We walk in silence. It’s . . . nice. I like the quiet. I especially like not having to answer questions. The cool breeze feels amazing on my skin. The waves wash over my toes, making me forget we’re in sand at all. Every once in a while I bend over to pick up a sea shell. He starts pointing them out to me after he notices my fascination with them. I begin collecting them and when my cup-less hand gets full, he takes them from me and places them in his pocket.
After I finish my drink, he takes my empty cup from me and runs them to the trash can nearby. He makes jogging on the beach look effortless. I can barely walk in deep sand without stumbling. “Having fun?” he asks as he returns to me.
“Yeah. I think I am.”
“Good. So, can I hold your hand?” he asks, reaching out to me and looking adorably unsure.
I shrug as I place my hand in his and he smiles like he won a prize. It makes me feel good. Better than I’ve felt in a long time. His hand wrapped around mine doesn’t suck either. I haven’t held a man’s hand in ages. I forgot how good it feels. I imagine a crack forming in the wall I’ve built around myself. It slowly crumbles more and more the longer we walk.
He limits his questions to things like, “How about this shell?” or “Have you ever seen anything like it?” It’s comforting. Those are questions I can and want to answer.
It’s getting darker by the minute. I can almost make out his face by the light from the hotels nearby, but he has to face me in a certain direction and I really have to focus to see him. I’m not sure how far we’ve walked, but it’s got to be getting late. I could check my phone for the time, but it’s tucked inside my bra and I don’t want to reach for it. I turn and gaze back to see just how far we are from the hotel. I can’t tell.
“Do you need to go?” he asks.
“Yeah. I probably should. I have a morning flight home tomorrow and I still need to pack.”
“Where’s home?”
“California.”
He nods. Is that sadness I see? My heart flutters in my chest. I think I feel it too.
He squeezes my hand as we turn. Is it just me or are we both walking slower? He doesn’t say another word for several minutes. I shiver as a new gust of air hits my warm skin.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m okay. I got a little too much sun today.” I wrap my free arm around myself.
“I’m a furnace. I’d be okay, if you wanted to lean against me while we walk. I did say I’d protect you. That means protection from wind as well.”
I stop abruptly and he takes a step forward before he notices, never letting go of my hand. I glance down at our hands outstretched in front of us and it looks . . . right. I suddenly feel like I’ve known him forever and that my hand belongs in his.
“What is it?” he asks, facing me.
“I don’t know. I . . . I don’t want this night to end.”
He gazes out at the line of hotels in the distance then his eyes meet mine. He moves in a little closer to me and the gap between us shrinks. When I don’t react, he inches forward slightly more. Then more. I smile. “Testing the waters?”
“I don’t want to push my luck.”
I sigh. “There’s only room for one more step between us and I haven’t backed away yet. That should be a sign.”
He lifts his hand and brushes the hair away from my face. He holds out the piece of tomato in his hand. “Did you still want this?”
I laugh. “Oh my God. Have I had that in my hair the entire time? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you seem to be extremely fond of tomatoes?”
He poses it like a question. I take it from his hand and pop it in my mouth. “Still yummy.”
He laughs hardily and I have to steady myself. It affects me to my core.
“That’s one lucky tomato.”
“Huh?” I question.
“I’d give anything to be in your mouth.”
I swallow hard as he lessens the little space between us and his face inches closer to mine. Oh shit. He wants to be in my mouth. Does he mean his tongue? His finger? His dick? I wonder what his dick would taste like. Oh hell. Am I really considering that as an option? Do I want this? Him?
His lips are almost touching mine. I quickly run my tongue over my mouth. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? That’s what girls do in my stories. No one likes a dry lip. Oh damn, this is taking forever. This kiss scene would be exactly how I’d write it in my books, slow and building. But living it versus writing it is torture. It’s taking too long. Kiss me already. Please.
When his lips finally touch mine I think I see fireworks behind my eyelids. Oh dear Lord in heaven, have mercy on my soul. Is this what I’ve been missing? Do all men other than Oliver kiss this way or is he a professional? What if he is a professional? What if he’s a male hooker? Oh shit. I don’t care. I want that tongue.
I open my mouth and slide my tongue against his. He pulls me closer to his chest and I feel my entire body relax into him. His hand sifts through my hair and he tugs on it lightly to bend my head back. His mouth leaves mine and moves to my neck. He plants soft kisses from my ear to my collarbone and then back up again before his lips meet mine once more.
I don’t know how long we stand with our toes in the water making out. It must be a while, because a wave almost knocks us to the ground. As we stumble, we laugh. The water crashes again, higher this time, and hits my shorts. As if I weren’t wet enough.
“Shit!” I scream.
“Don’t worry, my lady! I’ll save you.”
I don’t have time to do anything other than gasp as he lifts me into his arms and starts to run us away from the water.
“Fisher!” I want to protest his carrying me, but I laugh instead. He runs me away from the shore, then back toward the water, teasing me as waves hit him in the knees.
He does this repeatedly until I’m laughing so hard, I can’t catch my breath. A wave hits him at the waist and he stops in the water. I loosen myself from his grip until I’m in the water too. The waves soak us both, but I don’t care.
“You’re getting wet,” he says, running his fingers through his hair.
“I was wet the moment I saw you.”
He grips his hair in his hands and sighs before smiling down at me. “You can’t say things like that to a man. It does things to me I can’t control.”
I blink my eyes repeatedly. “I think I’d like to see what it’s doing to you.”
His eyebrows lift and he gives me a gaze I could only describe as smoldering. He takes my hand and places it on his wet shorts. I feel the bulge in his pants and I do what any sane woman would do. I grab ahold.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“No, but I wouldn’t be against letting you feel the inside of my mouth.”
“It’s a beautiful mouth. But there are other lips I’d like to taste as well. It’s only fair.”
Oh damn. He’s good. Am I really about to do this? Yes. Yes, I am.
I glance back and forth along the beach. There’s no one in sight. I start to unzip his shorts as another wave crashes against us. I reach my hand inside and move the material away to reach him.
He’s hard and thick. I swallow hard. What’s gotten into me? I run my fingers over his length as he slowly trails his fingers up my thigh and under the material of my short shorts. His middle finger finds me immediately and he plunges it inside me. I moan. The water continues to crash against us as we stroke each other purposefully. His mouth crashes against mine and I lift my leg slightly, holding on to him for balance. He doesn’t disappoint. It doesn’t take long for my toes to curl as the waves of the ocean combine with my waves of orgasm. I increase my grip as well as my stride until I feel the warmth of his cum in my hand.
It’s a brief feeling. The water quickly rushes it away, but it’s enough to make me feel accomplished. He zips his zipper and touches my cheek with his palm.
He kisses me deeply and pulls me tightly to him. Placing my arms around his neck, he lifts me up until I’m straddling him.
He walks us out of the water and places me on the ground.
“Stay with me tonight?” he asks.
I shake my head. “That’s an amazing offer, but . . .”
“But?”
“I can’t.” I close my eyes. What in the world did I just do? This isn’t me. Greer Hanson doesn’t fondle strangers on the beach. It was definitely liquid courage. The effects of the margaritas begin to slide away.
He leans in closer to me. “But I’m not done with you.”
“Oh God, Fisher . . . Patrick. That was amazing. But I’m leaving tomorrow and we’ll probably never see each other again. Maybe we should just let this be what it was and not . . . what did you say before? Push our luck?”
He nods reluctantly. “The little I know about you tells me that pleading will get me nowhere.”
“You’re a smart man.”
“But what if I want to see you again?”
Ugh. Walking away from him, I ponder telling him what a hot mess I am and how he should run away from me.
I turn and notice he hasn’t kept walking with me. He’s still where I left him staring at me. I feel bad and walk back toward him. “I’m a mess, okay?” I shout over the sound of the waves. “I just went through an ugly divorce. My career is in shambles and I don’t even know who I am right now. Trust me when I say you’d be better off remembering me this way.”
“What way is that?” he asks. “Like this hot chick who played me?”
I laugh.
“You think that’s funny, huh?” he says as he treads toward me.
“I think the fact you think I’m hot is funny. And me, playing anyone, isn’t even remotely close to the truth. I don’t know how to play anything, Fisher. And if you knew me, you’d know just how accurate that is.”
“Let me get to know you then. At least give me your number.”
He’s not going to let this go. “Okay. That’s doable.”
He smiles as if he’s won. He’s everything I’d ever write a man to be. But men like him don’t really exist. If I got to know him, I’d probably discover he really is a male prostitute. Or maybe he just escaped from prison. Or he has a wife and three kids at home. Oh damn, I hope not. I decide what I’m going to do as we walk back to the hotel. Some things are best left as perfect short stories with perfect endings. This is one of them.
I’m going to give him a number. Little does he know, it just won’t be mine.