lips together in a fine line and tell him to leave me out of his photography. He knows exactly how much I hate getting my picture taken. I threaten to toss his beloved phone into the ocean if he doesn’t stop, but he tackles me into the sand and flashes a few more unwanted headshots. I laugh, kicking and screaming beneath him until his fingers grow still, and my giggles stop. Ben leans over me, and our eyes finally lock. He kisses me in the damp sand, and slowly releases me from his grasp. But just when I am perfectly lost in his lips, he pulls away with a smile, tugs my ear and yanks me to my feet.
We walk down the miles of white sand, under the star-filled sky and head back to the vehicle, but I don’t want our evening to end. Ben casually slips his hand in mine and bashfully smiles at me. I smile back, feeling his thick strong fingers entwine with mine. It makes me a bit queasy, because all I can think about is how this is something real couples do. Not friends who are casually sleeping together. As juvenile or innocent as handholding may be, in my experience, you don’t just do that with anybody. There is something underlying and intimate about it that remains hidden by the first base stigma attached to it. But when I feel Ben’s rapid pulse beat against my palm, I know he understands the magnitude of his gesture.
We remain in a comfortable silence, and let the water crash into our toes and the sand sink beneath our feet. Ben smiles at me, and rambles on about how great that was, and how he was glad we did it together. I of course agree and thank him for bringing me.
Once we are at the vehicle, Ben walks over to the passenger’s side and opens up my door for me. I stand completely frozen, watching him wait for me to slide in. I thank him with raised eyebrows and slowly sit down on the seat letting him close the door behind me. I can’t help but note what a chivalrous gesture that was. I didn’t know Ben had it in him to be such a gentleman. Does Ben do that for all the women he sleeps with? I quickly decide I would rather not know. Instead I let it go, and know that this moment is mine.
He walks around the front end of the car and twirls the keys between his fingers. He opens his door and slides inside. He clears his throat and slowly starts to put the keys in the ignition, but abruptly stops. He looks at me, breathing heavily with his strong broad chest rising up and down. I feel butterflies saunter around in my stomach, just staring into his dark brown eyes.
“Megan, I know this is crazy.” He sighs, and grips the steering wheel at exactly at ten and two, “But, you make me…I just – I have always loved being around you. That’s why we have been such great friends all these years. You are the only person in the world that gets me, and it scares me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, looking down in my lap and twiddling with my shirt.
“It just means…” Ben pauses. He lets out a deep frustrated breath, “I don’t know what it means. God Megan this is – I can’t even – I just – You’re just way too good for me. I honestly don’t deserve any of this.”
The dead silence filling the interior of the car forces me to look up, and I see he looks about as nervous as I feel. I don’t know what to say. Me? Too good for him? That’s what he thinks? Is he out of his mind? Has he seen the body and face he’s been blessed with?
“No I’m not.” I whisper.
“Yes you are!” Ben shouts looking at me with pain clouding his dark eyes. He takes a deep breath leans over and kisses my cheek, “You are, and don’t you forget it.”
I hold his gaze letting silence fill the car. His vulnerability is so foreign to me. I feel like I don’t even recognize him. He is always so confident and well spoken, nothing close to this. I think now would be a good time to confirm we were more than just friends sneaking around and having a good time, but I am scared and worried that