along my sensitive flesh, I jerk and my head hits his chin.
Mortified, I try to jump back, but he’s gripping my hips, and my hands brush his jeans. Jeans? “Aren’t you coming to the beach? Shouldn’t you be in shorts?”
He shoves me back and removes his hands. His smile disappears, the seduction on his face replaced with shadow. “Nah. I’m hanging here today. Catch you later.”
He spins around and walks away, each stride purposeful even with his limp, his shoulders hitched up to his neck.
In a daze, I slip on my tank top and hurry to the bus. But my limbs are stiff, my body wound tight. Sam held me close and nibbled on my ear. Nibbled. My ear. And I wasn’t a freak for half a minute. I stopped caring how I looked and had fun talking to him, except for the whole head-butting thing. If I were Reese or Brianne or Leigh, I’d have called after him to wait. No hesitation. We could spend the day together, the two of us roaming the town, getting to know each other. I’ve learned he has a younger sister (and he likes to make me blush), but that’s the extent of my Sam trivia. Unfortunately, I did spaz out and I do have androphobia. So I let him walk away.
Six
Nina
The bus ride to Ninety Mile Beach is hilarious. Bruno takes the guide’s two-way radio and launches a series of games, each more ridiculous than the last, culminating with Callum making the whole bus shout, “Hy-ee-na” whenever Bruno laughs. Then Bruno cackles louder. We laugh harder. And the bus bounces on its wheels. Once we get to the beach, we dig in the sand for live mussels and bodyboard down sand dunes, the sun never once blinking behind a cloud.
We all have a blast. All except for Leigh, who got World War Mad when I boarded the bus and Reese kicked her out of her seat. I sank into the warm, sticky vinyl reluctantly, happy to be sitting next to Reese, but terrified of Leigh’s wrath.
By the time we stop for lunch, I’m ravenous. It’s not easy work climbing sand dunes, each step forward more like two steps back. The girls are still in their bikini tops and shorts, and so, unfortunately, am I. I had tried to put my tank top on earlier, but Reese stared me down until I tucked it behind me on the seat. Brianne and Reese have on doll-size shorts rolled at the waist, barely covering anything. Leigh’s cutoff jeans aren’t much longer. I may be half-naked with triangles stretching over my breasts, but at least my skirt hits mid-thigh.
I fall into step behind them as we enter the waterfront bar, and a warm breeze blows through the room. I expected it to be more tropical this far north, but not this unseasonably warm.
“Table!” Bruno waves from across the bar, his yellow-and-pink neon shorts as loud as the rest of him.
As I step forward, a hand slides along my back. “This is dialed-down Bruno. You should see him when he’s known you awhile. He’s a right prat.”
Callum’s hand stays on my back as we move toward the table, and I can’t help wishing it were Sam’s hand. My skin still tingles from that touch earlier. But Callum is sweet. He’s been attentive all day, helping me climb the sand dunes and staying close. I’ve been halfway normal, too. I smile and talk and don’t head butt anyone, but the whole thing plays like a video game.
Smile. Don’t smile. Laugh at that joke. Don’t slouch. Laugh again. Twirl hair like Brianne. Giggle like Reese. Smile. Stop. Giggle. Giggle. Twirl hair some more.
I’m not sure I’m winning, but at least I’m playing.
And I might be maturing. I’ve been around Callum all morning, a person of the male persuasion, and haven’t once pictured him naked. Or me naked. Or us naked. I do keep flashing to Sam’s thick shoulders and hard chest. His tongue sliding over my ear. (Bow-chicka wow-wow.) The shirtless Callum to my right doesn’t conjure such fantasies, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what I need to tame my pornographic mind—a hookup with a nice guy who doesn’t cloud my thoughts with indecent performances. He’s wearing blue board shorts printed with white waves, his flip-flops smacking against his feet. He exudes an easy confidence. If I keep my catastrophic self on lockdown, maybe I can conquer my androphobia. Big, fat maybe.
When we sit, Callum drapes