Page 82 of Reel Love

Alana spins in a circle, her arms outstretched and head upturned. She returns to my side, wrapping one arm around my waist. I loop my arm behind her back and we stand there, staring out into the sea.

“What made you want to be a marine biologist?” she asks softly.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh?” Alana gives my side a tug. “Now you have to tell me.”

“The most basic answer is that I love the ocean. Always have. I never tire of exploring it.”

Her fingers draw lazy patterns on my side and I feel like Bodhi’s dog, ready to lay on my back so she knows not to stop.

“In elementary school, this guy came in to tell us about the ocean and all the animals in our local waters. He talked about conservation. But, the clincher was when he talked about the green sea turtles in our Channel Islands—how they’re endangered. All through his presentation, I thought …” I pause. “Here comes the embarrassing part.”

She smiles. “Thanks for the warning. Now I’m prepared to properly tease you.”

“Good. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

Her hand stills and she looks up at me. The light of the moon and stars reflects in her eyes with the same sparkle as the ocean.

“You have my attention, Stevens. All of it.”

Whew. There’s this feeling underwater when you’re free-diving. Gravity ceases to exist. You’re one with the beauty surrounding you—unrestricted. The experience is intimidating at first, and wholly overwhelming. This. She’s my free dive.

“Well,” I glance out at the ocean. “I decided I was going to save the sea turtles.” I look down at her. “You know, all of them.”

“All of them.” She smiles.

“Yeah. All of them.” I laugh. “Needless to say, I had to modify my mission statement over the years. But I still feel strongly about protecting the ocean.”

“You really are Poseidon.”

“Minus the rage issues, yeah. Maybe a little.”

Alana pivots, turning her back toward the incoming tide. Her face tilts upward, her intention is clearer than the night sky.

I run my hand along her cheek. She leans into my palm and I cup her beautiful face.

Alana loops a hand behind my neck and runs her fingernails across the sensitive skin there.

I sigh or maybe make a noise. Hopefully nothing too crazy. I can’t tell. My eyes drift shut and shivers race along the skin on my neck.

Have I kissed women before? Maybe. I can’t remember any of them. She’s all that exists—her, and this unexpected moment between us.

I lean down a fraction of an inch, uncertainty threatening to rob me of our connection.

Alana’s hand tugs at my neck, gently urging me toward her.

The waves continue to gently caress our ankles, but all I see is her face and the invitation written across her features. I bend the rest of the way, and she raises on her tiptoes until our mouths brush together like a whisper. My hand is looped behind her head, woven into her soft curls. Our kiss is nearly reverent—her lips soft and pliant. I feel this kiss everywhere even though we’ve barely allowed ourselves any contact. I pull back. I want to preserve this feeling. It would be too easy to shift gears, like a motor boat once it clears the channel markers. Not tonight. I run my knuckles down her cheek, settling my hand on her shoulder.

She smiles up at me. “You don’t push the limits, do you, Stevens?”

“Depends on which limits you’re talking about.”

Her hand comes up and cups my jaw. She drags her thumb across my stubble.

“Sweet man,” she mutters nearly under her breath. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”

I know I’m blushing. I’m grateful for the dusky light. No one has ever called me sweet—not the way she is right now.

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