“I guess I shouldn’t assume, huh?”
“Damn straight,” I say, crossing my arms. “But I only came for my mom, so in this case, you were right.” I wink and Trevor smiles. “You here alone?”
“Yeah, not exactly what my brothers had in mind for Spring Break.”
“My sisters neither. They’re at Smathers again.”
“You heading there now?”
I shrug, reaching down to run my hand over the black cat’s silky fur as she slumbers through our chat. If I remember right, the tour guide said this one is named Betty Grable. “I was, but I could be persuaded.” Glancing up at him through my lashes, his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his eyes fall to his feet as he catches on.
He’s so goddamn cute.
“I was going to be super touristy today. Want to join me?”
Betty mewls as my hand leaves her fur. “Sounds like Betty is on board, so I’m in, too.”
He extends his arm, showing off those glorious bicep muscles I fell for our first night in Key West, turquoise eyes sparkling. “I’ll guide the way.”
I DIDN’T REALIZE WHEN I AGREED to being a tourist with Trevor all day that my feet would want to murder me for it. Luckily, that southern charm translates into some pretty stellar foot rubs.
“God, I don’t know whether to scream or moan or pass out or cry,” I spout, words running together as Trevor pushes his thumb into my heel. My feet are propped in his lap on the back porch of our suite and he just shakes his head, rubbing the arch next.
“I had a lot of fun today,” he says and I nod in agreement, still watching as his hands move over my skin. “You’re nothing like I thought you were, Skyler Thorne.”
“Hey now,” I warn, pointing my index finger at him. “Don’t go falling in love on me. We go to different schools, remember?”
His eyes still on his hands, he just laughs. “I don’t know. I’m not scared to fall in love. I think we should fall in love with as many things as we can.”
“I think I read that on a pillow once.”
“You’re impossible,” he says, squeezing my ankles once more before letting me drop my feet to the warm concrete. The sun is sinking lower, which means the girls will all be back soon, ready to start the nightly shower cycle and get ready for Duval Street.
“Tell me, Trevor,” I say, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Do you have any of those sexy country songs saved on your phone?”
He knows where I’m going with this, but he pretends he doesn’t. “Indeed I do. I have an entire playlist, actually.”
I nod, looking around the back porch, silent for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “How many times do you think we can get through the playlist before you make me come?”
He swallows, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing with the action. Without another word, I grab his hand and pull him upstairs to my room, locking the door behind us. He turns on the playlist as promised, and when he kisses me for the first time, his hands framing my face, it’s as if he’s transported me to a wild field in the middle of nowhere.
He fucks me the way I thought he would — steady, strong and sure. His touches are gentle but firm and confident, and when we’re done, I let him cuddle with me for a while, because I know he’s the kind of guy who loves that sort of thing. But, before the sun sets, I walk him back downstairs and out the front door. Leaning against the frame, eyes heavy and limbs sedated, I offer him a soft smile.
“See you around, Trouble.”
He grins, bringing my hand to his lips. He almost walks away, but thinks better of it, bringing me into him for one last kiss.
Click.
“Oh, who’s this, Skyler?” Click. Trevor and I both turn, eyes wide, and the moment I take in a middle-aged woman with a tight bun, a camera, and Star Poker Florida badge slung around her neck, my stomach drops. “Latest flavor of the week?”
Well, shit.