Chapter Text
NOW
The last of the setting sun’s light glints off the water beyond the dock where Qimir sits, taking a hit off his joint. Warm, earthy smoke fills his lungs, and he holds it there for a long moment, staring out at the view beyond.
It’s a familiar sight, the sun on the sea. Just like the sound of the ocean waves lapping gently against the shore, the gulls crying and wheeling overhead, are familiar sounds. He’s seen these sights, heard these sounds, nearly every damn day of his life.
And yet, tonight, the things that should be utterly mundane instead fill him with an overwhelming sense of moroseness. A heavy weight on his innermost being. Like his soul has been lined with lead.
Not even the slight hazy warmth from the joint helps. The joint that he had intended to wait to start smoking, before he got too impatient and frustrated.
She should be here by now.
But she isn’t.
He lets the smoke out of his lungs on a long exhale, as the waves lap against the wooden legs of the dock beneath him.
It’s not that he doesn’t get it, he does. She actually has a family, and commitments. A family that still doesn’t know about him, and certainly wouldn’t approve of him if they did.
But they only have so much time left. Summer is almost over. Soon she’ll be gone, heading back to the city and then, from there, to the fancy college that has her surname on a building somewhere.
The thought makes a hard lump form in his throat that he has to swallow down.
He knew this was coming, but he still isn’t ready for it.
He hadn’t been ready for any of this.
Neither of them had any idea that this was going to happen. Qimir has dealt with thousands of summer tourists over the years, and they’re all the same. Shallow, self-centered, with too much money for their own good. Accustomed to getting whatever they want and expecting everyone to wait on them hand and foot.
All of them… except for Osha.
That had been abundantly clear from the first time he saw her, that night when she’d carved out a piece of his heart that he knows now he will never get back.
THEN
The bonfire casts a flickering orange glow over the sand, the only source of illumination there on the beach at such a late hour. Behind Qimir and his group, the streetlamps and signs of the town provide additional, albeit faint light.
But before them, the ocean is pitch black like the night sky.
Even without being able to really see it, he still hears the constant low shushing of water rushing up the beach and then slowly retreating. The sound mingles with the quiet music from someone’s Bluetooth speaker, the hum of conversation as his colleagues drink and smoke and talk, trying to let off some steam.
It had been a long week at the restaurant, the start of the summer season well and truly upon them. They’d been fully booked tonight, and Qimir isn’t sure what it is, but the patrons seem to get more demanding and less forgiving every year.
Sure, Stellan’s is one of the nicest restaurants in town, he gets that. He knows they have certain standards they need to meet. But that doesn’t give these rich assholes the right to treat the waitstaff like dogs.
On nights like tonight, Qimir is thankful that he works in the kitchen, behind the scenes. No matter how many steaks get sent back for being the wrong temperature (they weren’t), at least he doesn’t have to deal with the assholes themselves. Though, as head chef, he does have to go out and gladhand them occasionally. But mostly the restaurant manager handles the uglier situations.
Which is good, because Qimir has a history of handing out ugly solutions.
It’s mostly ancient history, but the potential remains.
Even so, of everyone working at the restaurant, he’s probably the best equipped to deal with the abrupt change in tempo as they transition between seasons. He’s been doing this for so long now that the switch feels as natural as his circadian rhythm.
But just because it’s natural doesn’t make it easy.
Thus, coming out here after closing up the restaurant for the night to try and wind down a little before heading home to sleep.
After years of doing this, the scents of the fire and the weed and the sea, combined with the sound of the ocean, are pure relaxation to Qimir, more effective than a sedative.
He doesn’t talk to anyone. His coworkers aren’t his friends; Qimir doesn’t have friends, just his collection of associates.
But they’re all comfortable around each other after so long. He enjoys sitting and listening to the hum of chatter, even if he doesn’t bother paying attention to what’s being said—probably more complaints about patrons they served throughout the night, or plans for their days off.
Instead, his focus wanders.
Maybe that’s why he senses them approaching before anyone else in the group does.
Senses her.
The darkness makes it hard to see, and yet, he notices her almost immediately.
She walks down the beach with another girl beside her, the two of them appearing identically sized, though their silhouettes are distinct. They head straight for Qimir’s group where they all sit in beach chairs around the bonfire.
Qimir lifts his joint to his lips and takes a long inhale, watching as the girls come closer until the firelight catches on their faces.
Apparently, they aren’t just identically sized. They are identical, down to the way they wear their hair in small locs, though the other girl’s are longer.
Twins.
And yet, the way they present themselves couldn’t be more different.
The one with the long locs wears a ruffled mini-skirt and halter top, with winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut. She radiates femme fatale energy, and, predictably, the other guys in the group immediately focus on her.
But Qimir can’t take his eyes off the first one. In her cargo shorts and that clingy ribbed tank, she’s a complete contrast to her sister.
And for some reason, looking at her makes it impossible to breathe. Like there’s a hook wedged beneath his ribs, tugging him toward her.
What is it about her that immediately pulls on him like a man in the desert to a beckoning oasis?
She feels like an oasis to him, refreshing and verdant. Utterly unlike the other city girls who come looking for a good time every summer. And it isn’t just her appearance because her identical twin sister is right there, yet looking at them is like the difference between night and day.
“Hey sweetheart,” one of the other guys in the group calls before Qimir can think of what to say. “You wanna come sit on my lap?”
A few of the other gathered members of the group laugh, while some of the female associates chide him, and Qimir frowns in annoyance. He doesn’t want his dumbass coworkers to scare the girls off.
But though it could have been directed at either of them, the girl in the cargo shorts rolls her eyes and then looks at her twin like she’s well accustomed to people singling the other girl out and making such overtures to her.
Does she never receive the same interest, then? Does she dress the way she does specifically to avoid it?
Either way, Qimir just can’t fathom anyone overlooking her, no matter what she wears. Her energy is just so compelling. Almost... familiar.
“Not going to happen,” the femme fatale says, putting her hands on her hips. “We’re lesbians. Both of us.”
Yet, even as she says the words, the girl in the cargo shorts looks away from her sister and her eyes meet Qimir’s where he sits across the circle. Despite the distance, her brown skin, and only having the flickering firelight for illumination, he can tell that she blushes at the sight of him, her lips parting slightly, every instinct in his body screaming that it’s with attraction and interest.
It’s not exactly an unusual reaction; Qimir has always had good luck with women—even a few actual lesbians. It was a fact he’d taken ample advantage of in the past, especially with summer girls. It was never anything serious, and he always made sure they enjoyed themselves immensely before they went their separate ways.
But something about this girl is different.
An urge rises within him; one he’s never felt before. Not just to take her back to his apartment and show her a good time, but to just—just be around her. To talk to her, get to know her.
He definitely shouldn’t feel that way. She’s clearly a city girl, despite the clothes, and probably too young for him—early twenties at best to his almost thirty.
And yet, he can’t seem to put the sensation aside, his elevated interest like helium pressing against the underside of his skin, refusing to dissipate.
The others don’t share his nearly hypnotized state. Guffaws break out at the prospect of both twins being lesbians, but the femme fatale holds her chin high, daring them to challenge her.
“We want to buy some weed,” the cargo shorts wearing twin announces, reaching into her pocket, apparently done with that topic—and Qimir wonders if it’s because she doesn’t want to have to confirm her sister’s assertion. “I don’t suppose someone here could help.”
And then she pulls out a fat stack of cash.
A few of the other people in the group turn to look at Qimir.
It isn’t like he’s a dealer or anything. He just has a medical license and nothing better to spend his money on, and so always has a sizeable stash on hand. If anyone would have anything to spare, it would be him.
And he wants the chance to speak to her, to see her even closer.
“Yeah.” He takes another hit off his joint and lets the smoke escape on a long exhale, feeling the pleasant warmth of the weed working through his body. “I can help you with that.”
The twins exchange a glance, before making their way around the bonfire to stand before him. The femme fatale crosses her arms over her chest while Qimir digs into the pocket of his own cargo shorts, fishing out the little plastic bag of flower that he got from the dispensary. He has loose as well, purchased through less legal channels, but he’d rather give her the good, medical grade stuff.
“You have the necessary equipment for this?”
He holds it up, offering it to the girl with shorter locs, who still clutches that wad of cash.
She nods but doesn’t take it, considering him with eyes that gleam invitingly. “How much?”
But he shakes his head. “You can just have it.”
Surprise flashes across her face, but it’s just as quickly gone.
“No.” She’s a stubborn little thing, apparently. “I insist. I don’t want to owe you.”
“You won’t. I give weed to all my friends.”
At least, he would if he had friends.
Her eyes spark with something like challenge, as bright as the fire behind her. “Oh really? Are we friends, then?”
A question lingers under the words. An invitation. Almost… a dare.
The corner of his mouth twitches up to one side. “Aren’t we?”
It’s a ridiculous statement considering they’ve exchanged less than a dozen sentences. And yet, the pretty blush that shouldn’t be so apparent to him deepens on her cheeks in response, her eyes so fucking bright.
They might not be anything yet, but they could be. The potential is there.
“I don’t know,” she replies, cocking her head. “What would I get out of being your friend?”
He lifts his eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Free weed isn’t enough?”
She makes a considering sound. “Maybe. But what do you get out of it?”
It’s thrilling to be matched like this, question for question, neither party yielding. God, he hasn’t felt engaged like this with someone before… possibly ever.
Would it be too obvious if he says the pleasure of her company?
He bites his lip and presses the bag into her hand. “You just enjoy that, alright? That’s all I need.”
And then he leans back in his seat and lifts his joint to his lips. But he holds her gaze, and she stares right back at him, like she can’t look away.
“Come on, Oshie,” the other twin says. “There’s no point arguing. If he doesn’t want our money then he doesn’t want our money. Let’s just go.”
Oshie. Her name. He inhales it like the smoke, taking it into his body, letting it become a part of himself. Though something about it feels off, maybe… incomplete. Perhaps it’s a nickname.
At her sister’s words, the girl reluctantly turns, and lets herself be pulled away. But she glances back over her shoulder at him as they depart.
A strange, almost unsettling combination of satisfaction and disappointment flares at the sight. He likes that she looked back, but really he’d hoped she would show more of that stubbornness, insist on staying, maybe sit and smoke with him. He would love to see her with a little weed in her system, all relaxed and open. They could’ve gone to grab a burger from the twenty-four-hour diner up the street, after—
But no. Nothing good can come from fraternizing with a summer girl. Especially not one like her, who makes him feel things that he hasn’t ever felt before. Like a tumble in his bedsheets wouldn’t be enough. Like he would soon find himself wanting to keep her.
But you don’t get to keep summer girls.
He says nothing as the two sisters slip away from the group, heading back down the beach in the direction they’d come from, probably to go back into town and from there catch a ride to their side of the island. The side covered in mansions, where every house has a conservatory and a pool house and a jetty with private beach access.
Qimir assumes that’s the last he’ll see of her.
He’d assumed wrong.
The next night, he senses her approach like he had the night before, picking out her unique silhouette through the darkness as if there’s some kind of homing beacon inside her that calls directly to his psyche.
And this time, she’s by herself.
Every nerve in his body tightens with anticipation at the realization.
She came back.
She came back alone.
He tries not to read into that fact, but after the way she’d barely been able to take her eyes off him the night before, the way they’d bantered, it’s a challenge.
When she draws near the fire, others start to take note of her arrival. A few glance over at him as if in question. But Qimir doesn’t have any answers. He has no idea why she returned, and even with the flickering bonfire, it’s hard to make out her expression.
She doesn’t stop on the fire’s far side, either. Instead, she walks all the way over to stand directly before him, squaring her shoulders. “Hello.”
Her appearance is so unexpected, he doesn’t know how to respond as he peers up at her from his beach chair. “Hello.”
She shifts a little on her feet. Is she nervous? She seems nervous.
“Hi,” she manages.
“Hi…” he parrots slowly, considering her carefully, the way another dark blush stains her cheeks. Definitely nervous, but also determined, that brightness still there in her eyes.
And she came back, had walked right up to him.
Does that mean… had she felt what he felt, last night?
She must have. The way she’d been unable to look away from him, the fact that she’d come back so soon, alone, the fact that she hadn’t even tried to talk to anyone else.
The realization obliterates his own hesitation, and he slowly rises out of his chair. “Hi.”
The girl actually shivers, and something primal roars to life inside him.
Standing, he suddenly realizes how much smaller she is than him—she has to tilt her head back to hold his gaze, while he has to tilt his head down. It makes that primal part of him swell, makes his blood suddenly burn in his veins. He could pick her up so easily, toss her around, put her wherever he wants her.
And something tells him she would enjoy that very much.
He tips his own head to the side, studying her, those big brown eyes staring up at him with something almost covetous, her pretty pink lips slightly parted.
It makes him feel like a lion in a cage, pacing, waiting to be unleashed. But he can’t just pounce on her, no matter how badly he wants to.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
In truth, he hadn’t expected to see her again at all. But definitely not the very next night. He gave the girls enough weed to last them at least a week, assuming they smoke every day—unless they’re handing it out to all their rich friends.
The idea that she might have come back for more weed settles unpleasantly in his stomach, like spoiled milk.
But if that’s really her reason for returning, why come without her twin?
She doesn’t make him wait for an answer. “I wanted to thank you.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Thank me?”
She nods, peering up at him from beneath her lashes. “Yeah. That was really nice, what you did for us last night. You didn’t have to do that. Give us the weed, I mean. I would have been happy to pay for it.”
He folds his arms in front of his chest, not missing the way her gaze darts to his biceps where they emerge from the short sleeves of the T-shirt he changed into after work, before returning to his face. She certainly isn’t the first girl to appreciate the size of his arms, but with her, it feels even more gratifying than usual.
“And like I said last night, I give weed to all my friends. I don’t want your money. I’m not a dealer.”
“Well, friends say thank you,” she counters, as delightfully stubborn as the day before. “So—thank you.”
He huffs out a quiet sound of amusement. Fuck, she’s so cute. And if she really wants to thank him, he can think of a dozen ways—starting with her letting him taste those pretty pink lips and ending with her screaming his name in ecstasy.
But he’s getting way ahead of himself.
“So we are friends, then?”
Her lips press together, but in a way that says she’s holding back a smile—though not particularly successfully. It tugs at the corners of her mouth. “So it would seem.”
His own smile grows. “Then you’re welcome, Oshie.”
She scrunches her nose. “It’s Osha, actually.”
Ah, that makes more sense. Though something tells him the name is still incomplete, but at least it actually suits her. And if he’s correctly reading that expression, and the fact she so quickly corrected him, either it’s a special sisters-only name (which he doubts) or, more likely, she doesn’t like the nickname.
Qimir doesn’t particularly care for the nickname himself, not that it’s his place to have an opinion on the matter. But her actual name? That he likes very, very much.
He tries out the shape of it on his tongue. “Osha.”
She shivers again, and fuck, it makes that primal part of him roar in satisfaction. Something about this girl just calls to him, like being pulled on by gravity for the first time after a lifetime of floating in outer space.
She feels like an inevitability.
So even though he shouldn’t, even though it’s a bad idea, even though she’s too young and going to leave at the end of the summer, he can’t stop himself.
“I’m Qimir. Do you want to go for a walk with me?”
Osha bites her plush bottom lip, obviously considering. In the silence, the sound of the waves grows louder, crashing against the shore. The fire crackles, a piece of wood sparking.
As much as she clearly enjoys their banter, she isn’t sure if she can trust him, not yet. And why should she? They just met last night, have spent maybe a total of five minutes in one another’s presence.
Even so, he senses that some part of her wants to say yes. A large part of her. She just needs a little push.
“We don’t have to go far,” he offers. “Maybe just down to the pier and back?”
Of course, they could always stay here and talk. He doubts anyone would care; the guys had all been more interested in her sister. But he doesn’t want to risk it, and doesn’t want to share her attention if someone decides to try being friendly. Not when this delicious energy hums between them. The waitresses in particular can get chatty.
But the pier isn’t far, maybe a quarter of a mile. They can see the lights from where they stand.
Finally, she nods. “Yeah, okay.”
Triumph floods him, but he manages to keep it in check.
Instead, he nods over his shoulder in the direction of the pier. Even at this time of night, the lampposts stationed along the length of the structure that extends out over the water still glow, as does the ferris wheel. Of course, the amusement park is closed for the day, so the colored lights don’t spin and move like they would have earlier in the evening.
Together, they walk away from the bonfire, and the group of Qimir’s coworkers who are still drinking and smoking and talking. The sand shifts beneath their feet, but Qimir is so used to it after so many years of walking on the beach that he hardly notices it, and Osha appears to be a natural.
His joint glows in his hand, and he holds it out to her. “Want a hit?”
But she shakes her head, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Thanks, but I have to drive myself home. I’ll have some of what you gave us, later.”
Part of him wants to say that his apartment is just around the corner, and she’s welcome to crash there. But he doesn’t want to scare the girl off. He barely got her to agree just to walk with him out in the open.
He does take pleasure in the knowledge that she drove herself over to this side of the island just to see him.
And of course he appreciates the fact she isn’t willing to drive intoxicated. “Responsible of you.”
She scoffs. “More like bare minimum common decency.”
Something in his chest aches at the words, a phantom twinge of pain flaring in his back, and he takes a hit off the joint himself. “Not so common.”
If it was, he might not still be here in this glorified tourist trap, though the fact is, he doesn’t regret the life he ended up with.
She steals a glance over at him as they walk along the shore. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on driving tonight.”
The words lack the teasing and playfulness of before. She has a strong sense of justice, that much is clear.
“No,” he says. “I would never get behind the wheel anything less than completely sober.”
He doesn’t text while driving, either, though the truth is more that he just never drives anywhere. He doesn’t need to, not with the restaurant and the beach both being in walking distance from his apartment.
And as for leaving town… well, he just doesn’t.
Beside him, Osha breathes out in relief. Like the fact he doesn’t drive intoxicated makes him somehow not a bad person. Like it makes him safe, or at least safer.
Qimir doesn’t have it in him to correct that misconception. The fact is, he’s not dangerous to her, so it doesn’t actually matter.
For a moment, they walk quietly side by side, the sound of the waves their constant companion. The lights of the pier grow larger and brighter as they draw closer. It makes it easier to see the details of her face when Osha steals a sidelong look at him.
God, she’s pretty.
“So are you in town for the summer too?”
Qimir laughs. He can’t help it. What about him suggests that he could possibly be one of those rich summer tourists? He knows it’s dark out, so she hasn’t gotten a proper look at him yet, but damn.
Of course, Osha doesn’t particularly look like one of them either, at least not at first glance, not with the way she dresses. But it’s still there, in her posture, the way she carries herself.
He would have thought she would’ve picked up on the absence of those same qualities in him.
“Afraid not. I'm a townie, I work in one of the restaurants.” He takes a hit off his joint, but makes sure to exhale away from her. The chances of a secondhand high while they’re walking outside are extremely low, but it just seems polite. “What about you, what do you do?”
She sighs, almost reluctant. “I don’t really do anything, at least not yet. I'm a student.”
Well, he knew she was probably too young. He just prays that she’s not too too young. If she’s still a high schooler, he might have to climb up on the pier and start walking and not stop.
He keeps his voice only mildly curious. “That’s not nothing. What are you studying?”
Even in the darkness, she seems to perk up at the question. As if the fact he’s still willing to talk to her comes as a relief. But Qimir isn’t sure he could stop talking to her even if he wanted to. There’s just something about her, something so fascinating, something that calls to him.
“I’m majoring in Mechanical Engineering.”
A college student, then. Thank fuck.
She continues. “My moms would rather I study finance or business administration, like my sister, but honestly, that shit just bores me to death.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Moms, plural?”
She nods, glancing at him with a slight edge, almost hard, like she’s steeling herself against his potential disdain for her having lesbian mothers. Clearly, she’s been judged for her nontraditional family structure in the past. Probably not surprising. People with that kind of money tend to be more conservative—and more assholeish.
But of course he doesn’t care that she has two moms. And the way she spoke about them, though brief, makes it seem like they care about her, even if they perhaps don’t see eye-to-eye all the time.
As far as Qimir is concerned, any loving family is a good family.
“So why Engineering?” he presses, to keep her talking.
Each word that falls from her lips feels like a benediction, and he wants to hear everything she has to say. Which maybe should set off some kind of alarm in his head, but he’s too wrapped up in the girl beside him to heed any warning bells.
She shrugs, looking ahead again, the pier drawing close now, the massive structure looming above. “To be honest… mostly just to piss off my family. They think it’s just so middle class. Though I do like putting things together, taking them apart, seeing how they work.”
Qimir isn’t sure what to make of the fact she’s clearly chaffing at the confines of the life she grew up in, and has been for some time.
But more importantly, the words lack… something. Conviction, maybe, he’s not sure. There’s just this indefinable quality that makes it obvious something unspoken lingers beneath the surface.
“That’s not enough for you, though.”
All at once, she stops walking, turning toward him with surprise clear on her expression. “How did you…?”
His gaze traces over her face, able to make out all of her features now. He thought she was pretty before, but pretty isn’t a strong enough word. With her face fully visible in the illumination from the pier, she’s truly stunning.
But she’s also so much more than that. A light shines in those big, dark eyes, her expression a little awed. She isn’t used to people reading her so easily. Or maybe it’s more that he isn’t the only one pleased by what the brighter light revealed, or the only one feeling this immense connection between them.
Even so, how is he supposed to explain to the girl that he’s been acquainted with for barely thirty full minutes that some part of him feels like he already knows her in his soul?
He takes a last hit off his dying joint. “Just a feeling. You might get that hint of satisfaction from the initial rebellion, but it’s not enough. And Mechanical Engineering on it’s own doesn’t fulfil you.”
She swallows and looks down at the sand. “The truth is…” She kicks at the sand with a converse-covered foot. “I don’t know. I always loved to create—drawing, painting, anything visual. And I’m decent at it, you know? Maybe even more than decent. But it’s impossible to make a living off of art. Even graphic designers are a dime a dozen these days.”
Qimir isn’t sure if that really matters for someone in her circumstances. She wouldn’t be summering here if finances were an issue for her family. And she might be chaffing at her existence, but she also hasn’t separated from it yet, if she ever would.
Maybe she’s one of the few rich kids who don’t want their parents’ handouts. But that begs the question of whether she’s ever actually had to go without their support before. Probably not, and she would probably find it to be quite a challenge, if she ever actually had to.
Still, it’s good that the thought occurred to her. So many kids in her situation would just assume that their parents would take care of them forever.
And the solution to her predicament is so clear to him that it’s almost laughable. The fact that the answer she needs could be the very dream he abandoned so many years ago feels like some kind of cosmic joke.
Or maybe it’s just fate.
“What about Architecture?” He pushes the burnt end out of the joint and stomps it underfoot, crumpling up the paper remains and shoving it into his pocket to dispose of later. “That’s an artistic career field with real-life application, and plenty of job opportunities. It’s hard to get into, but if you’re smart enough for Engineering, I’m sure you could pull it off. And your parents might not hate it quite as much, but I think finding something you actually enjoy is probably more important.”
She blinks at him. “I… I actually never thought about that.”
Something warm unfurls within Qimir, more than just the effect of the weed. It’s the way she seems to really consider the idea, to give it weight. Like what he says has merit. Like it matters. Like she values his opinion.
He gazes down at her, that warmth so unfamiliar and yet… it feels good. Everything with Osha feels good. Just being around her feels good.
How much better would it feel to actually kiss her?
But then she shakes her head, those little locs rustling around her shoulders. In the brighter light from the pier above, he can tell they’re tinted red.
“I’m going into my Junior year. I don’t know if it’s even still possible to switch majors, especially to something like Architecture. I would probably have to postpone graduation…”
Qimir tells himself that it doesn’t matter if she takes his recommendation. Really, it would have been crazy for her to outright agree with him, to change the whole course of her life just because a guy she met one night on the beach suggested it. No matter what his instincts say, he doesn’t know if it would truly be a good fit for her.
“Well, it’s just an idea.”
“A good one,” Osha insists, that warm satisfaction returning. “I wish I’d thought about it years ago.”
And Qimir wishes he’d met her years ago, so he could have been there to suggest it.
Then again, maybe not. Their age gap is already an issue; it would have been way more pronounced even a year or two earlier.
He can’t help wondering, though, at the universe bringing them together now.
“Is this your first summer on the island?”
Just because he hadn’t met her before doesn’t mean that she hasn’t been here before; the island isn’t that small. But like so much about Osha, he just has a feeling.
And, to his gratification, she nods. “We used to summer at the cape, but my moms have too much going on with work this year and needed to stay closer to the city.”
“Then… do you maybe want to go up on the pier? Have you been up there yet?”
He nods toward the massive structure. They’ll have to walk up the beach to the road in order to get up onto it, and the amusement park will be fenced off, but there are benches in the open area where they can sit and talk.
Osha bites her lip in that way of hers. For a moment, Qimir fears she’s going to decline and ask to start walking back to the bonfire. His mind whirls, trying to figure out how to convince her to stay longer. They might still have a few minutes together during the walk back, but he’s not ready to say goodbye to her at the end of those few minutes.
“Actually… have you ever been under it?”
Her words obliterate the concern. As much as he feels like he knows her, never in a million years would he have guessed that she would ask him that.
He shakes his head with a smile. “I… can’t say that I have.”
A light gleams in her eyes. “Do you want to?”
And of course there’s no way in hell that he’s going to say no.
But he does his best to play it off cool. “Sure, if you want.”
Despite his false nonchalance, an urge floods him, to reach for her hand, to lace their fingers together and pull her forward. But as certain as he is that she shares his interest, he needs to let her make the first move, to not overwhelm her and scare her off.
She’s being brave by asking to go under the pier with him. He just needs to prove that he’s trustworthy, and have a little patience.
So he keeps his hands to himself, instead turning and leading her toward the pier so they can slip underneath the massive structure.
The pier extends way out over the water, with a forest of columns emerging from the sea for support. Along with the wooden planks of the pier itself, they make the space feel cave-like and enclosed despite the large openings between the supports.
The scents of saltwater and seaweed are stronger, more concentrated. So too is the sound of the waves, amplified by the change in acoustics.
Lights from the pier spill over the edge and illuminate the top of the water on either side, highlights of white on the otherwise pitch-black sea.
Osha looks around at the underside of the pier, taking it all in with what seems to be genuine curiosity, though it’s hard to tell in the dark.
“I love spaces like this,” she announces, confirming his suspicion. “In-between spaces, places that other people tend to avoid.”
What does that say about her, that she seeks out places neglected by the masses, places that might potentially be considered dangerous? Even if it wasn’t so late, she would still be taking a big risk by coming down here with him, where it’s so hard for anyone to spot them.
Then again, that also has some truly delicious potential…
She turns back to face him. “So what do you do at the restaurant?”
He puts his lecherous thoughts aside, though it’s difficult, when it comes to her. But that clearly isn’t why she’d asked him to come under here with her.
“I’m a chef.” He doesn’t mention that he’s the head chef, in charge of the kitchen. The difference in their life experiences is already so significant.
But Osha seems interested in that. “Oh? Do you like it?”
“Sure.” And the truth is, he does like it, even if it isn’t what he always imagined for himself. It’d still turned out to be a good backup. And he is satisfied with his life, even if it had started to feel lately like something was missing.
“Did you always want to be a chef?”
“Ah. Not exactly.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t ask what he’d wanted to do instead—or more importantly, why he hadn’t done it.
“Then how did you get into it?”
He shrugs. “I was eighteen, needed a job, took one at the restaurant washing dishes because it was all I could get. And then we had a really bad case of influenza hit the town and half the staff were out sick. They were desperate, needed someone to do prep in the kitchen. Turned out I was a natural at it. The previous head chef was impressed and started training me. I learned all her recipes and started creating my own. When she retired, it was just the natural next step that I take over for her.”
“Wow, no culinary school?” Osha asks.
“Nope.” Qimir pops the P.
She laughs. “You’re just that good, huh.”
“So I’ve been told.” He tilts his head as he considers her. “But if you don’t believe me, you should come by the restaurant some time, see for yourself. I’d love to cook for you.”
In truth, he wants to do so much more for her, to her, with her. And the place he really wants to cook for her isn’t at the restaurant, but in his apartment kitchen. To make her breakfast after spending the night overwhelming her with pleasure.
But it’s becoming increasingly clear, if it wasn’t obvious already, that he will do whatever he needs to in order to be around this girl.
Baby steps.
“Hmm, I’ll think about it,” she says, though the words are playful, and he gets a strong sense that she will, in fact, take him up on his offer. “Which restaurant is it?”
Her focus is fully on him now instead of the pier above. Qimir wants to grab hold of that attention and never let it go, to keep those pretty brown eyes fixed on him always.
“Stellan’s. It can be hard to get a table, but I’ll give your name to the hostess, and they should take care of it.” He gazes heavily at her face, watching her watch him, her attention rapt, and decides to press on. “Although… I’ll need your last name.”
There are those teeth, worrying her bottom lip again. It makes him want to reach out and put his thumb on her mouth, pull that lip down and away from the offending incisors. And then he would press his mouth to hers and soothe the indents she’s surely leaving behind.
“It’s Aniseya,” she finally says. “My full name is Verosha Aniseya.”
There it is. The piece that he’d somehow known was missing.
“Verosha,” he repeats, the way it rolls off his tongue and feels in his mouth so lush and ripe and perfect.
And again, she shudders. Clearly, she likes the sound of his voice, and the knowledge surges through his veins, a high stronger than the prescription painkillers he’d been given all those years ago. Somehow, he knows this is going to lead to an addiction even stronger, even harder to shake, yet he can’t stop himself from running toward it.
But at that moment, she turns away, wrapping her arms around herself, kicking the sand in that way she apparently does when she’s feeling a little anxious. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”
He isn’t sure what prompted it, just that it makes a surge of satisfaction rush through him, despite the overly casual—falsely casual, he thinks—way she said the words.
And he can’t help teasing her. “Maybe you need to break out of your social circles more often.”
But she turns back to face him, all seriousness. “That’s not it.”
He quiets, but fondness and amusement linger, the corner of his mouth quirking up to one side. He lets his gaze drag heavily over her pretty face, with her pert little nose and that gorgeous mouth. “Then what is it?”
His eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness that he easily makes out the way her chest rises and falls so rapidly. He practically hears her heart racing against her ribs. His own heart beats steady and hard against his sternum.
Sheer anticipation gathers on the air around them, an envelope of expectancy.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
The question spills from her mouth like she hadn’t meant to ask it, her body tensing as soon as the words escape her. But she doesn’t try to take them back, blinking at him in obvious fear and hopefulness as she awaits his response.
And the words fill Qimir with triumph, the lion rubbing its head against the bars of its cage, so certain that it will soon be let out.
“I’m single, at the moment.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
She licks her lips. “Not currently.”
She looks at him for a long moment, those doe eyes so fucking compelling. Looking back at her makes him ache to take her face in his hands, to pull her in close, taste that pretty pink mouth. His eyes linger there for a long moment, wondering what it would feel like—
All at once, Osha closes the distance between them, and kisses him.
The growl that has been building in him since the moment she showed up at the bonfire erupts from his lips, his arms going instinctively around her small, soft little body, pulling her fully against him.
Her arms wind around his shoulders, in turn. Her mouth is so plush and warm, and she tastes sweet, like mint and vanilla. Like she brushed her teeth before coming out to see him. Like she’d been hoping for this before they even exchanged names.
The idea makes that animalistic part of him roar once again.
Another part of him curses the fact he had no opportunity to do the same. But she doesn’t seem to mind the taste of weed in his mouth.
Instead, she clings to him, arms tightening around his shoulders and hands clawing at his back through the fabric of his shirt. Like she can’t get enough of him either. And then she parts her lips in invitation, and Qimir couldn’t stop himself if his life depended on it.
His tongue sweeps inside, determined to taste every part of her. She gasps at the sensation, and the sound plus the feeling of her tongue against his makes need surge through his body. Blood rushes south as he strokes her tongue with his own, his cock thickening in the confines of his shorts.
Fuck, he can’t believe this is happening. And yet, it also feels inevitable, like every moment of his life has been leading up to this one.
She just fits against him so perfectly. It feels as if they were made for this, for each other. Nothing in his life has ever felt as good as having Osha in his arms, her mouth pressed against his, her sweet, warm breath on his lips. Nothing has ever sounded as good as her little gasps of pleasure, quiet, and yet his ears pick up on each and every one despite the constant hushing of the sea beside them.
They flow together like water, lips pressing and sliding in perfect synchronicity. When they part for breath they inhale at the same time, then immediately dive back in.
Each brush of their lips makes Qimir feel hungrier for more. He kisses her long and deep, savoring the feeling of her lips, the taste of her tongue, desperately trying to quench a thirst that he feels suddenly certain will never be slaked.
He lets his hands slide down her back, grabs her gloriously full ass, and hauls her up into his arms as she gasps in surprise. It’s as easy as he’d imagined, and he doesn’t stop kissing her all the while.
Her limbs immediately wrap around him, clutching him tight as Qimir turns and sinks to his knees in the soft, cool sand with Osha in his arms. He breaks the kiss to look at her, seeking her permission. She nods eagerly, and he lays her back, wishing he had something to put beneath her but too eager to let that stop him.
And apparently Osha doesn’t care either, because her hands tangle in his hair, tugging his mouth down to hers.
He kisses her ravenously, trying to drink down whatever it is about this girl that makes him feel like a missing part of him is somehow trapped inside her. But it still isn’t enough, and her hands yank at his hair like she feels the same, so he lowers himself fully against her.
Even with clothes between them, she feels so fucking good, arching up into him, her legs hooking around his waist. Her breasts are so big and firm, her nipples so hard that he can feel them through the layers of their clothes, brushing against his chest. It fills him with a need for more, and so he lifts one of his hands, shaking off the sand before reaching between them to put his hand on her waist.
Slowly, he slides the hand up.
With a gasp, Osha breaks the kiss, arching hard up into his touch as his hand reaches its destination. Her own hands remain clenched in his hair.
“Fuck,” he moans when he feels her firm breast and hard nipple, so distinct beneath the thin fabric of her top, his dick throbbing. “Are you not wearing a bra?”
“I hate bras,” she pants out. “I never wear them unless I have to.”
Qimir groans, his mouth falling to her neck, seeking her pulse point and sucking on it ravenously. Osha moans and writhes beneath him, so fucking responsive it makes him feel like he’s going to explode. Not only that, but the knowledge that her tits are just that fucking perky has his cock throbbing.
Never in his life has he ever wanted someone as much as he wants this girl he barely knows.
And yet, he does. He wants everything with her.
More than anything, right now, he wants to push her shirt up, expose those incredible tits to the open air. To taste her pert little nipples, to suck on them and flick them with his tongue and find out what kinds of sounds she would make.
But even in the dark, even with the pier providing coverage above them, even knowing how slim the chances are of someone stumbling upon them at this hour, he knows that’s a lot to ask of her, even if she does seem to be enjoying herself every bit as much as he is.
And then her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling his lips back to hers.
He pushes his tongue immediately into her mouth, desperate to be inside any part of her that he can. His cock aches with desire to feel that same wet warmth around it—or better yet, her sweet little pussy.
But most of all, he wants to taste every part of her. Her mouth, her neck, her tits, between her thighs. God, he wants to taste her cunt so badly, to spend hours making her scream with his lips and tongue.
If she tastes even a fraction as good there as her mouth does, he’s pretty sure he could spend his whole life eating her out.
And then something in her pocket starts to vibrate insistently.
Osha breaks the kiss, her head falling back against the sand. “Fuck.”
“Ignore it,” Qimir insists, taking advantage of her exposed neck to press his mouth against the underside of her jaw again, kissing and nipping her sweet, tender skin.
She whimpers, her hands momentarily tightening in his hair, and god, nothing has ever sounded or felt so good. His dick is so hard in his shorts that he feels as though he’s going to embarrass himself like a fucking teenager.
But then her hands loosen, and fall away entirely. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
Reluctantly, Qimir forces himself to pull away, to prop himself up so she has room to reach into her pocket and retrieve her phone. She sighs when she sees the screen, and lifts the device to her ear.
“Hey.”
The person on the other end of the line speaks quickly, too fast for Qimir to make out what’s being said despite his proximity to the speaker.
“I know, MaeMae, I’ll be home soon. I appreciate you covering for me.”
The other person says something else.
“Okay,” Osha replies. “I love you.”
And then she hangs up, sighing as she refocuses on Qimir overhead.
“I…” She swallows, regret evident in her tone. “I have to get going.”
It isn’t like he thought she was going to let him fuck her here under the pier, but Qimir regrets the lost opportunity to continue exploring the insane connection between them. This thing that feels like destiny made manifest. Like holding his fate in his arms.
Still, he nods and climbs off her, reaching to help her up.
“Ugh,” she mutters once back on her feet, shaking out her hair with her hands. “I have sand in my locs.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, and tries to mean it. And he is sorry for the effort she will have to go through to get it out, but not for anything else.
Osha looks at him, her eyes bright with mischief. “It was worth it.”
Pride rumbles in his chest.
“So… not a lesbian?”
He suspected it even before they made out, but he can’t help teasing her about it, now that they have.
“Oh.” She laughs. “No, we just tell people that when we don’t want to get hit on by random guys, though for Mae it’s mostly true.”
Mae must be the other twin, and who she spoke to on the phone.
“Well good,” Qimir says, unable to resist the urge to pull her into his arms once more, loving the way she immediately puts her hands on his biceps and gazes up at him like she’s starstruck. “Because I’d feel bad wanting a lesbian the way I want you, imagining doing the things I want to do with you.”
And then he ducks his head and kissed her again, slow and hot and sensual. She clings to his arms and lets him, moaning into his mouth.
When he pulls away, her breath comes heavy and hard again, and she looks up at him from beneath her lashes like she wants to eat him alive.
Fuck, this is so dangerous. A man could get used to a girl looking at him like that.
But he also knows he can’t get used to anything with Osha. She’s only here for the summer. And maybe he will see her again next summer, but more likely not—if her family usually summers at the cape, chances are good that this summer is all they have.
So, he will just have to make the most of it. They’ll have a fun summer fling, enjoy each other while they can. Osha will leave in a few months, and he will go back to his normal life, and it will be fine.
Qimir likes his life, and has overcome hardships a thousand times more difficult.
He can handle this.
“Come on,” he makes himself offer. “Let’s get you where you need to go.”
And this time, he doesn’t resist the urge to take her hand, tangling their fingers together.
He walks her back to the bonfire, and then to where her car is parked at the edge of the beach—a brand new BMW, though he keeps his opinions on that to himself. They exchange numbers, Osha promising to text him. Qimir kisses her one last time, long and slow, wishing he could kiss her forever.
But he has to let her go, at least for now.
Once her taillights disappear down the street, he walks back to his apartment. There, he gets in the shower, braces himself against the cool tiles, then fucks his fist so hard he sees actual stars as he climaxes with Osha’s name on his lips.