Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits
Chapter Ten: Falling in Love
I awoke with a start, not fully aware of where I was or what I was doing, and then, blinking my eyes open, shielding them with one hand against the blazing sun, I realized I was still on the beach.
And, I was wet.
Bette was standing over me, shaking her hair, salty ocean water falling like raindrops onto my tepid skin. I cried out, raising my hands to fend off the onslaught of cool water, and Bette giggled.
"Doesn't that feel good?" She asked, sitting down beside me, drying the excess water from her hair with a brightly striped beach towel.
I sat up, smoothing the drops of water over my skin. I nodded. "Yes."
"You should go cool off, Kate. Are you hungry yet?"
I was.
But, not for food.
"How long was I asleep?" I asked, raising my face to the sun to see how it had changed position.
"About forty-five minutes."
"Ah." I poked the skin on my thighs, it had a reddish tint and I was grateful Bette woke me when she did. I wasn't keen on the idea of resembling a lobster. "I think I'll take a quick dip." I gestured at the water with my thumb, "Want to join me?"
"I was just in there, you go ahead." She pulled the cooler and basket of food towards her. "I'll get lunch ready."
The beach was surprisingly empty, perhaps the benefit of coming here on a workday, and I only had to weave my way through a small patch of giggling co-eds before hitting the chilly water. I dove in head-first through the crashing wave that rose up to greet me, letting the powerful surf carry me out.
The water felt delicious, instantly cooling me as I dove beneath the surface, my body twisting and rolling in the clear blue ocean, my limbs feeling weightless and free. When I came up for air, I spun around to face the beach, my legs kicking beneath me, my arms sweeping just below the surface in an arc, keeping my buoyant, and I watched her as she unpacked the cooler and basket. She was practically a dot on the beach, but I knew it was her. I'd know her a mile away. She looked up and waved at me, and my heart skipped a beat. I waved back.
Was it possible to fall in love in only five days?
I dove below the water again, cocooned by its soothing properties, its muted, otherworldly and almost lyrical sounds, and, when I opened my eyes, murky bluish hues. If not for the need for oxygen, and her, I could have stayed down there forever, a ghostly white mermaid in a sea of blues and browns, healed, whole, happy.
As I broke the surface, my lungs screaming for air, everything else screaming for her, I knew the answer.
Yes, it was possible to fall in love in just five days.
Back on the blanket, underneath the now raised umbrella, the seawater on my flesh having quickly evaporated from the radiating sun, leaving tiny white dots of salt speckled on my tanning skin, she handed me a tumbler of wine and a slice of cheese. She held a grape in front of my mouth and told me to open, which I dutifully did.
As I bit down, piercing the thin skin of the fruit, I inadvertently sent a shower of grape juice trickling in tiny rivers down my chin and dotted over her fingers, and when I reached for a napkin, she leaned over, her eyes daring me to pull away, and slowly licked the nectar from my me, her tongue skimming my bottom lip and then darting seductively into my mouth as we kissed.
I didn't care if anyone saw us, I wasn't even aware of anyone around us, because every time she kissed me, every time she threatened to kiss me, the rest of the world became nothing more than a chaotic blur and it was just us. She and I. Alone in our very own love bubble.
Before she could pull away, feeling emboldened, I reached out and snatched her hand, my fingers curling around her wrist. My eyes never leaving hers, I pulled one finger into my mouth and sucked, savoring the remnants of the grape juice, tasting the wine and cheese there, too. She watched me with hooded eyes, a smile bowing one corner of her mouth. Then I let her wrist go and raised the glass to my lips, taking another long sip of the intoxicating white wine.
She grinned at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and then she leaned back, using one palm to brace herself against the blanket. "Brave, Kate."
I laughed.
We ate our lunch in an almost melancholy silence (except neither of us was feeling particularly melancholy), stopping occasionally to feed one another, flirting with the boundaries of appropriate public behavior, but not really caring very much if we crossed them.
When we'd packed away the leftovers, we stretched out beneath the umbrella, each of us pulling out our books to read. She was reading some highbrow tome about art, I was reading Dead Man's Chest by Richard Castle, the mystery novel I'd found on Bette's bookcase. It was actually pretty good, I really liked his writing style, and for some inexplicable reason I was drawn to him. Not just to the story, which was good, but to him. I'd done a Yahoo search on him, finding all kinds of interesting tidbits; he was recently divorced and was raising his three year-old daughter, but he also had a reputation as a ladies man, which was all kinds of yuck, but still, somehow, there was something about him that sucked me in like a Hoover Deluxe- I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
Each time I opened the book to read a chapter, I would inevitably flip to the back flap and stare at his picture, mesmerized like he was Svengali or something, and invariably something inside of me always stirred. He was an attractive man, there was no doubt about it, but why I was so intrigued by him was past my understanding.
Today was no different, and Bette had noticed. "You like him."
I side-glanced at her, the book open to Castle's picture as it rested in my lap. "Huh?"
She pointed at his picture. "Richard Castle." She smiled, tucking one hand beneath her head. She was currently reclined against a beach pillow she'd had packed in her bag. "You like him. He's attractive."
"He's," I looked back at the glossy color photograph of the smiling author. "He's not bad," I admitted, returning the novel to the place where my bookmark was nestled between two pages. "I like the book," I stammered, glancing back at her. She was smirking at me, an amused glint in her eye.
"It's okay, Kate. To be attracted to him. I am under no pretense that you've defined anything about yourself just because you're with me."
"What about you?" I asked, slipping my finger between the pages and closing the book. "Have you been with any men?"
She nodded. "But not for a long while. I'm a lesbian, Kate. True blue. Once I discovered that, I had no reason to be with men anymore. I had nothing to try to prove, no one to try and fool." She laughed. "Which had mainly been myself, anyway."
"I see," I said, unsure of what else to say.
"But, I'm okay with whatever, however, you define yourself. You don't need to make any declarations on my account, and you don't need to hide, or feel ashamed, of what is an obvious attraction to men."
"Man," I corrected.
She raised an eyebrow.
I held up the book by way of explanation.
"Ah," she said.
We stared at each other for a long time, and then I set the book down and laid on my side, propped up by my elbow, inching closer to her. I smoothed my finger along her lower lip, my eyes darting there as the lump rose in my throat (and something else rose somewhere else), and I whispered, "I may find him attractive, but I am completely and utterly bewitched by you." I caressed her cheek with the back of my fingers and then brought my lips to hers, gentle, tentative, unsure, until her hand came around to the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair, and she pulled me towards her, her tongue slipping between my lips in an unbridled exploration, curious and coaxing, unrelenting.
And, it wasn't until we heard the wolf whistle aimed at us by the teenage boy walking past, that we parted, breathless and aroused, wanting more.
Much more.