I’ve managed to get most of the desk clear by the time the bell on the door chimes, followed by Anita’s loud greeting.
“She’s in the back,” I hear her say and I stand, straightening my skirt from sitting on the floor. I’m about to get up to go meet him when he appears in the doorway. Whit’s tall, lean frame fills the space. His skin is already deeply tan—did he ever lose it? And he wears a tank with Ocean Beach Surf School across the front. He carries a box of delicious-smelling pizza in his hands and I smile.
“Is that smile for me or the food?”
“Is it wrong to say both?”
“Nope,” he says, entering the office. “I think that’s an acceptable answer.”
He holds the square box at his side and bends down to kiss me. He tastes like the sun and surf. He pulls away and I take the box, leaving it on the desk. I flip open the top and notice two pieces are missing.
“Your cousin snagged those on my way in.”
“I’m eating for two, you know!” she shouts from the front.
I roll my eyes and shut the door from her nosy ears, then we grab slices and napkins and sit on the small gray loveseat against the wall. The pizza is amazing, perfect crust and lots of cheese. “Tell me about your day.”
“Not much going on…I have a few lessons this afternoon. School isn’t out so it’s not super touristy yet, although there are enough college students down for Beach Week to keep us in business.” He laughs. “They just don’t get up until noon.”
“Beach Week?”
“It’s a thing down here. All the colleges celebrate the end of the school year with a trip to the beach. Lots of fraternities and sororities.” He glances around the room. “They’re probably too hungover for book shopping, but the guys love to show off for the girls, pretending they can surf.”
I think about how Whit and Justin look out on the water. I understand the appeal.
“You kind of love your job, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I kind of do. If I could work there all year, I would. But you know, school and all that.”
Whit’s family has a legacy of attending the Citadel. He hates it but finished his first year. I thought maybe once he attended he’d like it better, but there’s a hint of depression about him when it’s brought up. I hate that he feels so stifled and saddled with this obligation.
“Maybe—” I start, but he cuts me off, kissing me on the lips.
He moves diligently, lingering on my mouth, jaw, and neck. Whit’s a confident man, which is why it’s surprising he hasn’t pushed our relationship further. He seems experienced, although I don’t ask, I just know all the guys have a notoriety around here for short-term relationships. Maggie and Ivy made that clear last year. But nothing about Whit feels temporary when he kisses me. Not the way his lips travel down my throat,near my collarbone, and across my chest. Shivers tremble along my spine.
I’m breathing heavy when he comes to a slow stop. “You’re going to spoil me for lunch if you keep doing things like that.”
“You think lunch was good, wait ‘til you experience dessert.”
He smirks at his own cheesiness, but then surprises me by moving to the floor and nudging my knees aside. He’s tall, so even in this position our faces easily meet. His kisses continue to burn. I feel desire pooling in my belly, dampening the cotton between my thighs.
I’m wearing a skirt that comes to just above my knees and his hands push under the fabric, sending tingling sensations across my skin. Everything is heightened, wanting, but he’s slow and intentional—a side of Whit I’ve only seen out on the water—in his peaceful, happy place. Justin is horny and playful. Pete, sweet and attentive. Nick, quiet and sure.
Whit? We’ve never gone this far, which is confusing, but maybe the time wasn’t right. Maybe that’s why he’s placing gentle kisses along the inside of my thigh. Maybe he was waiting for this moment.
I expect him to pull away and remove his pants. I expect him to come back to the couch and settle me astride his hips. I don’t anticipate his hands pulling at my sides, shifting me to the edge of the couch. His fingers hook in the sides of my panties. He looks up and asks in a deep, questioning voice, “Is this okay?”
I nod, words caught in my throat. I have never done this before and the thought terrifies me, knowing someone can be so close, so intimate…they’re not just in you, they’re tasting you.
Whit’s eyes cloud as he focuses between my legs, his hands spreading me wider. The pads of his fingertips are gentle as he explores. I exhale a breath of nerves as the heat of his mouth warms me. When his tongue touches me I cry out, surprised at how sensitive it feels, howgood.
I thrust my fingers into his shaggy hair and any and all thoughts vanish from my mind. All I can think is how this…this is amazing. It’s more. It’s everything.
31
Summer
The afternoon is dead,Whit’s right. The only people around right now are partying college students who want to drink and bake on the beach, not buy books. We’re locking up when I see the girls at the boutique next door on their porch, talking to a guy in a black skull-cap.
