by Katie George
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE FEEL OF torn skin on the back of one’s heel is about as comforting as a beetle resting on a person’s nose.
We’d pulled into a public strip of beach after stowing the car under a palm. Yet—through the ire of minions chasing us and the prospect of dating Sam Woodshaw—all I could think about were my heels. From all the running in my shoes, I’d accrued painful blisters.
The sand felt somehow soothing on my skin as I dug my fingers into its depths. I refused to look at him, knowing he was intently watching me instead. The moonlight reflecting on the ocean offered a momentary respite from the feelings swirling around my brain. I wondered if this same ocean seemed the same to my mother from her overlook in some outlandish behemoth of a mansion. Desperately I wanted to suck the feelings of abandonment into the vacuum it usually went into. But let us face the facts: I was an emotional trainwreck who needed a sip of reality. I fell onto my back, staring into the dark void of space.
Well, it wasn’t like she abandoned me in the traditional sense. She tried to maintain a relationship with me; it was I who didn’t want that. But I knew some of this internal backlash surrounding the happiness of my friends’ and their fiancés stemmed from my own personal issues. Then add in the volatile substance called Sam Woodshaw, who still swayed me with his kindness. The revelation hurt me, because I knew that this should not have been a thought. You are not supposed to think those things.
But I was thinking them.
My eyes gently refocused on his form, his erect posture, the bridge of his nose revealing an intriguing silhouette—one sublimely illuminated by the hint of light in the city surrounding us. I watched his gaze over the ocean before he looked down at me, his eyes bright. In the darkness, I felt a response to him. I wondered if I should get up and leave right now. Waiting for him, I gazed back into the numerous starlight and felt him lay down beside me, our heads touching.
“I dream about stars,” he said, his voice trained like an actor’s should be. “I dreamt about them all my life. What’s up there, why it’s up there, and why I’m down here.”
“Morbid,” I offered, knowing he was about to touch my sentimental side. I tried to quench my moving ribcage. My lungs were bobbing back and forth in a haphazard manner. I’d never experienced this before—never.
“Nowadays, I’m thankful I’m down here. There’s a lot to be thankful for.” His eyes met mine and I did not question if he actually meant what he’d said. In all honesty, I didn’t really care, because my body was beginning to reach a fiery temperature, and I knew I wanted him to kiss me. Even if he wasn’t a professional actor, even if he wasn’t as handsome as he was, I wanted his lips to meet mine.
“Yeah, maybe so,” I said, hearing my voice quiver.
“Emma?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Yeah?”
“Right now.”
He leaned in and there was a momentary rapture, a sort of well, okay. Then I found myself falling deeper in, letting him touch my neck, and then the fingertips headed downward. I suddenly sat up, unable to move. He sat up with me and said, “Emma.”
“Yes?” I asked, staring straight ahead.
“Why are you always so afraid?”
“There is a lot of fear to be had,” I said lifelessly, unable to think. Finally, I looked back at him, at his eyes, and then I whispered, “Kiss me. Again.”
“Will you promise me not to be afraid?”
“No.”
He smiled, gently bringing my head to his. “Okay then.”
The rapture was palpable. My thoughts mixed with the tone of the moment—the thought that I might not be able to stop myself from what was bound to happen. As we matched the pace, I felt my simmering heart, my sizzling brain, and the fact that, through my half-shut eyes, I saw his awareness like my own.
“Can you wait, like, ten minutes?”
“Why?” I asked, as my ragged breathing caught in my throat.
“We can’t do anything here.” He motioned to the sand.
“Oh, good point.” No point in mentioning I’d never done anything like this before. “Where will we go? The paparazzi will be swarming your house.” I asked as a trickle of kisses grazed my neck.
“My house in Beverly.”
“You have a house in Beverly Hills?”
“Got it last week,” Sam said quickly. He was changing; a fool could see it. I remembered our trek through Malibu, while I scoffed at the notion of a home there while he was seriously contemplating it.
I sat up, my heart roaring, my body still weak from his touch. The waves were gently pulsating, heading straight for my toes. I had dreamed of this moment—the moment where I was sure I’d finally lose my virginity, of whom it would be with, of how it would take place. In the position in the reality, my brain whirred with the questions behind it. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. I liked Sam, but it wasn’t like I was in love with him.
“Emma?”
My reverie was broken. “It’s okay. You know that, right? We can take whatever we have slow. It’ll be a new experience for the both of us.”
“I don’t want to do that to you.” It was the only thing that could seep from my lips. “Sam, I’m a kid at heart. Even if my body is that of a woman’s, the truth is, I’ve never been in this situation before. I know I’m attracted to you…”
“Don’t explain,” he said, his eyes glistening, little pools of understanding. “I want to be with you, but only when you’re comfortable.”
You see, I wish I could have agreed. I wish I had been strong enough to agree with his statement, but when we were cruising down the highway, back for my apartment in Glendora, my brain was in a whirlwind, a centrifuge of confusion. Jamie wasn’t home, and I knew that was an issue.
Intuitively it was a huge issue. As Sam’s eyes glinted in the glow of effervescent light poles, I shrugged away the delicious sin of the moment. Honestly, I wanted to be with him. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to do that with Sam—but part of me couldn’t handle the fact about the after, the forever after, the eternity I’d live with once I knew my first time was with Sam Woodshaw. Thousands—maybe even millions of girls—would have jumped at the chance. Just not me.
I opened the door of his suped-up convertible and stretched out my body. Then I looked down at him, knowing his body language urged me to invite him upstairs, but I felt overcome with the ability of chastity. I moved to the other side and kissed his lips, letting that little spark fizzle. “I only want to do what I know is right.”
His smile conveyed disappointment—but also the hint of respect. Not many women rebuffed him, I understood, but maybe I would be the first. Maybe I’d even be the last. But in the grand scheme of things, I couldn’t live with my own disappointment from what lurked secretly in the night.
I hurried inside into the hidden darkness, watching from my window as he swerved away. For the first time in my life, I was completely relieved by a decision not entirely of my own choosing.
