Page 13 of College Boy

With her eyes squeezed shut beneath the shower spray, Mitch could finally let his own gaze admire her more fully, as he’d yearned to do all afternoon—the gently sunburned skin, glowing and radiant in the late afternoon light. The long, lean frame, no doubt she’d played some kind of sport in high school, he mused. Lacrosse? Volleyball? Something athletic, putting those long, shapely legs to use and keeping her rump taut and perky as it flexed, Emma shifting her weight from one foot to the next as she struggled to rinse those hard to reach spaces at the small of her back.

He was no Lothario, not even close. Nor was he a virgin. But still, his experience had been limited to a few awkward fumblings back in high school, backseats and beneath the bleachers, boozy hookups at this house party or that, but he hadn’t lost his virginity until his sophomore year at Coastal College. A classmate, comely and cocky, had seduced him mercilessly from the first day of their Intro to Economics class and finally, just before finals, he’d relented, following her back to her dorm room for a quick and unsatisfying romp, just before she never spoke to him again.

He'd dated once or twice since then, but nothing earthshattering, nothing lasting, and certainly nothing to write home about. And nothing, not even close, to the down to his toes, straight to his balls, heart pounding thrill he felt every time he so much as glanced at Emma. Or heard her voice call his name. Or thought of her, soft and sleepy in his bed, heart pounding in time with his as he took her in his arms and—

“Earth to Mitch!”

He blinked his eyes open, admiring Emma’s crooked smile and knowing gaze as she held the frayed rope attached to the shower head. “What ... what’s wrong?”

She chuckled, a light and breezy sound he hadn’t heard before, different from the heavy, almost sedate ironic chuckles she’d uttered the night before, sitting nearly toe to toe outside Reggie’s sex den. “Your turn, silly.”

“Oh shit, sorry ... thanks!” His voice was too loud, his motions too jerky as he rushed to replace her beneath the pelting spray, so cool and welcome on his sunburned shoulders and warm, feverish skin. Mitch was all over the place and knew it, but was unable to control himself from coming on too strong, flirting too hard or staring too long. He’d simply never wanted anyone the way he wanted Emma.

She lingered beside him, closer than was necessary, to cling to the long, frayed string that kept the water pelting his grateful, bare torso. Between finger combing his own wet hair and dunking his face beneath the welcome spray, Mitch caught her looking as well—furtive glances across his belly and along his arms, watching the sand drizzle free from between his toes and back again, to the unmistakable heft in his baggy swim trunks.

“See something you like?” he teased, sliding from beneath the spray as her grip loosened and she let the rope handle swing free, the spray drizzling to a few stray drops before drying up completely.

She didn’t nod or shake her head, merely handing him the beach towel he’d bought earlier that day, sandy but dry as he scraped it across wet limbs and down his flat, hungry belly. “That tattoo,” she murmured as he tossed the towel over his shoulder and wriggled squishy toes back into his squeaky new flip-flops. “Does it mean anything?”

Mitch furrowed his brow, then smiled. He’d gotten it so long ago, he almost forgot it was there. “Does it mean anything?” he teased, shrugging into the salmon colored souvenir tee he’d bought along with the rest of his beach gear while waiting for her to get off work. “Only how stupid I am.”

She watched him slide into the shirt, taking the towel and shoving it into the beach bag along with the rest of his gear. “As in...”

“I got it to impress some girl back in high school,” he said.

“Whichgirl?”

“Uh, you wouldn’t know her.”

Emma was wriggling into the small, beige coverup he’d bought her, sleeveless and sheer so that even when she’d managed to button it up halfway, he could still see the damp outlines of her perfect breasts and the soft, smooth swell of her tempting belly. “Try me.”

Mitch snorted. “Luna Diaz,” he relented, waiting for her to slip back into her sneakers, sockless this time, from work. “She was the photographer on the school paper, and I joined just to be in the same class with her. She never looked at me twice, but there was this book series she was into about Greek Gods and mythical monsters and I don’t even remember the name of it now but she wouldn’t shut up about it and, well...”

They were walking slowly, the soles of their shoes scraping against the cobblestone streets that seemed the chosen aesthetic of scenic, trendy Flamingo Shores. “You got a tattoo hoping she’d notice?”

“Something like that,” he mused.

“Did she ever see it?”

Mitch chuckled. “I never really went shirtless in front of her, and our school dress code didn’t allow for tank tops, so ... no?”

She snickered as they paused at the same streetlight where they’d crossed earlier. “But at least you have the memory?”

The light was still red, giving Mitch time to look slightly down at her while she waited for an answer. He grinned, sincerely, feeling it all the way to the soles of his feet, sandy in their spanking new flip-flops. “Honestly, I’ve kind of regretted it until just this very moment.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because it was all worth it ifyounoticed it even once, Emma.”

Emma’s blush was radiant, quick and truthful, glancing down at her feet as the light finally turned. She didn’t see it, so he gently took her hand and helped her cross the street. For once, she didn’t slip hers out from his grasp once they got to the other side. Instead she clung to it gently, warming his hand, to say nothing of his heart, as they made their way back to Snack Street and whatever might await the rest of their day together.

Or, for that matter, the rest of their week...

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