Summer Indiscretions

by Tamara Mataya

  How many restaurants have opened and closed since I’ve been gone? How many plays and art installations haven’t I seen? If you blink, you miss a hundred things—and I miss it all. Living here wouldn’t feel like life; it would feel like a vacation. It’s not enough, no matter how awesome Shelby’s friends are. It’s not my life—not my real life.

  And I’m not a fan of grass being greener on the other side. That seems like trying to escape responsibility for your life turning out a certain way. Water your own grass and see what happens…but that’s easier said than done. Sometimes you don’t realize how to fix something and nurture it into what you want it to be because what’s already there is so deeply rooted.

  The warm water splashes over my feet and I want to swim, but the squishy softness of the wet sand is strangely relaxing. I’d rather enjoy it for a minute instead of getting back to the others. Ariella and Andrew are so cool. They’ve seen so much, done so much. They have the best stories. I’ve got nothing in common with them, and yet we get along so well.

  I want to be more like them, but it feels too late. If I tore off on a world tour, trying to soak in the culture and experiences, I’d feel like a raging impostor. That mom at her teen’s party trying desperately to be hip while her kids cringe and wince. She doesn’t realize how lame she is until later, when self-awareness hits and she cries herself to sleep.

  Water pools in the small pit I dig with my toes, and I move back a little closer to the group.

  Fitting in with Shelby’s friends is surprising and pleasant, but it makes me wonder what else I’ve missed because of the rigidity of my life. I take a step deeper into the ocean. How do you shake up a life that still has really good parts?

  If I start picking parts of it away, who’s to say the whole thing won’t fall apart, crumbling into the empty spots left behind?

  Unless I fill them with something else.

  My gaze flits to Blake, and I grin at how filthy that sounds. There’s no guarantee that we can be anything once we get home. He hasn’t offered or made me any promises.

  It’s ridiculous that I want him to. Completely, utterly ridiculous.

  He laughs and tosses the ball again, muscles rippling in his arm, chest, and abs. A flash of heat ripples through my core. It makes me blush, but I don’t regret a thing.

  OK, maybe it’s not completely ridiculous to want him, but what happens when we get home? He goes to his place, I go to mine, and we both pretend this never happened?

  Or do we make it work, mashing our lives into something amazing? It wouldn’t be that big of an integration. He’s got no family for me to meet, and he already knows mine.

  The transition would be smooth…unless we couldn’t make it work back in the real world. Then what? He’s best friends with my brother. Would it come between them if we broke up? Shawn would be pissed if Blake hurt me. He’d be pissed if I hurt Blake too. They’ve been best friends forever. Blake’s been there for my brother when no one else was. They’re more like siblings than friends.

  If Blake and I dated and broke up, my brother would be put between us. Even if we didn’t make him choose a side—assuming there were sides—he’d be in an awkward position. Family dinners would be so strange if we were both there, freshly after having decided not to be together. It would be even worse if the split was acrimonious. If this isn’t forever, I could cost Blake my family.

  Blake catches me staring and grins, unleashing the full force of those dimples on me.

  When he smiles at me like that, there’s only the present.

  Ariella runs over to me. “So, there’s this thing tonight you should come with us to.”

  “What is it? Can Blake come? It’s his last night and—”

  “Of course! I assumed that was a given since he’s your boyfriend.”

  “We’re not quite there yet,” I admit.

  She tips her head. “Really? It seems like you two have been together forever.”

  “We’ve known each other forever, but nothing happened until we came here.”

  “Why not? With the chemistry you two have… I mean, the way you two look at each other?” Ariella fans herself with a grin.

  “I was too shy to go for it.”

  “Yeah, right.” She nods, looking completely unconvinced.

  “Seriously. I’m trying really hard to get out of my comfort zones and be more adventurous.”

  “I have trouble believing this isn’t exactly who you are all the time.”

  I smile at her incorrect estimation. “Like I said, I’m a work in progress.” At least, I hope the progress continues when I get home. What if it doesn’t? What would it mean for Blake and me if I reverted as soon as I got back to New York?

  She gives me a viciously skeptical look but lets it go. “So the thing tonight…it’s a midnight beach party with some of our friends from the Islands.”

  “Hawaii?”

  She nods. “They’re bummed Shelby isn’t here, but I think they’ll be happy to meet you. Say yes.” She shimmies her hips. “Andrew’s a terrible dancer. You wouldn’t make me shake my ass alone, would you?” Ariella gives the biggest, brownest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen, and I laugh. I do want to hang out more with her before I leave.

  She thinks I’m fun and a suitable substitution for Shelby.

  I nod at Ariella. “How can I resist?”

  * * *

  Ariella and Andrew leave us on the beach, and Blake goes back to his hotel to get a change of clothes.

  I shower at Shelby’s place and slather on extra lotion to make up for the sun I got today. An unsettled feeling crawls through my joints, making me twitchy.

  Dressed, I wander through the house, unable to sit still. The peace I felt on the beach has been chased away by my doubts about the future.

  Can I only relax and be the newer Mel when I’m living Shelby’s life? If so, what does that mean for Blake and me when I go back to being myself at home?

  I paw through the cupboards, looking for a snack even though I’m not really hungry.

  This vacation was the best thing I could have done, but what’s the takeaway? What can I really bring home from this experience to enrich my life? The thought of going home and having the vividness of Florida fade more each day until it becomes just another holiday is intolerable. But already the relaxation, the certainty I felt, is slipping through my fingers like a handful of sand.

  Ariella thinks I’m a fun girl who wouldn’t be out of place dancing around a bonfire on a beach with hip, worldly, effortlessly cool people. But I’m not. And I’m not going to magically transform my job into the one I really want. Instead, I’m going to have to go back to my lonely apartment and back to my job where no one really knows me. Where I no longer know myself.

  I sigh and focus on the cupboard.

  I’ve arranged the cans according to food group and type and have alphabetized them.

  My stomach swoops. I did this Switch for a reason—switched lives with a stranger because of one shitty day—but I can’t go back and be the same rigid person. How do I stop being who I’ve always been?

  If I can’t hold on to these changes, I won’t be able to keep Blake either—or be the person he deserves. Tears prickle my eyes, but hell if I’m going to slip back without a fight. This calls for something drastic.

  I text Ariella. She responds right away, and I call the number she forwards with about eleven smileys and thumbs-up emojis.

  When I’ve booked an appointment, I text Blake, letting him know we’ve got a pit stop before the bonfire. I’m going to make his last night here count.

  I’ve got to.

  Chapter 20

  Blake

  I read her text three times, my mind taking me to a dirtier place every time.

  Plans have changed. Want to do something wild before the party?

  I smile and rep
ly. With you? Yes. No matter what it is, you bet your sweet ass I do.

  Lying beside her on that beach was exquisite torture that seeped into my skin where we touched and has burned my flesh all day. But it’s not just about sex with her. I want to make her smile so I can see the way her nose crinkles. She makes everything newer and brighter, and I want to do everything in my life again with her at my side, so I can see it from her perspective and hear her thoughts.

  How do people focus on their day-to-day lives feeling like this? It’s such a distraction—not that I’d trade it for anything. It’s like realizing I was only breathing with one lung, only seeing the world with half the colors. Now it makes me wonder if this is how the world has been all along. Fuller, richer, more vibrant. But I know that’s not it. The world hasn’t changed, but the way I see it has.

  And I have Mel to thank for this.

  I plan on using as few words as possible. Instead, I’ll show my appreciation in other, more interesting ways.

  Ones that make her moan and shake.

  I shower, shave, and change, hopping in a cab as quickly as possible. It’s only been hours, but I miss her presence already.

  I jog up to the door and knock. Mel must have been waiting because she throws it open immediately and shines a blinding smile at me.

  The restraint in her body when I hug her shows she doesn’t want this to lead to the bedroom—interesting—so I keep it flirty instead. I give her a squeeze and a quick kiss before moving out of her personal space. “So, what’s this wild thing you want to do?”

  She bites her bottom lip and toys with the hem of her turquoise tank top. “I don’t want to tell you. I’m scared I’ll talk myself out of it if we do.”

  “We’re not skydiving, are we?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because I’ll do that, but I’m not bungee jumping. I saw this gnarly video where the cord got wrapped around the guy’s neck, and then—”

  “We’re not doing that either.” She laughs and locks the door behind us, and we head down the sidewalk. “Quit fishing for information. You’ll see when we get there.”

  “It’s nothing with alligators, is it?”

  “Gee, what a lovely night.” She strolls along, hands in her jean pockets, and I half expect her to start whistling.

  “Did you eat already?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I made a sandwich after the beach. You hungry? We could grab something before we—” She glares both ways down the street to check for cars before we cross. “Nice try. I’m not talking.”

  I laugh. “I always could distract you with food.” We stop on the corner and wait for the light to change.

  “Hangry is a thing. But if we’re being honest, I just liked when my cool older brother’s cooler friends paid attention to me.”

  “Friends?”

  She smirks. “Not jealous, are you?”

  Yes. “No.”

  But the feeling goes away when she grabs my hand and laughs, leaning her head on my shoulder for a second before pulling me up the next street.

  “Back-alley high-stakes poker?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “Hey, are we going to reenact the restaurant scene from Lady and the Tramp?”

  “You, sir, are no lady.”

  I press my lips together prudishly. “I think I should feel insulted.”

  “Leave the feeling to me.” Her eyes widen at my raised eyebrow. “No, I didn’t mean it that way!”

  I kiss the top of her head. “I’m OK with whatever types of feelings you have.”

  I realize what I’ve said a second after the words leave my mouth, and she takes a step away. It’s the most I’ve said about a future between us, and her reaction isn’t good.

  But she smiles a few paces later and leads us up the next street. “Here we are.”

  I relax and follow her gaze to the sign above the shop. The shop with the big, neon sign flashing the word Tattoos. The windows sparkle, clean and shiny, and the rest of the building front is well kept—a good sign. “Really?” I ask.

  She chews the inside of her cheek. “Yes.”

  “So, this is what you’ve been trying not to talk yourself out of all night?”

  Her deep breath is audible. “I really want to do this.”

  Part of me wonders if she’s only referring to the tattoos, or if what I said in the alley has sunk in. “Do you know what you want?”

  Her brow scrunches into a frown. “No. I just know I want to do this with you.”

  I pull her close so she can’t see my face—and realize how uncool I’ve been since I realized the depth of my feelings for her. “Then let’s go do something permanent and painful.”

  She leans back and takes another deep breath. “You only live once, right?”

  Mel pushes the door open ahead of me. It knocks into an old-fashioned bell instead of an electronic chime, unleashing a pleasant, low-pitched tone.

  “Be right there,” a guy calls from somewhere out of sight.

  The walls are a deep red. A black-and-white tile floor and decor make the place feel classic. Everything’s clean and taken care of, which is reassuring. I’d have grabbed Mel’s hand and hauled us out of here if it was dingy or dusty, but it’s tasteful and I can tell it’s diligently maintained. The artwork on the walls—likely done by the artists—is all amazing and incredibly detailed work. “Not to question your due diligence, Mel, because this place looks good, but what made you choose it?”

  She leans against the counter and inspects her nails. “It’s where Shelby goes. Stephen is her guy. Ariella recommended him.”

  Something about her too-casual tone suggests this isn’t just about a tattoo recommendation, but I let it go.

  “OK, I’m ready.” A stocky guy with short hair and a beard strolls up to the counter and looks at Mel. “You’re Mel and Blake?”

  Mel nods.

  “Awesome. I’m Stephen.” He grabs a dark-green binder and sets it on the counter. “Here’s my book, if you want to take a peek at my style.”

  Mel waves her hand. “I already know I like your style.”

  “Ah, right. You know Shel. Hey, Shel and Mel!” He grins and so does Mel.

  “Yup.” She turns to me. “Do you know what you’re getting?”

  “Wait, me? I thought I was just here for moral support.”

  She bites her lip. “You don’t want a tattoo? I mean, you don’t have to get one.”

  I flip through the book, stalling for time. Do I want to do this? I think we all debate getting a tattoo at some point, and I like the idea of body art as snapshots of moments in our lives. Right now is an amazing time, and I do want to remember this. If I got something, I’d need it to be someplace I could easily cover for work. Not that ink is a big deal anymore, but I like having the option of keeping it to myself. I smile at her. “I guess I do.”

  Stephen works in bold colors, but he has a lot of black and gray with dashes of red and words that really pull my attention. The tattoos are interesting, some more abstract than others, but I flip the page and fall more in love with the style with every tattoo I see. It draws me in more than any other. But what would I get? What represents this trip, this adventure of going for something and not hesitating? The aquarium comes back to mind.

  I know exactly what I want.

  Mel smiles when I tell Stephen my idea, and he leaves to go sketch it up. Mel’s still biting her lip ten minutes later when we’re settled on the couch in the waiting area.

  “What are you going to get, Mel?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I don’t think I want something realistic, but some of these are too out there for me.”

  “Where will you put it?”

  “I’ve heard that ankles or anywhere the skin is thin hurts worse, so none there. I like the idea of having it just for me, so some
where I can cover it. I was debating my wrist, but I think I’d get sick of it if I had to look at it every day—even if it was amazing.” Her phone buzzes inside her purse, and she takes it out and rolls her eyes.

  “I guess it would be like wearing your favorite T-shirt every day.”

  She nods, stuffs her cell back in her bag, and flips another page.

  “Blake?” Stephen calls. “I’m ready for you to come back.”

  I leave Mel bouncing her foot and check out the sketch Stephen made. “Looks awesome.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “It’s even better than I expected.”

  “Then let’s get cracking.” He applies the stencil to my right shoulder, and I check it out in the mirror for placement.

  It looks badass. I may have been the tagalong on this adventure, but now I’m legitimately excited.

  I keep up a steady stream of chatter with Stephen as he gets ready, but I’m worried it will hurt more than I expect. I don’t want to freak Mel out—she’s already looking twitchy.

  But when the first line is done and it just feels like a hot knife against my skin, I relax. Mel wanders back and pulls up a chair after a bit, smiling at the design appearing one high-speed needle poke at a time.

  Just over an hour and a half later, Stephen cleans it up and proclaims me done. Mel’s been pacing by the window for the last twenty minutes, probably too excited about her turn to sit still.

  I get up and look in the mirror, smiling at the black-and-gray stingray that now adorns my shoulder. “Mel, come see this.”

  Her phone buzzes again, and she frowns as she fires off a rapid text. “Hang on.”

  The tail trails down my arm, almost touching my elbow. In the background he’s worked a pattern that complements the stingray, and he’s got the Latin words Citius, Altius, and Fortius—Faster, Higher, Stronger—in blue and black, with the same bold turquoise touches. A reminder to be the best version of myself I can be—and a reminder of Florida with that shade of blue.