Chapter Nine
When we finally stop, it’s been either ten minutes or an hour, I can’t recall. The ride was much less terrifying than I thought it would be, and he didn’t do the asshole thing of speeding up to try and scare me. Once we reached the shoreline, the smell of the salt water filled the air and he slowed down, taking the curves slowly enough that I could hear the waves crashing. It became relaxing, freeing. I can see the appeal now. Not that I’m going to make a hobby out of it, but I don’t hate it.
“Wasn’t so bad, was it? You’re alive,” Julián says, kicking his foot to put the break stand down.
“Alive, yes. Not so bad,” I admit, yanking my hands from his torso and crossing them in front of me, flushed that I kept hold of him a bit too long.
He pulls his helmet off. “I can’t believe you were going to tell that guy your hotel name. You’re really na?ve, aren’t you?” he asks, shaking his hair out.
I tug at the helmet on my head, trying to find the clasp to undo it. Julián steps off the bike and it shifts a little, changing the balance, making me uneasy. I reach out and hold on to his shirt, and his hands move to help me. My heart is pounding, reminding me of just how alive I am. I don’t need to think too much about whether it’s the bike or him that’s making me feel so jittery, like I’ve had ten shots of espresso. He stays standing directly in front of me, my mind jotting down the thickness and dramatic curl of his eyelashes, seeming to shine under the dim streetlamp. His hands reach behind my head as he takes my helmet off in one gentle but swift motion and puts it back into a pouch on the side of the bike. I catch a glimpse of the cover of a crossword puzzle book inside. He must take one with him everywhere. Is it anxiety? Or just a quirky, old-school hobby?
Instead of commenting on it or responding to his accusation that I’m na?ve, I decide to change the subject altogether.
“I can’t believe you stalked me on Instagram. You don’t seem like the type to use social media.”
He laughs, a soft whisper nearly lost between the wind and waves. “I did not stalk you. I randomly saw a photo of you with Amara when I was already on my way there. She invited me and our friends before your plane—or hell, probably private jet—even landed on our island. Before you were even thought of.”
“That’s harsh.” Honesty pushes the words out of my mouth before I can catch them.
He stares at me for a beat as if he’s trying to figure out what was wrong with what he said. Just as I’m about to attempt to lighten the mood and deflect from my sensitivity, he speaks. “I don’t mean you weren’t thought of.” He rubs his thumbs against his temples, the rest of his fingers lost in his dark hair.
He adds, “We made plans as a group is all I meant.”
“Why didn’t the rest of the group show up? Amara said you never come out during the week. I didn’t expect you to be there.”
He tilts his head to the side, looking at me a little too intensely. I look away as he replies, “I don’t know why they didn’t come, but why are you and Amara talking about me anyways?”
“Because… I was complaining about the asshole— Sorry, the not-so-nice guy who helped me get back to my hotel, and she told me she knows you.”
“What else did she tell you?” he wonders.
We make eye contact and those damn eyes of his make me want to tell him every word, but logically it would be a bad idea to tell him what Amara said, and I would never want to do anything that would cause her drama or stress. She’s been so kind to me, so I decide to lie to the one who hasn’t.
“That was it. Oh, and that you’re a fisherman or something.” I shrug, leaning my hands behind me onto the smooth metal of the bike. The salty air smells incredible as it gently brushes against my face, arms, torso, caressing my bare skin where I’ve rolled my sleeves up.
“Hmph.” He doesn’t seem to believe me, but that’s all he’s getting out of me. “Are you going to stay on my bike, or do you want to go down to the water? You keep staring at it; I can feel you longing for it.”
Maybe it’s the slight language barrier or his choice of words, but that damn pang in the bottom of my stomach throbs again.
“Let’s go, then.” I hop off his bike and bend down to cross under the wooden fence between us and the sand.
I spot a narrow dirt path carved out between the low brush and I follow it until my feet touch the sand. Without looking back, I can hear Julián’s footsteps behind me. I listen carefully to them, the quiet flip and flop of the sand against his sandals, the way the sound changes when he takes them off. I stop for a moment to take my shoes off, because sandy sneakers are a nightmare, and carry them in one hand. It’s darker down here without the streetlamps, but the moonlight is bright enough to make out the line of the water, the sand, the cliffs, and of course Julián’s face, as I turn around to look at him.
“Is this beach for locals only too?” I ask with a hint of sarcasm.
He smiles. “All of our beaches are. Sorry, you should go back up to the street. I forgot you’re American for a second.”
“Ha. Ha.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re the one who brought me here, betraying your people,” I tease, allowing myself to get drawn toward the water.
The shallow waves finally kiss my toes, warm and relieving. Washing over the tops of my feet, in and back out, in and back out.
“Are your feet better today?” He looks down between us at my bandaged feet, my sneakers in my hand.
I nod, surprised that he cared to remember, let alone ask. We’re quiet for a moment, and I close my eyes again, a natural reaction when I’m relaxed.
“You like the water, huh?” Julián asks maybe two minutes later. I open my eyes and he’s now standing closer to me.
I nod. “That obvious, huh?”
“A little, but I’m very observant.”
“Is there anything about you that you would consider a flaw? Or do you just think you’re perfect?” I stare back out onto the water before he responds.
There seems to be something soft, almost vulnerable about him, if I didn’t know better. “It would take your whole summer to listen to me list all my flaws.”
His response quiets me. I don’t have a witty or snarky thing to say. There’s an honesty to him that I want to see more of, feel more of.
“And you? Do you have any flaws, Miss Know-It-All?”
“Only tragic ones,” I tell him, letting him decide if I’m serious.
The silence between us feels soft and safe. Not what I expected when alone with Julián, who just a few hours ago was my enemy. He starts to walk forward, and my eyes follow him to the water, as does my body. I leave my shoes in the sand and roll the bottom of my jeans up.
“I wish I would have worn a swimsuit. I’m dying to swim.” I sigh, debating just how annoying it would be to wear heavy, soaked jeans and top on the bike back to my hotel.
Then again, this is Europe, and there’s not a soul here on the beach to see me. Except Julián, who’s clearly used to going to nude beaches and has seen many, many, many women naked. I won’t be fully nude anyway, just in a shirt and panties. Of course, I wore the most boring panties I own, and I’m not wearing a bra for once. I have the urge to slap myself at the thought of caring what he thinks about my panties.
I shimmy out of my jeans, watching him like a hawk for a reaction, but there isn’t one. Not even a glance my way after he realizes what I’m doing. I toss my pants next to Julián’s shirt and my purse and try to untie the laces that Amara tied around my waist. The knot is too tight, and my nails are too short to get it to budge. Leaving it, I go back to the edge of the water and slip in. Julián’s about ten feet farther out than me, the moonlight shining off his bare shoulders and broad back. I walk out toward him, surprised how shallow the water is as I walk.
“Does it feel like a dream to live here?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.
“No. But if I were only here for a holiday, it likely would.”
Okay, so we’re back to being combative…
He seems to notice my defensiveness.
“Not talking about you,” he explains. “Just in general. Our island is suffering from the tourists, but on the other hand it’s surviving because of them. It’s a double-edged sword. Most of our working class can barely afford to keep their homes due to the land value increasing. The pollution, the cultural shift, it’s not very dreamlike.”
“I’m sorry. Not for asking, but for what’s happening. I guess when your livelihood depends on an industry that’s harming it, it’s not all sunny days, warm water, and yummy food.”
“Not at all. But hey, I’m healthy, my pare—that’s my dad—is healthy, and our business hasn’t been shut down.” Sighing, he adds “yet” tacked on to the end, making it known there’s something more to say. But he didn’t mention his mom, and I’ve been intrusive enough for now.
“And you? What’s it like where you’re from? I’m sure your life is night-and-day different from mine. I can tell by your clothes alone.” It’s his turn to ask a question, wrapped in an assumption.
The water is steady, the waves gentle, as if they’ve settled only to allow us to have a conversation in front of them.
“It’s boring. Everything is the same… day in and day out. I feel privileged and bratty saying that to you when you’re dealing with bigger things, but I’m so tired of being bored and lifeless. No passion, nothing to look forward to. Life feels like one endless loop of the same mundane day.”
“Everyone has a reason to have their own perspective on life. Rich girls can be sad too.” He grins. His response is understanding and not judgmental. Who would have thought he had it in him?
“Rich girls can be sad too,” I repeat. “I should put that on a T-shirt.” I laugh, imagining it going ironically viral online.
“See, you Americans, always stealing ideas and colonizing…”
“Hey, I took European history. Spanish people also colonized.” I splash a bit of water toward him, and he laughs, a sound I haven’t heard from him yet.
I’ve heard his sarcastic laugh, his annoyed laugh, his trying-to-hold-back laugh, but this one feels deeper, more real, like I can reach out and touch it.
“Fine. Fine. What do you do for work?” he asks.
I push through the embarrassment as I respond. “I don’t… I was in a local dance academy and had to leave… Then I got into a program for business just to have something to do to kill time, but honestly, I’ve never worked. Even when I wanted to, my mom wouldn’t let me, and even though she travels all the time, she would immediately find out. I always have keepers checking on me, so school was my only escape. But I don’t even know if I want to go back to school, which is causing a lot of tension between my mom and me. I know how spoiled that sounds, but that’s my story.”
I hesitate to drag my eyes to him, fully expecting some sarcastic and judgy comment, but it doesn’t come. I can’t bare the silence.
“What? You don’t have anything mean to say about me never working a day in my life?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Not this time,” he says, disappearing as he dives under the water.
A distant beeping noise stops me in my tracks, and I realize it’s my phone. My alarm for my medication. I rush to the shore and grab my phone with wet hands, shutting the alarm off. I have a few texts from my mom and a missed call and text from Amara. I text them both, telling them I’m fine and safe, informing my mom I’ll see her at breakfast and promising to call Amara in the morning.
I leave Julián out of both conversations for two opposite reasons. I don’t want Amara to come here during my alone time with him. The realization of that makes me feel guilty and a little confused, but when I look out at the water and Julián, I can’t deny it. I’m increasingly attracted to him, and even though it won’t go anywhere or matter by the time the sun comes up, I want every second of alone time with this man I can get.
“Everything okay?” he calls out, his voice echoing through his cupped hands.
“Yeah! Just my mom and Amara, making sure I’m alive.”
He stands up and walks toward me, leaving the ocean behind him. “How old are you anyway?” he questions from a few meters away.
“Twenty-three. My birthday was last month. Why do you ask? How old are you?”
“I asked because you’ve mentioned your mom a lot and I started to get worried that I kidnapped a minor.”
“If my mom were here, she would agree. But I’m an adult. How old are you?” I turn his question back to him again.
“Twenty-six. My birthday was yesterday.”
My eyes go wide. “Your birthday was yesterday?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders, the definite line of muscles retracting. He’s built like a fisherman, that’s for sure.
“Yeah, why?”
“And you spent it on a nude beach, alone?”
His bottom lip curls up and he bites down, hiding a smile.
“Don’t make me sound like a pervert. I spent it doing whatever I wanted and not working. Don’t be so uptight about nudity; it’s not a big deal.” He gestures to me in my soaked, skin-gripping shirt and panties.
“Stop staring at me.” I cross my arms over my bare torso.
“You’ve been staring at me all night, and right now I have less clothes on than you.”
Though he has a valid point, I ignore it and try to look away from the beads of water shimmering on his buff arms, his toned chest…
“Why didn’t you mention it was your birthday yesterday?” I wonder.
His neck jerks a little; his face changes from cocky to confused. “Why would I? We don’t know each other.”
Right. We don’t know each other at all. It’s been a little over a day since I met him, so why does it feel like weeks, months, years even? Is it my lack of exposure to men since I graduated college?
“Feels a little longer, yeah?” he surprises me by saying.
Debating whether to be honest or not, I look at him. His eyelashes are soaked, even more thick and bold than usual. “Yeah, actually.”
“Same. I don’t know why, but I feel the same.”
I can feel it as it happens, my guard rolling down the sand and getting lost in the sea. He’s good, too good at this. He steps toward me, making the gap between us less than a few feet. My toes curl in the sand, the granules attempting to stabilize me. I’ve never met a man who’s so insanely versed in the art of seduction.
Even his tone has changed as he asks, “Do you have a boyfriend back home?”
His eyes feel like a paintbrush, stroking gently, leaving traces of watercolor on every inch of my skin in its wake. His tongue slides across his lips slowly as I try to catch my breath.
I shake my head. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before?”
My fingers tug at the knot at my waist as I try to keep a bit of reality within the bubble we’re suddenly in. The air has shifted, something between us has changed and ignited.
“Here,” he whispers, and I shiver as his fingertips brush my skin. Within seconds the lace loosens and falls to the ground at my feet. I look back up at him, impressed. “Fisherman, remember?”
“Ah, yeah.” I can barely speak, my mouth is so dry.
In contrast, he’s fully composed as his expert fingers drag along the dip of my hips. I suck in a breath and put my hand on his shoulder to keep my knees from buckling. His skin is cold compared to mine, his chest calmly rising and falling with each breath. Time stops and speeds up at once, and everything in my sight looks so much more vivid, the deep bow of Julián’s bottom lip, the freckles on his nose and chin. I begin to count them as he leans in.
I close my eyes, anticipating his lips touching mine, but they don’t.
“I don’t hook up with women I just met.” His teeth graze my ear, gently biting the tender pad of my lobe. I groan, instantly aching between my thighs.
“Really?” I push my hands toward his waistline, pressing my fingernails just hard enough to leave the slightest of marks on his skin. His eyes, full of lust, roll back. His hands pull me closer to press my body flush to his. The intensity is so strong, I think I might faint if he weren’t holding me up.
I continue to tease him; this time my hands move across his expansive back.
“Yeah, really.” His breath is warm across my lips, my body throbbing.
“I heard that’s your favorite type of woman to sleep with,” I whisper in his ear, purposely letting my lips touch him.
As the words come out, he instantly pulls away from me, putting at least five feet between us. I’m confused and flustered.
“What did you just say?” he asks, the words coming out in small puffs.
I stare at him, wondering why he’s so pissy when I’m fine with his lifestyle of hooking up with random foreigners. Right now, I just want to be one of them.
“Look, I’m not judging you. I’m fine with it. If anything, I’m very, very fine with it,” I admit, my body screaming at me in desperation to have him.
I take a step toward him, but he walks backward, making it clear he’s pissed off.
His brows scrunch together in frustration. “So, you heard from Amara that I go around sleeping with women and you—” He cuts himself off mid-sentence, like it’s not worth finishing his thought. “I’m leaving.”
And just like that… he leaves me on the beach, with nothing but confusion and his T-shirt on the sand.