Page 10 of College Boy

Emma paused on the sidewalk, glancing up at him from beneath the brim of her jaunty work hat. “But...”

“Like I said last night, Emma, not a bunch of friends to go on spring break with, but still...”

Emma seemed almost relieved by the confession, nodding in reply as they resumed walking toward the beach only a short block away. “Same. I mean, I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually been to the beach so, I’m not the best guide for you, Mitch.”

“Really? But it’s so close...”

“Between Snack Street and spending time in each individual food truck every week, it’s like running six mini-restaurants, so...”

“Not a ton of free time?” he finished for her as they waited at the nearest light to cross the street.

“You could say that,” Emma murmured, her tone implying Mitch didn’t know the half of it, and probably never could. All day he’d been thinking how great it would be to spend some free time with Emma, away from the already beer soaked house and catty vibes, lounging on the beach and ogling her ripe curves and endless legs. But suddenly he thought of what Emma might get out of it and wanted to show her a good time.

“So maybe you need this as much as I do,” he teased, nudging her hip and feeling the swell of sudden contact surge through his body like one of the waves he could already hear crashing on the beach mere steps away.

She sighed and nodded. “I suppose so, Mitch.”

“Why do you sound so conflicted about it then?”

They paused at the first beach access they came to, the street sign reading simply “Eighth Street”. Funny, he’d been expecting something more catchy like “Surf Street” or “Amberjack Avenue” but, alas, no such luck. Emma’s feet scrunched on the sandy boardwalk as she switched her weight from one to the other anxiously. “Because, Mitch, I mean ... look at you and look at me.”

Mitch winked playfully, ogling her openly in her work fit. “If you insist.”

“Mitch!” They stood, quietly, anxiously, both of them uncertain, as Emma continued to glance from one side of the boardwalk to the other. Mitch followed her gaze, seeing nothing but the souvenir stands and surf shops he’d been pacing in front of all morning. That is, before he finally summoned thecajonesto go and stalk Emma at Snack Street.

“What are you looking for?”

“Someplace to buy the world’s most concealing bathing suit, obviously.”

Mitch’s heart soared, patting his overflowing beach bag proudly. “Not to worry,” he insisted, reaching out to snatch up her small, trembling hand after all. It was small in his, soft but firm, warm and gently calloused. “Old Mitch has you covered.”

Emma resisted, but clung to his hand just the same. For once, Mitch’s long, scrawny legs served him well, scorching down the warped boardwalk and reaching the sand in record time, Emma lagging only slightly behind as she clung to his big hand almost desperately. “You? Bought me? A ... bathing suit?”

“Not just a bathing suit, silly,” he teased, nodding toward a flat, open stretch of beach between clusters of Boomers, tourists, and other spring breakers. “A bikini, obviously.”

“Me? In a bikini?” Emma stood hesitantly as Mitch unfurled his brand new beach towel for two, the price tag flapping in the warm, April breeze. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, Mitch, but my days of having a bikini bod are long over.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted, digging into the beach bag to deliver said bikini, a cheeky little rust and powder blue number the salesgirl atThe Surf Shackhad talked him into less than an hour earlier. “It’s gonna look great and, best of all?” He waved the bathing suit hanger toward a small, nondescript building beside the boardwalk. “Bathroom’s right there.”

“Mitch, honestly?” Emma took the bikini all the same, glancing left and right as if they’d just done a drug deal under the baking South Carolina sun. “Nobody better catch me in this.”

“Nobody ever will if you don’t scoot and get changed right quick so we can start your spring break shenanigans good and proper like.”

She turned, clunky work sneakers kicking up sand until she paused to peer back into his eyes. Despite the crowded beach and crashing surf, the blazing sun and wilting heat, time froze as Mitch anxiously awaited what might come next. “Sorry,” Emma said, amazingly. “I didn’t mean to poke fun, it’s just...” She held the bikini out, admiring it anew. “I appreciate this, even if it’s going to look ridiculous on me.”

“It’s not, I promise,” Mitch lied.

After all, he knew without a doubt it would look absolutely ridiculous. Ridiculouslyhot, that is!

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