“I was ten.” She tried to put on a superior proud look at her one-upmanship, but it only looked cute. “It helped spending summers on a sailboat.”
“Checked off in the back of Peterson’s Field Guide?” He asked.
“Birds of Eastern and Central North America. Of course. How else?”
“Well, Peterson’s the gold standard, but I have a James Bond hardbound my aunt gave me.”
“James Bond?”
“The ornithologist, not the spy.”
Jay could tell she was lost, and he relished the chance to show off a little. Even if it was a nerdy way to do it.
“Ian Fleming, who wrote the Bond books, was a birder. He named him after a James Bond that published bird books. I have a Field guide to Birds of the West Indies, though it hasn’t helped much locally. Have you read any of the Bond, the spy, books? Ian Fleming would love your Blue-footed pun. Right up his alley.”
She looked impressed, shook her head. “I had no idea. Spy stories are not usually my thing. I just think of ‘Bond, James Bond’ in that sexy Scottish accent and Paul McCartney singing that horrible ‘in this crazy world in which we live in’.”
“My god.” The words just flowed out of him. “You’re beautiful, a bird watcher, and a grammar nazi! You’re perfect.”
Robin kissed him. Not a deep kiss, but more than a peck, and it took his breath away. Soft lips held his for a timeless brief moment, just long enough for him to start to kiss back and catch the slightest taste of spearmint.
Her eyes dropped shyly as she pulled back. Jay saw a bright red flush spread over her cheeks. He looked down and saw why: his forgotten fear had sprung up, hard and straight from between his legs, exposed to anyone who looked their way. Fortunately, their seat was at least partly obscured by a fallen tree and a bend in the path.
Jay felt his face grow hot, looked up to see Robin’s teasing grin, her eyes bright. He wondered whose cheeks were redder, even with the advantage her complexion brought.
“I can help hide it.” It was the whisper of a conspirator. His eyes went wide at an instant thought of ‘hide the salami.’
Robin missed his reaction. She turned away from him on the bale, leaning back against his chest. She adjusted, her smooth bottom catching his erection and directing it upward along her lower back as she wriggled closer. Jay awkwardly rested his hands on her sides above the sweet curve of her hips.
Robin’s hands found his, fingers again knitting with his own before pulling his arms close around her. Once more, the intoxicating scents from her hair filled his nose. This time he inhaled deeply, his face close to her neck.
“Mmmm. I like that, Jay.”
“I like all of this, Robin.”
“I can tell.” One thumb stroked the back of his hand, his palm covering a patch of divinely soft, smooth belly.
At a loss what he should do from here, not wanting to spoil the perfect, magic moment, Jay simply held her, inhaled her scent, and tried to keep his boner from twitching against her. When the silence went on a little too long, his nerd brain again took over.
“Did you know Ian Fleming also wrote Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”