beach days

Excitement stirs in your chest like a tumble of kicked-up leaves. Abigail leans into Sam’s shoulder, whispering furiously. Sebastian rolls his eyes. Heat sears your cheeks when you feel them look at you.

Alex doesn’t notice them. Only you. His gaze lingers on your mouth, willing you to speak.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, “and if I lose, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’m out,” Sebastian says, deadpan, tossing his half-full coffee into the trash to retrieve a box of cigarettes from his pocket.

“I’d play the Slingshot Minigame again, but I ran out of money,” Sam says, wiping crumbs off his face. “At least this is free.”

Sebastian shoots Sam a glare as he lights his cigarette—then you see Lewis skewer Sebastian with an even more hate-filled look. Even Alex turns to watch Lewis march straight toward your group.

“We could see the fortune teller,” Abby suggests as she pushes Sebastian toward the other end of the fair, away from Lewis.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Sebastian says, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Sounds good to me, as long as you’re buying,” Sam says, cheery.

“See ya later,” Abby calls over her shoulder.

Like a tiny tornado, Lewis storms past, leaving you and Alex in his wake.

“I hope they’ll be all right,” you say.

“They just have to outrun him. Not so sure about those smoker lungs, but Lewis can’t be that quick.” Angling his body toward the Smashing Stone, he asks you, “So, you in?”

You nod, cheeks ablaze, and arc your brows like question marks, spurring him on.

He steps up to the man at the Smashing Stone and asks for 10 rounds.

“Big day, huh?” the man booms.

“Don’t worry, I warmed up.”

“I don’t worry about you, kid. You know what to do.”

With a quick roll of his shoulders, Alex hefts the giant mallet above his head.

He drops the hammer to the grass and staggers back, panting. When he turns around, sweat shines on his forehead like a crown.

“You did it,” you say, still in shock.

“Didn’t think I could?”

“I wanted you to.”

He comes up to you, leans down—and stops.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Lewis, headed this way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that purple before. Follow me.”

You slink past Pierre’s storefront and around the corner until you reach a cove of overgrown jasmine and butterfly bushes—Caroline’s garden, you assume. Bees swerve around your heads, drunk on the heady bouquet.

Alex guides you to lean back against the wall. Your heart thumps in your ears, drowning out the bright shrieks of laughter and fair games in the distance. He dips his head to meet your eyes—his are frenzied green, glowing hot. His mouth an inch from yours. You meet his lips, and he presses back firmly—a warm, decadent feeling. Heat blooms in your stomach and rises to your collarbones, your mouth.

He pulls back. He wants to see you flustered, the way you unknit under his touch.

“Can we,” you start, and his eyes flash with desire, “go somewhere private?”

He nods, takes your hand in his, and leads you away. When you stroke the muscled pad of his thumb, a wave peaks and crashes in your stomach at the thought of him using his broad fingers elsewhere, anywhere. How strong and practiced they would be.

When you see the familiar blue siding of his house, you squeeze his hand in alarm. “Aren’t your grandparents here?”

“They’re at the barbecue. Grandma loves to get Grandpa outside, and he’ll do anything for a good steak—kind of like Dusty.” You giggle and relax when you picture Evelyn dabbing a napkin at George’s cheek, him swatting her away.

He leads you inside. The kitchen is empty, television silent. You take off your shoes at the door and wander to his bedroom at the end of the hall. Soft afternoon light splashes the walls, turning them golden like sun-drenched wheat. Your stomach swoops low at the clicking latch of his door.

Alex comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

You’ve always seen Alex at a distance but rarely took the initiative to talk to him. How could he have possibly known you liked him?

“Alex,” you ask, “how could you tell?”

“Hm?” he murmurs into your neck.

“That I liked you.”

“Good instincts.”

“What does that mean?”

His arms slide up your body when he shrugs, the friction igniting a spark in your chest.

“I could just tell,” he says, casual. When you turn your head to face him, he continues, “Your cheeks are always red when I’m around.”

You feel your cheeks, unbidden, redden a degree.

“That is not—”

“Come on, you’re always checking me out.”

“What?” you ask, mortified. He chuckles. You persist, “When?”

“When aren’t you?” he laughs. You protest with a drop of your jaw. And then comes the death blow: “Especially when I run.”

He caught you ogling him? You wish you could correct him, but the fact you could draw his abs from memory—and have, perhaps once or twice—tells you he’s right.

“Okay, all right, you win.” Shame deflates you, makes you curl inward a fraction. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” His voice lowers. “I like it when you look at me.”

He lets go of you and takes a step back. Strands of sunlight catch flecks of gold glinting in his hair, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and drags it up his abdomen, revealing chiseled columns of muscle. The sound of his shirt hitting the floor makes your stomach flip.

“Do you want to see the rest?”

You nod, chest fluttering like a flower in the wind.

He undoes the button of his jeans, pushes them and his boxers down his thighs. Your pulse elevates when he strokes his cock, thumbs the tip.

He watches you through hooded eyes. “You like it, don’t you.”

Your shortened breaths and pink cheeks are more than an answer for him. He closes the gap between you.

You pull your dress over your head, toss it aside. His eyes dip to your bra, his breath ragged with desire. You unclasp it and slip it off your shoulders. Your nipples perk from the autumn chill mingling with the heat of his skin.

Shame threatens to detach you from the present, but his eyes shine with utter devotion, as if he wants to lose himself to you. He wants to give you everything you desire, anything you can bring yourself to ask of him.

You lead him to the bed where you lie on your back, legs slightly splayed. He settles between them, traces a broad finger along the edge of your underwear. He gently lifts the hem and slides his hand underneath the fabric to draw slow circles on your clit, the rhythm wavelike. Your breaths rush out of you like a current guided by his touch. You push your underwear down your hips, and his hands brush your thighs as he slides them off.

You hear his breath catch when he sees you completely naked. You reach for him and he climbs on top of you, holding himself up on his forearms to kiss you, his hard length pressing between your thighs. You feel his stomach tense as you slide your tongue into his mouth.

There’s nothing but the sound of his breaths coming quickly and his warmth against you.

He slowly slides into you, sending rivers of endorphins rushing into your stomach. He grunts into you as he pulls out, as if it hurts to leave you for even a moment. He slides back in, deeper, soft as silk, his pace quickening.

His movements grow sloppy, unmeasured, like he can’t feel enough of you fast enough. A frenzy of desire overtakes him when you wrap your legs around his waist. He angles his body against your clit, scattering beads of color across your vision.

He curls into you, burying his face in your chest as he comes, his breath warm against your skin.

You lie there for a moment before he pulls his head up, his eyes glossy green like dewdrops on grass. You stare at each other as he pulls out of you, your body buzzing where he touched you.

Splayed in the blankets together, you steady your breaths until they’re quiet as clouds.

You wonder what will tear down the sheet of silence that hangs across you, but for a long time, nothing does.

You can’t imagine a more perfect moment—then your stomach growls ferociously enough that even Alex startles.

“Damn, farm girl, I’m hungry too,” Alex says. “Wanna get some funnel cake?”

“Yes,” you say, beaming, excited to go anywhere with him. You untangle your limbs from his to stand, feeling radiant as a dandelion in the sun.