Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Kiss is putting it mildly.
We made out. As much as a person can make out in the ocean without putting hands inside bathing suits and swim trunks. But that’s the only physical time we’ve really gotten outside of mornings these last few days. I’m kind of uncomfortable with public displays of affection in front of other people, and we’re always with Sara and Marcos.
Samson reaches the top of the ladder and we both smile at each other. “Morning.”
“Hey.” I pop another grape into my mouth. After he climbs over the railing, he bends down and gives me a quick kiss, then sits next to me.
I take a grape out of the bag and bring it to his lips. He barely parts them with a grin, forcing me to shove my finger into his mouth as he takes the grape. He circles his lips around my finger for a second, then pulls away slowly. He starts to chew the grape. “Thank you.”
Now I want to feed him grapes all day.
He wraps an arm over the back of the chair and I lean against him, but not close enough that he would take it as a sign to pull me to him. We watch the sunrise in silence, and I think about the turn my life has taken since I arrived.
I thought I knew who I was, but I had no idea people can become different versions of themselves in different settings. In this setting, where everything feels good and perfect, I’m actually at peace with my life. I don’t fall asleep bitter every night. I don’t even actively hate my father like I used to. And I’m not so much a disbeliever in love anymore. I’m not a skeptic here because I’m able to look at life through a different lens.
It makes me wonder what version of myself I’ll be when I get to college. Will I be happy there? Will I miss Samson? Will I continue to thrive or will I wilt back into my old self?
I feel like a flower being taken out of the shadows and put into the sun. I’m blooming for the first time since I broke through the earth’s soil.
“What are today’s plans?” Samson asks.
I shrug. “I think it’s clear by now that I have absolutely no plans until August third.”
“Good. Want to rent a golf cart and take a tour of the beach this afternoon? I know a really secluded spot.”
“Sure. Sounds fun.” Especially since he said the word secluded. That sounds like an invite to finally be able to spend some alone time with him.
The sun is up now and this is usually when Samson leaves so I can go back to sleep, but instead of standing up, he slides me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. He leans his head back against the chair, resting his hands on my hips. “We should start watching the sunrise in this position.”
“It would block your view,” I say.
He brings a hand up to my face, and his fingertips against my jaw feel like tiny little fires against my skin. “You’re prettier than the view, Beyah.” He slips his hand behind my head and brings me to his mouth.
Both of his arms wrap around me and he pulls me closer, but I shift a little so that he’ll be reminded not to do that. I don’t like it when both of his arms go around me while we kiss because it makes me think of being held, and being held is something more personal to me than kissing, or even sex.
I like kissing Samson. I like spending time with him. But I don’t like the idea of sharing something so intimate with someone who doesn’t want to share more than a few weeks of themselves with me.
His hands fall to my hips like I’ve trained them to do over the last few days. He kisses my jaw, then the side of my head. “I have to go,” he says. “I have a lot to do today.”
Every day he’s always doing something different. Helping someone repair a roof, rebuilding a dune. Most of it seems like busy work. I don’t know that he actually takes money for the work he does.
I slide off him and watch as he heads back toward the ladder.
He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he descends the ladder and disappears. I lean my head against the back of the chair and pop a grape into my mouth.
I’m sure he wants more than I’m giving him physically, but I can’t give him more if he insists on staying in the shallow end. Hugs and being held might seem like shallow-end stuff to him, but to me, those things are buried somewhere in the Mariana Trench.
I’d rather have casual sex with him than let him hug me.