A loud knock hits the bedroom door and wakes me. Half asleep, I get out of bed, open the door half-way, and find Courtney, wearing a big smile. “What have you been doing?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Courtney peers in. “You alone?”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Shut. Up.”
“Well,” Courtney begins with a saucy expression, “you never know.”
I swing open the door the rest of the way, shove her aside, and saunter into the kitchen. Feeling parched and a little groggy, I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I take a drink, turn, and then spit it out all over the floor because two guys, now laughing, are sitting on the couch: One of them has a volleyball, and the other one has my heart…and my breath…and more than I expected after a morning of honest conversation.
Ian stands up. “You wanna’ play volleyball?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If I have to be on Courtney’s team or not.”
She sticks out her tongue, but I just shrug and enter the family room. I grew up with her, watched her in gym class all through middle school, only to witness her complete inability to play any sport—even the sissy country club varieties like tennis and golf.
Ian puts an arm around her. “Courtney will play with me. And you can play with Ryan.”
I scrutinize him. “You any good?”
Ryan wanders over to me with a warm smile. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Losing is never fun.”
“You’re not over Saturday, are you?”
“We should have won that.”
Courtney and Ian slip through the sliding glass door as Ryan and I finish our conversation. “Not when our best player was a girl,” he admits with a grin.
“Hmm, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” He winks at me. Then we head down the pier, trailing behind Courtney and Ian. Ryan turns toward me. “Hey, nice shirt.”
I look down since I had forgotten about my wardrobe choice. “Yeah, some guy gave it to me.”
“Some guy, huh?”
“Yeah, some very random guy.” I smile as I head down the steps, my bare feet sinking into hot sand. I turn and look at him. “Hmm, I think it was Ryan something, but I don’t know his last name.”
Ian turns back and hands Ryan the ball. “You can serve first.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he tells Ian and then turns toward me as we near the volleyball net. “So—
you’re wearing some guy’s shirt and you don’t even know his last name. What kind of girl are you?”
“I don’t know, but the real question is this: What kind of guy gives a girl—who he just met—the shirt off his back?”
“I don’t know. What kind of girl accepts it?”
Ian moves up to the net. “I don’t know what the hell you two are talking about. But could one of you serve that damn ball?”
Ryan hands me volleyball. “Ladies first.”
I slide back to serve, aim for Courtney, and laugh as she shirks out of the way.
She marches up to the net. “This isn’t dodge ball, you know?”
“Okay, thanks for the clarification.”
I serve again, aiming right for that big, blonde head. Courtney covers her face and squeals. “You’re so mean!”
“Aw, come on,” I toss back. “You’re not even trying.”
“Do you have to be so competitive?”
“Do you have to be so whiny?” I snap, sliding back to the serving line. “This one is for Ian.” The ball soars right toward him. He sets it up for Courtney, and she puts her hands in front of her face and shrieks. Ryan turns, with an expression of mock horror, and I move back to serve again.
Ian calls a timeout, and a minute later, some random guy from the beach is playing in Courtney’s stead. They get three points off us in the first game, and a total of five in the next two. After the match, Ryan heads over to me. “We make a good team,” he says with a fist bump, “too bad you don’t live ‘round here.”
“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to think about the distance between us—the hour now, or the many hours that will separate us after the move to Tennessee.
“But you’ll be back, right?”
“Si.” I flick my head at Courtney. “Su casa es me casa.”
“Bueno.”
“You speak Spanish?”
“Nope, French.”
“Really?”
“Yup, I thought it might impress the girls.” He winks.
“Love-ly.”
“No, actually, my mom is French Canadian. We go back to Montreal every summer. So it comes in handy, you know?”
“Okay, say something in French, then.”
“Like?”
I shrug. “Anything.”
“Tu es la fille de mes rêves!”
My stomach tingles. “What does that mean?” I ask, even though it doesn’t matter. He could have said, ‘Your farts smell very bad,’ but his words, with that rich accent, sound beautiful.
“What does it mean?” He repeats with an enormous grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Grr,” I say.
Then he turns and rushes toward the water, yelling “Race you to the sandbar!” over his shoulder.
I run toward the water, but it is no race, really. Ryan moves like a fish, and even though I can swim, I do so without much efficiency—or grace. When I finally reach Ryan on the sandbar, I discover him leaning back on his elbows, sunning himself, and waiting.
“Hi,” I say, trying to conceal my choppy breaths.
“Hey,” he responds with his eyes closed and his head tilted back. “Great day, huh?”
“Yeah, it is,” I say. But I’m not referring to the rays of sunshine, just the hours I have spent with Ryan. I get cozy in the shallow water, only a foot deep, and watch the rippling waves roll up and down his tanned torso. I cannot believe I am this close to him, close enough to touch. And close enough to—I bring my arm way back and scoop up the water, splashing him in the face.
He sits up and wipes the water from his face. “Ooh, you’re gonna’ regret that!”
I flip over and start running down the sandbar, laughing all the way. The splashing of our feet is even louder than the laughter, and this is one race I want to lose. Soon he tackles me around the waist, lifts me out of the water, and drops me on my butt.
I rise up and kick water up at him, yet he reaches out and grabs a hold of my leg. I wobble, arms flailing, and fall down again. Landing in the soft sand, I laugh uncontrollably, and Ryan plops down next to me. I reach back to splash him, but he grabs my wrist. His body glides across mine, and his bare chest rests on top of me. With a playful smirk, he takes hold of my other wrist, and then manages to hold both of my wrists in one hand while he splashes up water into my face.
“Hey, stop it!”
“C’mon, you love it!” He splashes me again.
“Ry-an!”
“Cal-lie!” He intonates my scream and then laughs. “Payback is hell, isn’t?”
I wriggle free, roll over, and crawl forward. Ryan catches me and wraps his arms around my waist. He maneuvers me through the air with some WWF move, and I plummet back into the water, my laughter mingling with a loud splash. I roll up on my side and prop myself up an elbow.
Ryan moves closer and mirrors my position. “Having fun yet?” He splashes a little more water up into my face.
“Hey,” I begin, wiping the water from my face, “I call a truce. No more splashing!”
He arches an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t give in that easy, would you?” He licks his lips, redirecting my thoughts from the splashing to his kissable mouth.
“Yeah, I would,” I answer softly, wanting him to kiss my salted lips. I look into his eyes, soft and green, and study his face as he smiles back at me. I notice the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose, giving him a childlike quality to his chiseled face.
He slides even
closer to me, his eyes staying connected. He traces the length of my nose and rests a finger gently on my lips. “Don’t give up easily.”
“Why?” I answer softly.
“Because,” he begins, his lips trying to hold back a grin, “I prefer a challenge.”
I shake my head, cracking up at how he brought up my joke about Doug from earlier today.
He glances at the shore. “So—I think we should get back before our friends send out a search-and-rescue.” He curls up into a sitting position and then glances in my direction. “I also think…”
“Uh-huh?”
“That we should race back.”
“Oh, come on,” I groan.
He ignores my protest and stands up. “Ready? Set? Go!” He dives into the water.
“Seriously,” I mutter to myself and stand up. I wade into the water and then swim the short distance to the shore. As I emerge from the ocean, he grins at me. “Well, girlie, now I know something you don’t do well.”
“Uh…thanks,” I return and realize how far the race along the sandbar (and the tide) has taken us. We amble back, slowly, along the water’s edge, our shoulders occasionally brushing each other. I want him to reach over and hold my hand since I miss the feel of his warm skin against mine.
Ryan glances in my direction. “Do you play volleyball?”
“Yep.”
“What do you play in the spring?”
“Softball,” I return. “What about you?”
“Swim team in the fall…”
“Yeah, big surprise there.”
He offers a smile. “And baseball in the spring.”
“Which is your favorite?”
“Basketball.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say. “You got any schools lined up for next fall?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Not after last season.”
“Yeah, the guys were talking about it at Tommy’s house.”
He turns, his face frozen. “Really?” He begins coolly. “What did they say?”
“Nothing—except that it was up to you to tell me.”
He nods. “That’s good.”
“So…tell me,” I say casually.
The corner of his mouth retreats in his cheek, momentarily. “No offense, but I don’t want to discuss it right now, okay?”
I turn toward the ocean, thinking how can I not take offense? I shared my “story” with him this morning.
He reads the silence. “Listen, I’m much better at asking questions…than giving answers.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“And it’s a proven fact that most people like to talk about themselves.”
“I guess so.”
“You don’t agree?”
“No, I do. And it might not be a proven fact, but I’ve always found people who only talk about themselves to be very annoying.”
“Fair enough,” he pauses. “Then let’s just say this: It takes me a while to open up to people, okay?”
“Well, I don’t have a while…I leave in a few days.”
“But you said you’d be back.”
“Maybe.” I shove him and yell, “Race you back!” I sprint the short distance toward Courtney and Ian, who are sharing a green plaid blanket. I win the race—barely.
Ryan sidles up next to me. “Just so you know, I let you win.”
“Uh-huh, just like I let you beat me to the sandbar.”
“Oh, that wasn’t even close.”
“You are so competitive,” I tease.
Courtney stands up. “I don’t know you that well, Ryan, but I doubt you are more competitive than Callie. She turns everything into a competition—like who can get to the school parking lot first? Finish lunch first? Make it to class first?”
“Oh, poor Courtney,” I begin. “But you always won when it came to, uh—” I grin. “Those other firsts.”
She giggles.
“What are you talking about?” Ian asks with an enormous grin.
I arch an eyebrow. “Like you don’t know.”
“Okay, whatever,” Courtney settles. “Let’s get some food. I’m star-ving.”
“Yeah, sounds good to me,” Ian agrees and turns toward Ryan. “You coming with us, bro?”
“Sorry, I can’t. I have to be home for dinner. My grandma is coming over.”
“All right, man, see you around.” They bump fists, and Ian and Courtney head up to her house. I smile a goodbye and turn to follow them.
“Wait a second, girl” Ryan starts. “Aren’t you going say goodbye to me?”
“I smiled.”
“Oh, is that what that meant? I just thought you were happy to get rid of me.”
“Seriously, Ryan?”
He shakes his head. “No.” He steps toward me. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
I shrug. “I dunno...why?”
“You want to see the sights?”
“Sights?” I echo incredulously.
“Yeah, we have the lighthouse,” he gestures behind us, “and the—did I mention the lighthouse?”
I cannot help but smile when I am in his presence. “What time do you want to go?”
“Around lunch. Maybe grab a bite to eat and then head over to the lighthouse.”
“Sounds good.”
“And, uh, tell Ian he’s driving. I can only fit two in my car.”
I want to tell him that his two-seater will work just fine since I would prefer not to include Courtney and Ian in our plans. Instead, I say, “Okay.”
“And…”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“I had a great time today, Callie.”
“So did I, Ryan.” I press my lips together, suppressing a smile, since I am fully aware of what will happen next. It’s the epilogue to any good date—the script uttered at the front door or in the car before the big kiss. Ryan steps closer, and my heart races. He rests a hand on my shoulder, and I take a deep breath. Then he leans closer to me, and I close my eyes, waiting. His lips find my ear. “But tomorrow will be even better.”