Down the Shore

by T. Torrest

We’re silent for a minute, the only sounds between us that of his staggered breathing against my skin and the thumping of his racing heart.

  “Jack?” I ask warily, my voice breaking through his daze. “Did you…?”

  “No!” he answers back. Clearly lying. Clearly frustrated.

  His embarrassed, emphatic denial has me giggling, my chest shaking as I crack up under the body of this twenty-eight year old, adolescent boy on top of me.

  He raises his head and looks at me incredulously, torn between mortification and hysteria. But soon enough, his lip twitches into a small grin which he’s fighting hard to contain. “Stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

  “It so is,” I answer back, my giggles turning into a full-on cackle. “I can’t believe you just came!”

  He finally breaks and starts laughing too. “Jesus. That hasn’t happened since I was sixteen. What the fuck did you do to me, Liv?”

  “I’m flattered. I think it just comes down to wanting something so much more because you can’t have it. That’s all.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  “Mm Hmm.” I smile wickedly at him as I add, “Doesn’t change the fact that you left me hanging, though.”

  He doesn’t wait to be asked twice. Without another word, he slides a hand inside my panties and plunges two fingers inside me. The unexpected movement has me letting out with a startled gasp. Jack can’t seem to help the evil smirk that crosses his lips before he lowers his mouth to mine and brings his thumb into play. Captain Fingerbang reporting for duty!

  He’s good at this.

  I’m writhing underneath him, and he bites my lip, gliding his fingers inside me in a steady rhythm, rubbing torturous, tiny circles against my most sensitive spot. Little moans keep escaping from my throat, and I feel him harden against my hip all over again.

  Things have already gone too far between us tonight. Why can’t they go a little further?

  “Please, Jack,” I hear myself say.

  His body tenses on top of mine, his heavy-lidded eyes shooting straight into my soul. “No, babe. Just let me do this.”

  Okay. Okay. I’m unraveling too fast to argue. My heart is racing, my breaths are choppy, my eyes are rolling into the back of my head. I’m about to lose my damn mind.

  He lowers his face to my ear and asks on a gravelly whisper, “You like to watch, Lips? You like to watch me come?”

  “Yes,” I let out on a breathy sigh.

  He closes his mouth over my breast, lightly nipping at it, speeding the movement of his fingers inside me. My groans are coming fast and furious now, my hips rolling to slam myself against his palm. He raises his head and looks me right in the eyes to say, “You wish this were my cock inside you.”

  Oh Jesus.

  “Yes.” I close my eyes and arch my back, my fisted hands gripping the pillow on either side of my head.

  “You want me to fuck you.”

  “Yesss.”

  Oh God. Oh God I’m going to—

  “You want to come with me deep inside your hot, wet—”

  “Ohhhh! Oh God!” I shatter at that as I rock with tremors, my body convulsing against his hand, my head thrashing back and forth on the pillow. I can hear Jack’s throaty laugh as he watches me fall apart.

  There is nothing funny about the situation. He just killed me. I am dead.

  But soon enough, I find myself snickering, too.

  When my breathing returns to human levels, he kisses me through our smiles. He pulls back, his steely eyes tight on mine as he whispers, “You are beautiful when you let go, you know that?”

  “Hmmm,” I answer back, exhausted and already half asleep. “That was just the opening act. I can’t wait until we get to the real show.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Date #8: Saturday, July 1, 1995

  10:38 PM

  The Beach

  Manasquan

  “You’re crazy!” I yell to Jack as I watch him lunge into the ocean.

  It’s a beautiful night, perfectly clear, and I’m sitting on our blanket under an umbrella of stars. I grab a handful of sand and let it sift through my fingers onto my feet as I watch Jack dive through another small wave before it crashes onto shore. The ocean isn’t incredibly rough tonight, and that eases any fears I have of him being washed out to sea. Even with such a clear sky, the water is almost completely black, save for a sparkling strip on the surface where the moon is casting a pale glow.

  It’s only the first day of July, and the night air is already sticky with warmth but the water is still freezing cold. It’s as if Mother Nature forgets to tell the ocean that it’s summer until sometime in August.

  When Jack suggested we come down to the beach for a night swim, I agreed, even though I knew there was no way he was going to get me in the water. Just standing at the edge of the surf gave my feet a headache. I’ve been content to sit on the sand instead, watching Jack’s long, purposeful strokes as he sluices through the water.

  There’s a slight breeze blowing, but until now, even the wind was actually hot tonight. I take advantage of the current’s change of direction and fan my shirt in an attempt to dry out the little pool of sweat that has formed inside my bra.

  Neither the sticky night nor the freezing water can take the smile from my face this evening, however. There’s some good news in the works.

  Jack had spent the better part of the day having lunch with Lutz Hamburg. The man was still blown away by the show Thunderjug put on last night, and wanted to talk shop with the guys about the future of the band.

  He arranged a meeting for Monday with one of his promoter buddies up in New York, and if all goes well with this Shug Sealy person, it could really lead to some big things. Supposedly, Shug has an in with Mayhem Studios, a pretty big deal indie label that has launched a bunch of chart-topping talent.

  The plan was hatched that Jack would meet with Shug alone, speaking on behalf of the band. Booey wasn’t too happy about his manager job being replaced, but then again, his position was never official. Everyone knows their best shot at a contract is to let their most charismatic bandmate work the proper magic.

  Because if Shug likes Jack, he’ll get them signed with Mayhem. And a signed contract will immediately translate into a multi-artist, cross-country tour already in progress, where Thunderjug would simply be added to the bill.

  I’m devastated at the idea of Jack taking off for all those months, but he’s dropped enough hints over the past hours to make me think he might actually ask me to go with him. I guess he’s just waiting to find out for sure before asking me outright. I totally understand why he doesn’t want to jinx anything by talking about it, but I really wish he’d let me in on his thought process.

  I’m trying to envision a way to make that lifestyle work when he does ask. I know that he’ll be earning good money from the tour, so it’s not like I would need to work. But I also know I’ll feel like a mooch living that way after not too long a while. I’m thinking there’s a chance that I can pay back the guys by serving as their official photographer during the tour. Lord knows they’ll need someone to document their rise to fame, and who better than someone who already knows them well enough to capture them properly?

  The girls have generously given up a few days down here so that Jack and I can have a bit of alone-time. They’re not coming down until Monday when he leaves for his meeting, and until then, the beach house is all ours. I’m relishing the thought of having him all to myself, alone and uninterrupted for this short while.

  I’m able to take all these vacation days after working my tail off last week. Since Jack wasn’t around, it was easy for me to throw myself into my job. I even took over some of Shana’s workload, so I don’t feel too guilty about leaving her alone while I take a few days off. I can use the break.

  Shana has been on my case even more than usual this past month, and I don’t have to guess why. Ever since I started dating Jack, she’s been crabby. I think she just hates the idea that I’m with someone
when she isn’t. It’s not like I’ve been flaunting my relationship in her face or anything. I rarely even mention Jack’s name around her, and even then, I tend to keep the rundown limited to highlights only. Shane never gives the patience she expects from me whenever there’s a story to be told. Meanwhile, I can’t begin to count the hours she’s regaled me with every infinitesimal detail about the most inconsequential things. It’s like she can’t believe I have the audacity to be happy in her presence, so I try not to show it too much. When it comes to Shana, at times, it just makes my job easier that way.

  On the other hand, I’m happy to report that my work itself has never been better. I recently incorporated a great idea into my daily routine at the studio, which has me excited about my job for the first time ever. I’ve started setting up appointments for more than just our run-of-the-mill, in-studio portraits. Lately, most of my schedule requires me to either go to a client’s house for a shoot, or meet at a favorite location of their choosing. My subjects get their “portraits” taken candidly while baking cookies or bowling or flying kites at the park. Being able to shoot people in a comfortable setting has yielded amazing results. I’ve rarely taken better photos in my entire life.

  That divine inspiration led to the shoot I have planned for the Tanners tomorrow. Jack’s whole family is coming down so I can take their family portrait on the beach.

  I’m thinking about some locations while swirling a stick of driftwood in the sand. I look down and see that I’ve drawn a heart without even realizing I’ve done it. How dorky am I? I quickly scratch it out as Jack emerges from the ocean, shaking off the water like a dog after a bath. He is so beautiful that it’s almost painful to look at him sometimes. I still can’t quite believe he’s mine.

  “Hey Liv... You really should get in there. The water feels great!”

  Yeah, sure, if you’re a polar bear.

  “Not a chance, Shrinkydinks. It’s freezing! How can you stand it?”

  He growls like a lion and shakes his wet head over me. I scream from the pinpricks of icy droplets raining down onto my body, and hold up a towel to try and shield myself from the onslaught. He grabs it away and dives onto the blanket, taking me down with him. His wet body is angled across mine, soaking me through my tank top and shorts as he kisses me. His salty, cold lips are rough and insistent as the water drips from his hair and runs down my neck, making me shiver.

  Though I suspect my trembling has more to do with the way Jack is kissing me than the temperature of the water.

  He laughs as he rolls off me and watches as I attempt to dry off ineffectively with the towel. He flops onto his back and lets his cold, wet head land in my lap. I toss him the other towel and he blots absently at his body while I give up drying altogether. I throw on his sweatshirt and settle my legs more comfortably underneath him before running my fingers through the strands of hair at his temple. He loves when I do this.

  He lies quietly, staring up at the beautiful sky above us. I know he’s been just as lost as I was the past week, and just as grateful that we’ve been together all weekend after what felt like an eternity apart. How crazy that our lives have already become so intertwined after such a short amount of time.

  Most of which has been spent constantly fighting the urge to jump him.

  But what? Would I really have been okay with our first time happening in his parents’ poolhouse? On a kitchen counter? In a speaker? In the old days, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But Jack treated sex as something more valuable than just a stolen moment wherever we could find one. He taught me to value myself.

  And now, here we are down at the beach, which is an idyllic setting. With no one else around except the two of us. For two whole days. And not only am I okay with it, I’m ecstatic about it.

  “Hey, Jack?” I ask.

  “Hmmm?” His eyes are heavy and half-lidded, and I hope he’s not falling asleep.

  “You want your sweatshirt back? You’re ice cold.”

  “Nah. I’m fine. Unless you want to warm me up yourself.”

  I smile at his quirked lips and bend down to press a light kiss on the tip of his nose.

  He closes his eyes and folds his hands across his chest. I see goose bumps forming along his arm and lightly dust my hand down his bicep, loving the feel of his skin under my fingertips.

  God, even his chicken skin is beautiful.

  “You’re so quiet. Are you writing a new song?”

  His eyes are still closed as he answers, “I don’t feel the need to explain my art to you, Warren.”

  I giggle as he mumbles through a yawn.

  “Jackson Tanner, are you falling asleep on me? Out here on this sticky beach?”

  He twists his body around to lie on his stomach, rests his head against my thigh, and wraps his arms around my waist like I’m a pillow. “Yes.” He peeks up at me with raised eyebrows and a devilish grin. “Wanna join me?”

  CHAPTER 29

  Sunday, July 2, 1995

  The Crack

  The Beach

  Manasquan

  I wake up shivering, even though the sun has started to rise. Jack is curled up next to me on the towel, bundled in his sweatshirt and wrapped in the entire blanket. Somehow, I must have relinquished all three to him during the night. I’m in the bare sand, barely covered with the remaining towel, thoroughly coated like a shake and bake pork chop.

  Good morning!

  The scene is more humorous than anger-inducing, however. And with the first sight of a majestic, hazy-pink glow of dawn before me, it’s hard to generate any true ire. I shake out my hair and brush the sand from my clothes and body, reclaim some real estate on Jack’s oversized towel, and nudge him awake so he can catch the show.

  “Hey, Sleepyhead. Hey.” I smooth his hair from his face and kiss his temple. “Jack. Wake up.”

  He groans. “Mmph.”

  Didn’t he say he was a morning person?

  “Jack, come on. The sun is rising. You gotta see this.”

  He rolls over and throws an arm around my waist. His response is garbled into my leg. “Sleep.”

  I chafe at my arms, trying to warm them while brushing off more sand, and blow some hot air into my hands. “God, Jack, aren’t you cold?”

  He rolls onto his back and performs a yawning stretch. He sits up and rubs a hand across his eyes as my plight suddenly becomes clear to him. “Oh, man. Did I hog the covers all night?”

  He chuckles, but looks apologetic as he strips off his sweatshirt and hands it to me. I promptly throw it on and curl my arms around my knees, absorbing the traces of warmth and scent from his body.

  Jack pulls the blanket across both our laps before leaning over and kissing me softly on my neck. Thank God he didn’t plant one on my mouth, because I probably have some serious morning breath going on.

  He smoothes a hand over my knee and says, “Good morning.”

  Much better.

  We sit and watch the sun rise without speaking, as if the magic of the brilliant moment will be broken by our clumsy appraisal. I’ve seen the sun rise before, but never like this. Never with Jack.

  The rising sun adds to the warm glow I’m starting to feel, thinking about the amazing man sitting next to me.

  God, has it really only been six weeks?

  Only a little over a month ago, I was in a miserable relationship, dissatisfied with my job, and disillusioned about my future. It was still a good life; don’t get me wrong. But until I met Jack, I didn’t realize that it was an incomplete life. Not in the corny, you-complete-me-Jerry-Maguire kind of way, but in a way that took all the best I already had and made it better.

  I take a huge breath which fills my lungs with a salty, clean glee, and exhale. I’m happy.

  No. Much more than that.

  I’m at peace.

  Probably more so than I’ve been in my entire life.

  The sun is a huge, orange ball low in the sky, having fully ascended from the ocean. Jack stands and shakes the sand fro
m his body before offering me his outstretched hand. I take it and he hauls me to my feet.

  He flicks some foreign beach thing from my hair. “Ready for a shower?” he teases.

  His tone is not lost on me. “Am I ever.”

  We shake out the towels and blanket before rolling everything into a ball and sauntering up the beach. A fisherman coming down the walkway gives us a sly smile, but I barely register his intent.

  Here’s a bit of wisdom from an old pro: It’s a lot easier to do the Walk of Shame when you’ve had your clothes on all night.

  * * *

  Back at the house, I lose any hope about the possibility of sharing a shower this morning. I am regrettably reminded that the stall is roughly the size of a refrigerator and only capable of spewing a single, weak stream of water from its rusty head.

  Despite the meticulous, first-of-the-season scrubdown (which thankfully was not my job this year), the shower walls are still permanently pretty gross, and I barely feel cleaner than before I went in.

  Jack takes over the bathroom while I get to work throwing a quick breakfast together.

  I am no chef by far, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He just loves the idea that I’m cooking at all, saying it makes him feel like Fred Flintstone to have his woman lay out a meal for him. For all his caveman sensibilities, his enjoyment gives me the confidence to get creative every now and then. I hope it gives me some skill, too, because I have a fantastic endeavor planned for dinner tonight.

  And one for dessert, too.

  Jack finally emerges from the bathroom and peeks over my shoulder to inspect the last batch of banana pancakes I’m frying at the tiny stove. He’s fully dressed in his jeans and white T-shirt for the photo shoot and smells of Ivory soap and shaving cream. He plants a quick kiss on my cheek along with a smack on my unsuspecting ass, which makes me almost drop the pan on my route to the table.

  “Hey! Watch it, pal. You almost made me lose your breakfast.”