A Week at the Beach (12 page)

            “So what do you do at night, then?”

            “Play my guitar, work on work things, surf the internet, you know time filler things.” He bent down and picked up a shell then skipped it across the water.

            I grinned, “Is that all you do?  Are you sure you don’t go trolling the bars and clubs for other things to do?”

            He stopped and looked at me, “I didn’t hook up with anyone last night, Cami.  Why do you think that’s what I’m interested in?”

            I rolled my eyes at him, “You’re a guy, aren’t you?  Isn’t that what all guys are looking for all the time?”

            “I’m not going to lie to you, Cami.  I’ve done my fair share of hooking up, but I don’t go out every night looking for someone to bring home with me.  I didn’t sleep with anyone last night,” he grinned at me, “I didn’t even try, so don’t go thinking that I struck out.”

            I shook my head, “I wouldn’t dream of it.  I seriously doubt that you would have heard a no, if you’d have asked.”

            Nick grinned at me and cocked an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

            “Oh come on!  Don’t act like you didn’t notice how that girl in the pottery place acted when she saw you.”  I laughed at his false modesty.

            His mouth flew open and a loud wail of laughter escaped.  “What are you talking about?  That girl was like fifteen years old!  Women don’t have the same reactions, trust me!”

            “Right, like one flash of that gorgeous smile, or one peek at your six pack abs, and women aren’t throwing themselves at you,” I rolled my eyes at him and smiled.

            Nick laughed, “Remind me again, didn’t you just tell me that you and I weren’t going to be hooking up?”

            “Yes, so?”

            “If I’m so damn irresistible to women then how are you able to control yourself in my presence?” he wiggled his eyebrows at me.

            With a laugh, I answered, “I have superhuman self-control.  That and I don’t happen to find gorgeous smiles and six pack abs all that attractive.”

            Nick grinned and nodded dramatically, “Oh, I see.  I bet I know what your last boyfriend was like. What was his name?”

            “Jack,” I answered.

            “I bet Jack was the artsy type, wasn’t he?  Probably had a pair of black rimmed glasses that he wore to poetry readings and jazz concerts, right?”  Nick grinned as he described what he thought Jack would look like.

            “No,” I said defensively.  “Jack hated Jazz, and his glasses were silver.”

            Nick laughed.  “Have all your boyfriends been that type?”

            “Have all your girlfriends been the same type?” I threw the question at him again.  He’d never bothered to answer it the first time I’d asked.

            “They may have had some similar characteristics,” he said slowly through a grin.

            “I bet I can guess exactly which two characteristics,” I rolled my eyes and held my hands out in front of my chest to indicate large breasts.

            “You know, you keep bringing up breasts.  It’s starting to get a little suspicious.”  He lowered his eyes and looked at me.

            “Hey, you are the one who brought them up initially.  You told me that your last girlfriend had, ‘a fabulous set of fake breasts’.  So, if anyone is to blame, it’s you!”

            “That may be true, but you keep bringing them back up.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you thought your own breasts were somehow inferior.”  He gave me a very serious look.

            “I can’t believe you said that!” I said in surprise.  “There is absolutely nothing wrong with my breasts.  They are exactly the size they’re supposed to be!” Just to emphasize my point, I grabbed my breasts and gave them a squeeze. 

            Nick’s eyes widened at my action and a big grin spread across his face.  “I would have to agree with you on that.  Your breasts are definitely proportionate to the rest of your body.  I don’t think them inferior at all.”

            I dropped my hands and put them on my hips.  I knew what he was up to.  I stopped walking and stood in place, with my hands still resting on my hips.  After a few more steps, he realized that I wasn’t with him anymore and stopped.  When he turned around, I was giving him my best teacher look.

            “What?” he said with a grin.

            “I’m on to you, Nick whatever-your-last-name-is!”

            He grinned, “Fletcher, my last name is Fletcher.”

            “Okay, I’m on to you, Nick Fletcher!”

            “What are you talking about?” he started walking back towards me. 

            “You keep changing the subject when the conversation turns back to you.  I’ve spent the last two days spilling my guts to you about all my embarrassing moments and my family.  But every time the topic turns to you, you skillfully change the subject.”  I glared at him and held the look as he walked closer.

            He sighed heavily, “You caught me.  That’s what I’ve been doing.”  The grin was replaced by an apologetic smile.

            My face softened, “Why?”

            He shook his head slowly.  “I don’t really like to talk about myself.”

            I studied his face as he answered.  He looked different as he stood there looking back at me.  The confident attractive man was gone, replaced by a vulnerable and scarred man.  Sensing that the tough approach wasn’t going to get me anywhere, I took pity on him and went the humorous route.

            “Is it because you’re so uninteresting?” I gave him a look of pity.  “I suspected that about you.”

            He laughed.  “You really want me to throw you back into that ocean, don’t you?”

            “You wouldn’t dare,” I said as I walked towards the dry sand, leaving him standing at the water’s edge.

            I bent down and picked up a shell then plopped down on the dry sand.  I put the shell down on the ground next to me and picked up another one. 

            “What are you doing?” Nick asked and sat down next to me.

            “I’m collecting shells.”

            “Why?”

            “A lot of my students have never been to the beach, so when I go to beaches I like to collect shells for them.  Sometimes, when it rains, or if they have had a particularly good week, I’ll put out bins with sand in them.  They like to make sand sculptures and dig for shells.”  I shrugged my explanation.

            “Do you let them keep the shells?” He asked and handed me a shell he’d picked up.

            “Sometimes,” I smiled in thanks and took the shell.  “They really like the tiny conch shells and those little spiral ones.”

            “Like this?” he handed me a shell.

            I smiled, “Yes!  They love these.  They call them shark’s teeth.”

            He laughed and searched around for more shells. 

            “Sometimes, I’ll give each student a shell and have them write a story about the animal that used to live inside it.”  I held my hand out and he placed a few shells in it.

            “I don’t remember doing things like that in school,” he searched and talked.

            “Most people don’t remember much about first grade, but I like to do things that aren’t necessarily in the state’s plan.”  I looked at the pile of shells that was quickly building.  “I wish I’d brought a bag or something to put these in.  I’m not sure how I’m going to get them back to the house.”

            “Use this.”

            I turned to see him pulling his t-shirt off.  While the shirt was covering his head, and his arms were up in the air, I noticed a series of small circular scars under his arm.  He moved too quickly for me to get a better look and when he was free from his shirt, I averted my eyes so he wouldn’t see me staring.  I smiled weakly at him.

            “You can put the shells in this and we’ll tie it up when we’re done.  I can carry it on the ride back.” 

            “Thanks.”

            We collected shells in silence for a few minutes.  Eventually, I got up from my spot on the sand and walked around looking for more shells.  When I thought I had enough, I brought my bounty back to his shirt.  He scooped the shirt up and tied it into a bundle. 

            “Shall we head back?” he asked as he stood up with the bundled shirt in his hands.

            “Sure,” I nodded and walked next to him.  My eyes kept wandering over to his shirtless torso.  I wondered if he had any other scars.  He walked ahead of me, and I tried to be subtle as I studied his back for more scars. 

            Suddenly, he stopped walking.  “Is everything okay?” he turned and asked me. 

            I nodded my head and tried my best to smile like my mind wasn’t racing with ideas about him.  It was one thing for him not to talk about himself, but add that to the scars, and I was starting to get a picture of his past. 

            He smiled, “Are you getting nervous about the bike ride back?”

            I laughed, “No.  I managed to get here in one piece, so I’m feeling confident in my skills now.”

7.

Back at the beach house, after the bikes had been put away and my helmet had been hung back up in the storage shed under the house, Nick and I headed up the stairs and into the house.  I let him walk in front of me this time.

            “Is this so you can check out my butt?” he said with a grin and started up the stairs.

            “Well, it is right in front of me,” I grinned in reply.

            He turned around and started walking up the stairs backwards.  He flashed a wry grin at me.

            “Now you’re just showing off because you know if I tried that, I’d end up in the hospital.” I smiled and looked up at him.  Of course, since he’d turned around I was no longer staring at his butt.  Instead, I found myself staring directly at his crotch.  Feeling suddenly embarrassed and flustered, I lost my footing and tripped up the stairs.  I put my hands out to catch myself, and when I did, I smacked him in the groin. 

            He groaned as my hand made contact with his crotch.

            My knee banged against the step I’d missed and my head knocked against the railing, but despite my own pain, I still tried to mutter an apology.  “I’m so sorry!” I spit out and crumbled to the stairs in pain.

            “Are you okay?” he asked in a strained voice.

            I rubbed my head and inspected my leg.  A bruise had already started to form on my leg.  “I’m fine.  I didn’t mean to hit you, especially not there.  I’m so sorry!”

            Nick adjusted himself and gingerly walked down the stairs to inspect my wounds.  “It’s nothing a little ice can’t fix.”

            “Same here,” I said with a blush.  He was holding my leg and rubbing the bruised spot gently. 

            “It looks like you are already starting to bruise, and you’ve got a little scratch.  Let me see your head.” He leaned forward and inspected the small bump from where my head had made contact with the wooden railing.  As he did, his bare chest was just inches from my face.