Pico De Gallo

Carrie smelled it on him the second he walked through the door. A mix of sweat, cheap body spray, and something undeniably feminine, undercut by the distinct, lingering scent of pico de gallo like he'd been eating tacos off someone's bare stomach--which, knowing Zach, wasn't entirely out of the question.

She grinned. Oh, she was gonna have fun with this.

Zach barely made it to the fridge before she pounced.

"Hey, big guy!" she called from the couch, kicking her feet up, beer in hand, eyes glinting with mischief.

Zach froze, hand on the fridge handle, then let out a long, slow breath. He turned, looking wrecked--hair still messy, shirt buttoned wrong, a smudge of lipstick that wasn't hers just barely wiped off his jaw.

Carrie sat up, beaming.

"Ohhhh, shit," she laughed. "You got wrecked. Look at you."

Zach sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. "Baby--"

"No, no, no, you tell me right now." Carrie pointed at him, grinning like a madwoman. "Were her fuckin' tits real? I gotta know."

Zach groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Carrie."

"Do not 'Carrie' me, motherfucker." She pointed again, her eyes gleaming. "I need details."

Zach exhaled, opening the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water like it might save him.

Carrie wasn't letting him off that easy.

"Zachary."

He didn't look up.

"Zachary."

He cracked the bottle open, took a long sip.

Carrie set her beer down, stood up, and strolled over to him, pressing a hand against his chest, giving him a mock-serious look.

She sniffed the air dramatically.

Then, loud as hell--

"Ohhhh, my God, you smell like tacos and a woman who does kegels for fun!"

Zach choked on his water. "Carrie!"

Carrie cackled, pressing up against him, grabbing his face in both hands, kissing him hard.

He let out a low groan, his hands finding her hips automatically, but she was already pulling back, licking her lips.

She squinted at him.

"I can taste her."

Zach sighed. "Carrie."

Carrie grinned. "So?"

Zach rubbed his face. "Baby, I need a nap."

"Oh, no, no, no." She grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the couch. "You're not getting out of this."

He let her. He always did.

They collapsed onto the couch, Carrie half in his lap, legs thrown over his thighs, beer still in hand.

She took a sip, then leveled him with a stare.

"Talk."

Zach let his head fall back against the couch, exhausted.

Carrie smirked.

She was gonna get this out of him if it killed her.

Zach sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Valeria Morales."

Carrie grinned. "That's a hell of a name."

"It is."

She nudged him. "And?"

Zach let out a low, slow exhale, reaching for her beer, taking a sip before answering.

"She's a bartender."

Carrie perked up. "At--"

"La Iguana."

"Oh, shit." Carrie leaned in. "So, what--you just walked in, and she was like, 'Yes, I will fuck this exhausted white boy?'"

Zach huffed out a laugh. "Not quite."

"Tell me."

He sighed, setting her beer down, then looked at her.

And Carrie watched his expression change.

The way his eyes darkened slightly, the small flicker of heat that passed over his face as he replayed it in his head.

Carrie felt something low and warm coil in her gut, her fingers drifting idly over her thigh, nails scratching lightly against bare skin.

Oh, hell yes.

Zach exhaled. "I was at the bar, minding my own business--"

Carrie snorted. "Bullshit."

"--and Valeria comes over. Starts pouring shots for people, doing that thing where she puts the bottle in her mouth, you know?"

Carrie nodded. Oh, yeah. She knew.

Zach leaned back. "She catches me watching. She laughs. Then she just--reaches over the bar and grabs me by the fucking shirt."

Carrie let out a low whistle.

"She just yanked me over the counter, slammed a shot glass in my hand, and went, 'Drink.'"

Carrie's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, my God."

Zach nodded. "So I did."

Carrie grinned. "Then what?"

Zach smirked. "Then she pulled me across the bar, licked tequila off my neck, and said, 'You are coming home with me.'"

Carrie bit her lip, her hand slipping lower, pressing against herself as she shifted, breath catching.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered.

Zach chuckled. "I wasn't gonna say no."

Carrie shivered. "You wouldn't dare."

Zach ran a hand through his hair. "Fast forward--we're in her apartment."

Carrie perked up again. "And?"

Zach groaned. "Carrie--"

"And?"

He sighed. "Her tits."

Carrie leaned in. "Real?"

"Real."

Carrie let out a soft, impressed sound.

"And?"

Zach smirked, his voice dropping lower. "She climbed on top of me, put my hands on her hips, and said, 'Don't you dare stop touching me until I say so.'"

Carrie swallowed hard.

Oh, fuck.

Her thighs clenched around his.

Zach kept going, lazy and smug. "And when I got my mouth on her--"

Carrie exhaled, slow, measured, her pulse hammering. "Yeah?"

"She tasted like lime and salt."

Carrie let out a low, involuntary noise, her palm pressing firmer, hips shifting as heat pooled between her thighs.

Zach smirked. He fucking knew what he was doing.

"And then," he continued, drawing it out, "later... we ate tacos off her stomach."

Carrie opened her mouth--

And the world went dark.

Zach blinked.

"Carrie?"

She was gone. Just slumped against him, knocked the fuck out.

Zach sighed, rubbing his face, looking down at her.

"Goddamn it, babe."