Chapter 9
S aturday morning arrived, and as soon as Tristan’s pickup truck pulled in front of my townhouse, my anxiety’s grip on my throat turned into a chokehold.
I should’ve been excited. An overnight trip to one of Florida’s most popular beaches with a sweet, sexy guy would be paradise for any other woman. But as I climbed into the passenger seat, with a beach tote in my lap and sunglasses perched on my forehead, I felt a deep sense of impending doom.
Relax, Avery. I told myself. You can do this. Everything will be fine.
It was a 45-minute drive, and during that time, I was able to make small talk with Tristan to keep my nerves at bay. After we made it out of Orlando, he took my hand in mine, and our fingers laced together over the center console of his truck. It felt like heaven and hell at the same time.
The worst part was that my anxiety was obvious. It was plastered all over my face and emitted through my sweaty palms. Tristan noticed this, and to alleviate my worries, he suggested we listen to music.
His truck was old, likely from the early 2000s, with a CD player and an auxiliary port instead of a modern screen. He used a long black cable to hook up his phone, which rested in a plastic mount attached to one of the air vents.
“Any suggestions?” he asked as he flipped through his phone.
“What do you like to listen to?”
“Lots of stuff, but I’d say rock is my favorite.”
“Let me take a look.”
He handed me his phone, and I scrolled through his playlists until I settled on one called ’90s Rock . Foo Fighters’ heavy guitar riffs blared to life, vibrating throughout the whole car, and the knot in the pit of my stomach loosened.
“Excellent choice,” Tristan chuckled, a single forearm propped on the steering wheel. The drive to Daytona was quiet; we were on a narrow strip of Interstate 4 with nothing but trees surrounding us. Florida’s foliage was unusual; a mixture of forest and jungle, with towering pines flanked by plump, shrubby palmetto bushes. As we got closer to the coast, the trees gave way to open swampland, a maze of murky water and grass that sprawled across the horizon.
“I love Florida,” Tristan remarked, a hazy, nostalgic smile on his face as he drove. “It’s so beautiful out here.”
“Me too. Being this close to the ocean makes me miss the panhandle.”
This prompted Tristan to ask me more about my childhood, which made my insides squirm. I loved the scenic beauty of my hometown but hated almost everything else about it. Everything went sour after I broke up with Tyler and was kicked out of college, and thoughts of home sent all those emotions boiling back up to the surface .
But Tristan didn’t seem to notice. We were still very early in our relationship, where our shields were up and we treaded carefully on conversations. The more I got to know him, the less our dates felt like interviews, but there was still a lot I wasn’t ready to tell him. I needed time before I could expose the less pristine parts of myself.
It made me wish that sex could wait. But I knew that in modern dating, it was practically a requirement to start a relationship. It was the final test before becoming official. People my age spoke of “sexual compatibility”, which made me feel even more inadequate. My sexuality was broken. I wasn’t compatible with anyone.
So as “Best of You” blared on the radio, I lifted my head, cleared my throat, and sang away my worries. Tristan joined in, and our impromptu karaoke session devolved into joyous laughter as we approached the main strip of Daytona Beach.
“You’re a really good singer.” He smiled.
“Thank you!”
I’d been told that before. My mother’s whole life revolved around church choir in her twenties, and I’d inherited some of her natural abilities. I hadn’t performed in a choir in years, but I could at least belt out a few notes without sounding off-key.
“We’re only a few minutes away from the rental.” Tristan studied the GPS on his phone. “It’s one of the high-rises further down the strip.”
And as I stared out the window, I realized Daytona was nothing but high-rises. Huge hotels and condominiums sprawled along the shoreline, stretching twenty stories into the cloudless blue sky. It was an incredibly stereotypical beach town, jam-packed and heavily commercialized, with pristine resorts flanked by run-down arcades, greasy pizza joints, and a plethora of tattoo shops. Much of it looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s, giving it a garish, tacky charm that reminded me of beach trips in my childhood.
Further down the strip, where the flashy hotels faded away to more modest condominiums, we pulled into the parking lot of a tall white building crammed full of balconies. Tristan mentioned it was an older building, which meant we had to climb up four flights of stairs to reach our accommodation.
I was wheezing by the time Tristan unlocked the door. He’d jogged up the stairs without breaking a sweat, and I made a mental note to start working on my cardio.
“Here we are!” Tristan swung the door open, gesturing me inside. It was a cozy two-bedroom apartment, about the same size as the townhouse that Cassidy and I shared. It had stark white walls, wicker furniture in shades of cream and pale blue, and a whole trove of shells, starfish, and other beach-themed knickknacks. The smell of fresh linen and sunscreen hit my nose as soon as I walked in, and I inhaled the scent like I had just surfaced from below the ocean.
It was a perfect, nostalgic, sunny-and-cozy beach condo. As Tristan showed me around, plopping our belongings on the carpet in the larger bedroom, I started to feel like I was truly on vacation. Like this was a relaxing getaway, and not one of the most stressful overnight trips I would ever experience.
But that sense of relaxation came crashing down as soon as Tristan flopped down on the bed. It was king-size, with a plush seashell-patterned comforter and a variety of stiff, decorative throw pillows. He flashed me a beaming, wicked smile, his gentle eyes playfully inviting me to join him.
I wanted to. Every bone in my body wanted to leap onto the squishy mattress and lose myself in his embrace. To feel his soft cotton t-shirt against my skin and finally discover what was lurking underneath it. To let loose, strip away our clothes, and give each other what we both so desperately wanted.
But I couldn’t. I stood there, dumbfounded, until Tristan’s inviting smile gave way to a frown.
“You okay?”
I nodded, the stupid uncontrollable heat of tears prickling in my eyes.
“Sorry.” He chuckled as he sat upright, smoothing the comforter. “I know you’re scared. We don’t have to do anything right now. Besides—” He pointed out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, where the ocean’s inviting waves roared in the distance. “—we should spend time on the beach while it’s still daylight.”
I nodded eagerly, relieved that Tristan was so understanding of my anxiety. Even if he didn’t know the full truth.
Tristan pulled a pair of flip-flops out of his bag and tossed them onto the carpet, slipping his toes through them. He then lifted his shirt over his shoulders, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of his flat, tanned stomach, I knew I was in trouble.
“You ready? There are umbrellas and towels in the hallway closet.”
I fingered the strap of my bathing suit, hidden under my beach dress. It was a bikini, one with a ruffled top to hide how flat my chest was.
“Of course.” I grinned. “Let’s go.”
As we stepped onto the beach, with soft sand sinking under our toes like pillows and a warm sea breeze carrying hints of salty brine and fried food, my stomach continued to sink.
I studied the ocean waves, churning and swirling in tall peaks, and knew this was the calm before the storm. It was all so picturesque: the sandy shoreline stretched out wide and flat next to the tumultuous sea, and the sound of churning waves, screaming children, and squawking seagulls hung in the salty air as Tristan shoved an umbrella into the ground. I couldn’t help but admire him as he fumbled with the pole, the muscles in his deeply tanned upper arms and back flexing under the blisteringly bright sun.
I wanted him. But I didn’t know if I’d be able to have him.
“Alright, should be in there good and deep.” Tristan wiggled the umbrella for emphasis. I grabbed the bottom of my beach dress, preparing to lift it over my torso as Tristan’s eyebrows wiggled in anticipation.
“Stripping on the beach, I see?”
“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes, flinging my balled-up sundress onto an empty chair. I was now dressed in nothing but my frilly bikini, exposing my stick-thin frame and leaving little to Tristan’s imagination.
I had reservations about my body, mainly my shrimpy figure and lack of curves. But that didn’t stop Tristan from gazing curiously at me. It was subtle, especially with his eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses, but I could see them flick up and down from my breasts to my way-too-pale legs.
He pretended not to stare, so I pretended not to notice. But our attraction was as obvious as a see-through curtain.
Heat prickled up the back of my neck as anxiety churned in my stomach. All the coyness was reminding me of the inevitable. I needed something to take my mind off our upcoming night together.
And nothing calmed me quite like being in the ocean.
I plodded off as Tristan rifled through his beach bag, not bothering to wait for him. The water lapped at my feet, seeping between my toes and cooling my sand-scorched soles. Whether it was the beach or a bathtub, water had always been a comfort. It was as if the cool, clear liquid could wash my anxiety away, purifying every toxic thought in my worried head.
The rising water felt heavy on my thighs as I waded through it, eventually submerging my entire body at the three-foot mark. Daytona’s waters were shallow, and I had to venture a long way out just to get to that depth. I was now far enough away from the shoreline for the tourist squabble to dissipate, and now all I could see and hear were churning waves.
As usual, it felt like I’d reached the end of the world. It was just me and the endless ocean.
I drifted for a while, letting the bobbing waves lift me and set me back down in long, sloping motions. The current was mild today, and I felt weightless beneath the thick turquoise sea. My breaths were long and slow, save for some accidental gulps of briny water that burned my insides. And even as the salt stung my eyes and the waves whipped my hair into a ratty mess, I’d never felt more at home.
“Hey Avery!”
A faint shout carried through the salty air. I turned around and saw Tristan a few dozen feet away, his jogging pace creating a ruckus of splashes.
I grinned and waved as a sudden current sent me rolling forward. We collided with each other, my lips banging against his shoulder, and my stomach fluttered as he gathered me into his arms.
I laughed. Tristan laughed, and our joy filled the air in a cacophony of sweet bliss. Tristan raised his hand, placing it on my cheek, and pulled my wet, salty self in for a kiss. It was deep and passionate, one that nearly sent me tumbling back into the water, and I let myself get lost in it. Tristan’s wet hands slid up my back, and I wrapped my arms around his hips as we drifted, alone and at peace, in our hazy embrace.
Maybe everything would be alright. Maybe he would understand. Maybe this wasn’t the end I’d been dreading, and our night together wouldn’t be one of frustration and pain.
Maybe this was just the beginning.
And as Tristan broke our kiss, his sun-soaked eyes shining with affection, I begged with every strand of my soul that it would be.