NOW, THIS IS SPRING BREAK. SUNNY, NO ONE HOME. Will’s car outside. I will make my own plans and maybe make him clarify his own.
Will? For break you’re hanging out with Will West? That guy is, like, dreamboat, like, dream yacht; he’s, like, Kelly Slater kind, and his body is ohmahhaw-mazing. As soon as I think this, though, I rethink. Will isn’t the tan surfer type. Danny’s the one who looks like the pro surfer. Will is classy, sophisticated. I imagine him taking off a suit jacket and putting it over my shoulders.
Will West? Golf pro. That guy is such a boss.
I know! And he is so sweet and sexy.
I’m on the daybed again, reading the script. It may be a setup, but I’m going with it.
I hear music coming from inside, and I cross, then uncross my legs. I will lounge. I will be cucumber coolness.
And then I sense him there in the doorway, and when I look over, I act as though I was in deep concentration.
“Oh, hey,” I say. “Thought you’d be off spring breaking.”
“I’m here spring breaking.”
We smile at each other, and it’s as if we’ve both agreed to bypass the shyness and admit something.
“I’m glad,” I say.
He holds his hands out in front of him, framing me. “I think we need to do a retake. The light is perfect.” He looks down, then back up, his face coy and confident.
“Take two?” I say.
He sits next down on the edge, and I sit up and move my legs so they hang next to his. “I haven’t seen you this week,” he says. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I’ve been busy,” I say.
“Hey,” he says, his face close to mine.
“Hi, there.” I almost reach out to touch the stubble on his face, his hard square jaw. I want to bury my face in his shirt that smells good and worn. His body looks strong beneath it. I move back, not wanting to be looked at so closely.
“You look nice,” he says, in a way where it seems as if he’s still deciding on it.
“Are you in character right now?”
“Maybe,” he says.
Something has changed. It’s as though we’ve skipped ahead or something happened off-screen. This feels so easy.
He looks at the script and reads a few lines in a jokey voice.
“We could change it up a bit,” he says. “Improvise.”
I swing my legs back and forth. “Okay, Dr. Jenkins,” I say.
He reaches for my hand. “Okay, Samantha,” he says. It’s sweet, the way he’s holding my hand, like we’ve done this before.
“We could start where we left off,” he says, and before I can think about anything, his mouth is on mine.
It’s more urgent this time—not a test, inquisitive kiss. This kiss lands and stays to explore. We do this for what seems forever and could be forever. I could do this all day and night.
“What about Lissa?” I ask.
“What about her?” he says.
“Are you with her or not?”
“No,” he says. “I told her I had other things on my mind.” He lies back and takes me with him, pulling me between his legs. I can feel him. His hand moves up my shirt, one on my back and one on my breast. He groans a bit into my mouth. He moves us so we’re facing each other on the bed and presses his body between my legs, and I imagine us having sex this way. There’s so little fabric between us, I feel like we already are.
We haven’t stopped kissing, and a breeze moves my hair over our faces. He pushes my hair away, then presses me on my back. He begins to bring his hand under the buckle of my shorts and part of me is mortified, anticipating what he’ll find, the evidence of my total desire. He finds it and sighs, “Lea,” and though I’m a virgin and want to be one until the time is right, the way he’s moving his fingers and the naked desire on his face make me want to throw caution to the wind. I move into his hand, closing my eyes, but seeing us here with the ocean, the wind, the ripples on the pool. The time seems beautiful.
I open my eyes, and we lock gazes, then kiss again. I reach for his buckle to feel him too, and his hands find mine, helping me. I feel I need to give him fair warning that I’m a virgin and while my body wants to swallow him, my brain, my being, would like a first date.
“I think . . . ,” I say, but don’t get anything else out, hoping my hesitation conveys everything for me.
He holds my hand again, then brings it to the outside of his boxers. He kisses my neck. “We can go in,” he says.
A car door slams, and we jump. Will faces the ocean, getting himself together. I sit up, then get off the bed.
“I’m going to go,” I say.
“Yeah, okay.” He turns, and there’s something distant in his eyes, like nothing happened just now. “That was a good take,” he says with a laugh.
It takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about. “Take two,” I joke again.
He walks over to me and ruffles my hair, making me feel like a Labrador or, worse, a shih tzu. “See you soon.”
“Right,” I say. Is this my cue, then? Will there be a take three?
“You okay?” he asks. “We cool?” He wipes his hands on his pants.
We cool? I think so. I’m cool, I’m hot—flushed, fiery. I’m cold. A little sour, but, ah, what happened—this moment—I’m a little sweet too. I’m all over the map.
“I should go,” I say, and am left feeling both exhilaration and shame. I walk to the side of the house, where the garbage cans are, so that whoever’s coming in won’t see me.