8. Matt #2
After an hour of swallowing more salt water than I’d like to admit, we’re finally taking a break. I’m lying on the sand, with Emma next to me. I’m exhausted, sipping on a cold soda can hoping the caffeine works its magic.
“So, tell me,” I say turning my head toward her, sand sticking to my cheek. “What is it about this that’s so you?”
“Think of it as my bookstore,” she answers.
Her green eyes meet mine, and she’s never looked prettier. Maybe it’s the slight tan on her face, or the way her shoulders are settled into complete relaxation, but I find myself falling a bit more for her.
“It’s just me, and the sea. I don’t have to worry about anything else,” she continues.
“Part of it is also thinking about how much life there’s in there, you know.
A whole ecosystem. And we’re blessed every day to live so close to it.
I think about everyone who takes it for granted, and it pushes me to embrace it as long as I have it. ”
“I hate to admit it, but up until today, I might have been one of those people,” I confess. “It’s hard to stick to a hobby that’s so out in the public. The press catches wind of my routines so quick they never stay private long enough for me to enjoy them.”
“I get that. But you only get to live this day once.”
I nod. It’s hard to understand when you’re not in my shoes.
“I don’t want to sound arrogant,” I try explaining anyway. She scoffs—fair. “But I’m very aware of how privileged I am. Not everyone makes it. And all that wealth and fanciness come with sacrifices. You’ve got no idea how much I miss being a nobody sometimes.”
“Then why don’t you act like one?”
“I tried years ago. To go on about my life as if the cameras weren’t there.
But they would camp outside my house waiting for my next hike.
Eventually I couldn’t even say hi to strangers I would cross paths with because they’d see the cameras and ask for a picture themselves.
Sometimes they didn’t even know who I was. ”
“Fame and ambition can be lonely,” she adds softly.
There’s a hint of something in her voice. As if she’s lived through the same thing. But I don’t push her, because her eyes… they’re doing a slow run down my chest.
“You can take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I tease. “I won’t charge you.”
Emma rolls her eyes, as dramatic as ever.
“You’re burnt,” she states. “And scratched up from the wax.”
I look down, and sure enough, underneath the sand my chest is bright red. I’m about to inspect the damage, when she sits up and starts dusting off the grains away herself.
Skin against skin.
Again.
“Umm,” I mumble, flushed from the sudden contact. It’s too much in one day. “Mills…”
Something clicks because she stops mid-motion. Our gazes lock, and everything else fades out. No tourists, no noise, no ocean, just her hands on me. My heart beats like it’s ready to take off. The world’s narrowed down to the exact place she’s touching.
Neither of us moves at first. Then the distance starts to close, slow and unsure. I don’t even know who leans in, just that she’s not stopping it. Not this time.
We’re inches away—
“Emma! Hey!”
She jumps back before I can register who the voice belongs to.
“Tom!” she chirps. Anyone else would think she’s excited, but I know her better than to believe the fake rise in her tone. “What a coincidence seeing you here.”
“I know! My brother-in-law finally convinced me to give it a try, only to ditch me after the first wave when my sister called.” He chuckles, oblivious to the fact that he interrupted what was shaping up to be the best moment of my life.
I clear my throat, trying to make myself known, and hoping he takes the hint and politely parts ways.
“Sorry, I’m being rude,” Tom says.
Yes, you are, I think. But he doesn’t leave.
He drops his board, shakes out his brown hair like a dog, and offers Emma a bright smile before turning to me and stretching out his hand.
“I’m Tom,” he says. I lean up and shake his hand.
My grip is a little tighter than normal. He doesn’t comment on it, but by the look he gives me, he understands he’s stepping on my toes here.
“I work with Emma. Fellow editor.”
“Ah,” I deadpan. “Must be nice getting to see her every day.”
Emma’s eyes widen, and he looks at her like they’re telepathically sharing some inside joke. One I’m clearly not in on.
“It was until you stole her.” He laughs.
I’m about to comment back along the lines of ‘yeah, and I don’t plan on returning her anytime soon,’ but he decides he’s done talking to me.
“Listen, Emma, how do you feel about a surf lesson sometime? I’ve seen you out there. You’re amazing,” Tom says, and my anger spikes exponentially. “I’ll take you out to dinner to a taco truck of your choice afterward.”
“That’s such a nice—”
“As long as your movie star boy here doesn’t have an issue with it, of course,” he adds, interrupting her.
To this, Emma turns to me for the first time since Tom walked up. Whatever she sees in my face makes her frown. I fake a grin, but even with my best efforts my usual charming smile refuses to show up for me.
“How about I text you?” she says, sweet as ever.
Something ugly and unfamiliar twists low in my chest. Sharp and sudden. I’ve never felt jealousy like this before. And what’s worse is I don’t get to feel that. Not with her. Emma’s not mine. She barely even likes me. Even less a week ago.
But the idea of her laughing like that with him, letting him take over from where I was seconds ago, and offering him the same encouraging words I got today, all those pieces of her I’m trying to earn… it sucks.
I force my shoulders loose and try to keep my expression easy even though I’m already replaying the way she was looking at me five minutes ago. Two weeks might not be enough to convince her that no one else should take my place.
The drive back is filled with quiet tension. I tried not to let Tom ruin the rest of the day, but after he insisted on taking Emma out so much that she eventually said yes, my mood turned as sour as those stupid candies we used to dare each other to eat.
I can tell it’s affecting her as well by the way she’s fidgeting with the hem of her shirt beside me. She’s been sneaking glances at me since we dropped off her friend’s board, but I’ve been acting like a douche, pretending to be focused on the road, like I care more about traffic than her.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, a hint of a shy tease in her voice. “You did spend most of the time underwater.”
“At least I’m putting myself out there,” I snap, harsher than intended.
She doesn’t back away. Of course not. It’s like she thrives when she gets under my skin, which only makes me crazier over her because to this day, she’s the only person who’s able to do that.
“What is it then?” she presses. “Are you that offended that Tom didn’t ask you for a picture? Or drop to his knees to serve you?”
I huff, wishing I had the guts to come clean and tell her I can’t stand the thought of her with another man. Of her saying yes to someone who isn’t me.
“That’s so far off from what’s gotten me this way.”
She scoffs.
“Whatever, Matthew. It was fun while it lasted,” she deadpans. “I swear… I’ll never understand you Hollywood stars with all your mood swings.”
If only she knew how much more she is to me than a bad mood I can’t shake off.