Hello dear readers! It's new story time! The beautifully haunting song below got me thinking a lot about unrequited love. I do love the angst! I decided to play with that emotion and let it become an inspiration for a new tale of mine.

Let me know thoughts, likes, dislikes, ANYTHING!

Rated M for language and adult situations. Be warned!

Do you mind if I stay?

I'll blend in with the air

Oh I've never felt this alone…

Can you read my smoke signals?

I'm still hung up on you

Your silence is a dusty death road

Who knows where the wind will blow…

I'm just a man lost in space

Calling out, hoping to hear something back, something back

Listen to the universe, you may find an answer

Love is here and everywhere, don't be scared

(selected verses from "Mind if I Stay" by Kadebostany, from

their album "Monumental"- 2017)

Mind if I Stay by Miss Mango

Chapter 1

The redhead absent-mindedly caressed away the droplets of condensation from his beer bottle, lost in thought. He went on to take a leisurely drink, the liquid frothy and stronger than he was used to, but he welcomed it all the same. The temperature outside seemed to have increased tenfold, if possible, in the early night hours. He guessed it was largely due to the humidity. He shifted in his chair, the cotton T-shirt sticking to his back as if to prove his theory right. They were in a quaint, coastal city somewhere in Ecuador –Salinas, he now remembered- and the salty scent of the ocean was mixed in with the air. The small beach-front bar was illuminated with lanterns and string lights just like the ones they used back home at Christmas time; the effect was calming, soothing. They resembled little stars or static fireflies.

A lively bachata rhythm, steady like a heartbeat, pulsated off the speakers of the wooden structure, coloring everything in a lazy golden color. A few couples were dancing along to it expertly. Made dancing seem so freakin' effortless, he chuckled to himself silently, tapping his foot along with the sound. Dancing was not his forte, but he could nonetheless appreciate the art without shame.

His blue eyes moved to the pretty blonde, who was smiling at something Gi was saying beside her. A dimple formed at the corner of her mouth, and she inattentively moved the mass of golden tresses to her other shoulder to beat the heat. The humidity had caused the ends to curl, and he wondered for the hundredth time since he'd met her how she could look so flawless in all kinds of climates and situations. He did not miss the appreciative glances thrown her way by the other male patrons. It could be in part that her fair complexion, her Nordic features, stood out in the sea of brown faces and coal hair, like a diamond from pearls. But the American knew it was more to do with how stunning Linka was. The green halter top that matched her eye color rode over her hips, her legs kilometric beneath a simple, faded denim skirt. Her head turned slightly in his direction as if she could feel his gaze on her body, and their eyes met. Wheeler smirked a little and raised his bottle to her in greeting. He'd longed stopped pretending that he was not checking her out every chance he got, and she had somehow settled into cohabiting with his customs by now. She shrugged in response and newly turned her attention to her friend beside her.

They continued this game for a while, never tiring, and Wheeler felt little thrills going up his spine. He wasn't sure if it was more the beer or the girl at this point. All he knew was that the atmosphere and the pleasant music were helping wash away the stress of the long day spent fighting ecological crimes. Not that they were superheroes or anything. Just five young people with a lot of time and energy on their hands, willing to help out globally. No place in the world was immune to the decaying effects of human pollution, it seemed. And so time passed; with it, the depth of his feelings for the sensible Russian blonde. She didn't seem to be interested in anybody that way, but they'd had moments of something – especially when either one of them was in mortal danger. But they were perpetually stuck in limbo, somehow. Immobile, unmoving, like quick sands. Fighting against whatever it was that was forming between them (exclusively on her part), concentrating more on their hectic work load (another one of her notions). All this didn't prevent Wheeler from fantasizing about her at night, though. On the contrary, his thoughts became more vivid as time went on. He could not help but picture those long legs coiled around him, or her perfect pouty lips brushing the side of his neck seductively. The fact that she was intelligent as hell and downright resourceful were added bonuses, for he'd always appreciated no-nonsense girls. Sure, her personality had to be handled with care, like burning embers from a fire, but lately it had become a little easier reading her. Cracking her was a different ball game, however. She was full of stubborn hesitation. Linka stood proud in her decisions, unwavering, and somewhere along the journey, she had decided that they weren't a good match. Like oil and water, she had once pronounced when particularly angry with him. He'd blamed her for not even giving them a chance to check for a right fit. It was like judging a dress on a hanger, for crying out loud! The girl was stubborn, but Wheeler somehow knew her resolution could be shaken. Her armor was not completely bullet-proof. And he did like to play with fire a lot…

But there was something between them, a pull of sorts, and even the other members felt it. They would resume to eye-rolls or brilliant schemes to leave them alone, of course, but nothing seemed to surprise them any longer when it came to the Russian and the American. Sworn to be a mystery, they'd simply concluded. Wheeler figured Linka couldn't deny it forever… now, could she?

Kwame joined the two girls who were standing off to one side. He fell into conversation with Gi, and Linka started comb-fingering her hair, a sign her mind was wandering. Wheeler saw his chance to swoop in and he rose. His glance fell on Ma-Ti, the youngest member, who was sitting at a nearby table, talking easily with a local girl. The raven-haired girl was laughing at something he was saying, and he was beaming at her. Cute. Even Ma-Ti was scoring!

Never one to be defeated easily, the American headed for the bar, deciding on another cerveza for himself and a bottle of Smirnoff Ice for Linka. She was partial to the raspberry kind as of late. With easy strides, and both bottles secure in hand, he sauntered towards his teammate with no cares in the world. He did not feel the need to voice a single word, but simply took her hand and led her on the small dance floor. The makeshift canopy above them let in the light of the stars. Wheeler took their galactic twinkle as a good omen. He thus went on to pull Linka closer, snaking an arm around her slim waist.

The Russian looked up at him silently, almost examining him. She steadied herself against his chest, letting her hands linger there. Wheeler mischievously pressed the cold bottle of vodka against the small of her back, and she yelped and jumped. The surprising contact on her naked skin caused her body to arch against his as a reflex, and Wheeler was nearly overflowing with sheer mirth at this point.

"Yankee!" Linka scolded him with a ready pout before dissolving into a small laugh. She reached behind her to take the offending bottle away from his hands. He could tell she was both frustrated and elated by his consistent need to keep her on her toes. Walking the line between a ready argument and some sort of romantic effusion seemed to be his calling in life when it came to Linka.

"You seemed like you needed to cool off, babe," he smiled easily (charmingly, he hoped). The scent of her favorite body lotion, a cross between shea butter and fresh cupcakes, invaded his senses head-on like a solar eclipse.

"Hmm, maybe you are just trying to get me drunk, da?" Linka replied good-naturedly with an eye roll, her tone a mixture of accusing and entertained. All the same, she took a drink from her bottle. She was in a good mood tonight, serene, Wheeler could instantly tell. Her body seemed more relaxed than usual against his as they swayed lightly to the music together.

"You're kiddin', right? It would cost a fortune to get a Russian wasted, even here!" He was teasing, moving his mouth closer to her ear in order to be heard over the music.

Linka shoved him playfully, accustomed to his humor by now, and smiled to herself a little. She tipped the bottle towards him as a sign of gratitude, voicing a genuine, "spasiba." Her eyes took in the surroundings in a leisurely fashion before landing on him again. The American found that time stopped when it was just the two of them like this. Adjacent things lost their meaning, their momentum, and never having experienced such a thing before, he was forever in awe of this phenomenon. Linka messed with his emotions that way, along with the space-time continuum, apparently. Sometimes, it was like standing in the middle of a hurricane with her. No way out, no logic, no instinct strong enough to get you outta there in time.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. "Today was not easy, but winding down in a place like this makes it just a little more bearable."

Wheeler's body was no longer worn out from the day's events, a new kind of energy was pulsating through him at this point. He was sure it had to do less with the beer and more with Linka's soft curves pressing into him. Life was good.

Confidently, he placed his other arm around her waist, locking her into an embrace. He could feel the steadiness of his heartbeat inside his chest like a tribal drum.

"Place's great, but the company's even better." He let the side of his face brush gently against hers as he spoke. He heard Linka take in a breath as if to steady herself, or possibly to destroy his suave lines, and something like a current travelled between them. Wheeler wasn't sure how she could continue to deny the strength of the connection between them. It had taken root now, it was growing; no longer could it be suppressed.

"It is hard to imagine you without good company, Yankee," the girl resorted to teasing to dissipate the delicate magic that had been created. This time, she had taken a jab at his flirty nature, which ticked her off more than she liked to admit. Linka did not like to show that things affected her too deeply, but Wheeler's mom had always told him that a healthy dose of jealousy accompanied true love like a shadow. It was a sign she cared, then.

Feeling incredibly daring, he pulled her closer until their bodies were short of being crushed together. Tonight was a good night to let her know he wasn't all about games all the time.

"You don't see me seeking out other company at the moment, do you? And before you say what I think you're gonna say as a comeback, I am able to hold a conversation in Spanish, thankyouverymuch. A lot of my friends growing up were Puerto Rican, Cuban, Mexican… I absorbed a lot of it."

Linka shook her head a little at him, seeming surprised that he'd thwarted her arguments before she could even have a chance to lay them out. Wheeler assigned himself an imaginary point on the imaginary scoreboard between them. He was feeling pumped, damn it!

"Is it so hard for you to believe that I prefer you over anyone else?" came the point-in-blank question from the redhead. Linka was speechless for a moment, her mouth slightly ajar. When she met his eyes, Wheeler hoped with all his might she would let herself see the truth buried there. Instead, she took a long drink to avoid giving an answer to his too-candid query.

Instinctively, boldly, Wheeler brushed his lips against hers, tasting the sweetness the vodka had left behind, and he heard the softest sigh coming from her. He suddenly didn't care if she smacked his face or started a yelling match, he just didn't feel like going against his urges anymore. It was tiring, too exhausting, like swimming upstream in the middle of a storm. He wanted to do so much more to her, but the setting was all wrong. Too many prying eyes, especially belonging to his teammates, and definitely not enough moonlight. The grin that came to him illuminated his entire face.

"Let's get outta here," he suggested nonchalantly to a momentarily lost Linka, tugging on her hand to get her to move. He parked his empty bottle on a nearby table, reaching to do the same with Linka's next. The American suddenly wanted to hold her close. Games had gotten them absolutely nowhere so far! Who knew what tomorrow would bring, and it suddenly seemed a shame to leave the road paved for regrets, what-ifs, heartache.

Somehow, he'd stumbled upon love, he who had so many reasons in his past to reject love, refute its very existence. Surely, it was a sign from the heavens. He didn't believe in much, having had a life filled with pain and suffering at the hands of his family, but he was sure God existed and had some sort of directive for his life. That's what preachers were always going on about, anyway, about how even outcasts were vital pieces in the bigger puzzle of creation, so why shouldn't he believe that maybe this utterly frustrating, but still divine, Russian girl had been placed on his path for a reason? When a sacred opportunity such as this one knocked on your door it was almost a sin not opening wide the gates. And God knew his soul was marred enough as it was; perhaps, now was the time to start living right.