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She was listening to him, and could tell that grin was there again. He was cocky, self-confident, full of himself, even more than he was supposed to be, but despite everything it suited him so well. She couldn’t imagine him acting differently.
“No, don’t!” she shook her head, “it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes! Just, don’t…”
“Well, alright then,” he shrugged his shoulders.
“Are you decent?” she asked. “Can I turn around?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “Should I put something on, Mother Theresa?”
“No, it’s… fine…” Eva found herself tongue tied.
She approached the bench, and sat down on it. He did the same, without asking. She was fine with it. He smelled like he had just visited the beach. Salty air, the sand, she could almost hear the gentle breeze. She looked straight in front of her, right at the water. She dared not turn to him. Her cheeks were still red and hot to the touch.
With the corner of her eye, she could see his tight muscles and his tan, which came from God knows where, since they were somewhere high up in the mountains. He looked so unburdened, like he didn’t have a care in the world, and just lived life to the fullest.
“So, do you have a name or should I just call you Mother Theresa?” he suddenly asked, and she could feel his gaze burning the side of her cheek.
“Eva,” she turned to him, with a shy smile.
“Oh, the first woman,” he smiled back. “Nice.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled.
“I’m Frey,” he said, and for some reason, she expected him to offer her his hand but he didn’t.
“Scandinavian,” she replied instantly. “Nice.”
She could see him looking at her, all surprised. Then, he continued.
“Yeah, my mom was into Norse mythology. They first thought I’d be a girl,” he chuckled to himself, “so, they already had a name picked out, Freya. But, then I came and she didn’t want to change the name. She just masculinized it, I guess.”
“So, your mom still into Norse mythology?” Eva asked.
“No,” he shook his head, “not anymore.”
There was a pause, which signaled to Eva that this was the wrong question to ask.
“She died,” he told her, looking down at his bare feet.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, immediately feeling stupid and inadequate. “I just… I can’t communicate properly anymore, with anyone. Especially casual chit chat. I suck at it.”
“But, your first impressions rock,” he said, and they both started laughing.
He had made it all better. She wanted to hug him, to thank him, but that would have been even more awkward than this conversation. So, she just kept on laughing, hoping that was enough for now.
They kept looking at each other. She gazed deeply into his eyes, unable to determine their color. It was like his pupil merged with his iris, and his eyes were the shade of the darkest woods, under the light of the full moon. He kept gazing back at her, his lips lightly parted. He leaned in a little closer. She didn’t move back. He was now just a few inches away from her face, waiting. She could see his lips, the dark red, the brilliant white of his canine teeth.
She swallowed heavily. She wondered what those lips would taste like. What would he do now? Was she in danger? Should she run away? Should she stay?
But, before she could answer even one of those questions, he pressed his lips gently against hers. They felt a little salty, she licked them with her tongue. His hand traveled to her neck, as his tongue joined hers. Her eyes closed, head resting in his hand - she felt like she was floating.
Then, suddenly, she moved back, touching her lips with the tips of her fingers, as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened, and she had to touch herself to realize she was still here.
