Song of the chapter: Baby I Love Your Way - Big Mountain

He took me surfing after we snorkeled earlier that day with some Jamaican Rastafarians. My surfing instructor was a handsome Costa Rican, Alfredo, who spoke heavily Spanish accented English. I had the hardest time trying to understand what he was teaching me although the compliments he gave out and his body language were comprehensible.

Mitchell was in the ocean, catching the largest waves he could tackle, looking more and more attractive each time while I lay on the beach with Alfredo greedily eyeing my half naked body.

"Am I doing this properly?" I inquired, pretending to be waddling in the water with a real surfboard.

"Yes, almost good. You need more focus," he said, hovering above me watching as I paddled on the hot sand.

"When can I get into the water? It's really hot, Alfredo, and I think I get it now." I asked, heaving myself up to sit. The scalding heat was beginning to burn my exposed body.

"Let I put sunscreen on your back so you don't get sunburn then you can surf," he offered.

He began to rub it on my back, cooling me down instantaneously. His large hands were travelling up and down my spine until I felt his fingers slipping under my bikini strap which made me really uncomfortable.

"Uh, what are you doing?" I said, turning around.

"I make sure your whole back is safe. Sorry if I make you not comfortable. Can I buy you drink for saying sorry?"

"I don't think so," Mitch answered, emerging from the tranquil turquoise water. "She's with me."

"I thought she was friend to you," Alfredo replied, backing away from me defensively. Mitchell wasn't so friendly when it came to people touching his girlfriend; how I loved this protective side of him!

"She's my girlfriend, man. And I think I can take it from here. You can go now."

Alfredo walked away, muttering to himself in Spanish, probably swearing at his stupidity but I didn't care: Mitch had just called me his girlfriend in front of another human, a living, breathing human with functioning organs.

I was grinning for the rest of the afternoon as he taught me how to surf himself, feeling very special and appreciated. We splashed around for the most part, making out under the water among the fish with the salty water almost choking us to death.

He took me dancing before we had dinner, at a local club. The vibe was great and the people were extremely friendly. Also, the fact that not many people knew who he was an added bonus - it meant our night was mostly uninterrupted.

I taught him how to salsa like the locals, a dance I had learnt from the former professional Carla, which he attempted enthusiastically but failed dismally. "You'll get it next time," I encouraged as he took me back to the hotel. "I'm starved, dude. Where are we eating?"

"That, my lovely little Zoe, is another surprise. Since I now know how paranoid you can get, let me give you a hint: the Pacific Ocean."

If TV had taught me anything, it was that oceans were perfect for body dumps. So pardon me for not being paranoid. I was blindfolded again - I peed my favourite lace panties a little there - and followed him onto what I later saw was a beautiful yacht.

"Oh, Mitchell! You little sneaky, adorable bastard. I was content with burritos on the bedroom floor. It's so pretty out here," I admired, staring out into the open water, twinkly lights skirting the deck.

We were a few miles into the ocean; the air was fresh and salty and a full moon illuminated the boat, making the atmosphere eerily romantic.

A table was set out with some white roses and more candles, dripping artistically onto it. "Ooh, fancy. I never knew this side of you, romancing me and shit," I mused, sitting as he pulled my chair, my little handsome gentleman.

"I decided: why not romance you and shit? You treat me so well, babe. I had to do something nice for you," he replied, smiling his nervous grin that made my heart beat out of my chest and knotted my stomach. "But we are having burritos. They are so good here and we're in Mexico. Why the hell not?"

We did eat burritos, sat comfortably around the charmingly set dainty table and drinking what must have been some sort of moonshine, really good moonshine: I was drunk after a few glasses of the clear liquid. We lay on the starboard watching the navy blue sky and named the stars after our dear friends.

"I think that one should be Rae because it's like standing out. And those two back there would be us 'cause look how they kinda touching but they aren't if that makes any sense. Gosh, I'm so totally wasted," I laughed, pointing at the dozen constellations. "Where'd you get that beer? I hope it's not illegal."

"The captain recommended it. He looks more trustworthy than Alfredo so relax. I'm pretty sure it's legit," he said, running his fingers through my hair.

"Aw, baby. Were you jealous?" I looked up at him, my eyelids growing heavy.

"I don't like it when other guys flirt with you. I wanna be yours, the only guy that makes you shit food and serenades you in cartoon character underwear," he said, running his thumb down my cheek.

I reached out to kiss it and ended up sucking on it.

He shook his head, rubbing circles on my back. "You're really cute when you're drunk, you know. You're vulnerable and it makes you so beautiful."

He kissed my forehead subtly, moving his mansize hands down my stomach. He has really big hands, I realised. I guessed that's why I always loved it when we held hands - they enveloped mine and his fingers fit perfectly.

I moved in closer to him on the floor, my head resting on his chest and my hands wrapped around his waist. His smell was familiar and his touch electric. His warm body close to mine made me feel safe, and I let my guard down.

I was myself with him, the sweet and geeky me that listened, alternated, between Kiss and Beethoven. "Did you know that shooting stars are actually meteors falling to earth?"

"No, I didn't. Did you know that I've never been with a nerd?" he retorted.

"No, I didn't."

I smiled into his eyes and lost myself in their gaze, remaining like that for a long time. I could look at him and have a conversation without saying anything. We were different, perfect, like that. Our telepathic connection was too strong and the unsaid discussions the most cherished.

The boat swayed from side to side before it docked, rocking me to sleep and I remember Mitchell lightly pecking my lips and carrying me into our cottage.