I laugh loudly at his blatant come-on. This is getting ridiculous. “Does this normally work for you?” I ask, my tone slightly mocking.
“Yes,” he responds indignantly.
“Well, you’re gonna have to step up your game if you think I’m even going to consider talking to you.”
“You’re already talking to me.”
“You’re a shithead.”
“But you like me,” he says and without thinking about it I nod my head. “Wanna get out of here?” His face is serious but welcoming, and when he takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers together, I’m certain I would go anywhere with him. The responsible side of me is screaming, I shouldn’t dare leave with him, but there’s a side of me that wonders what it might feel like to be reckless, to be like Alice.
“I don’t even know you,” I answer, looking away from him before he sees my eyes and calls my bluff. My cheeks grow hot and something stirs deep inside my belly. I want to go with him.
“You know me better than anyone else at this party,” he says, tugging me toward the door and I follow willingly.
He stops on the front porch of the large Craftsman frat house before turning to me and smiling. The music is blaring, and the loud conversations make it almost impossible to hear him, so he leans in close, his hot breath tickling my neck as he says, “My name’s Elliot and I can’t believe the most beautiful girl at this party is about to leave with me.”
Shit like this doesn’t affect me, well normally it doesn’t, and I can’t figure out why I’m suddenly enchanted by this boy and his awful pick up line. “You’re full of shit,” I shout.
“Probably, but I promise we’ll have a great time.”
It’s the best offer I’ve had since I landed in San Diego and with one more day left to suffer through, I’m going to take a chance on this.
We walk down the sidewalk hand in hand, neither of us speaking, but the silence is comforting. After the loudness of the party and spending the past few days listening to Alice drone on about her wonderful life, I’m good with silence.
Elliot stops off at a food truck that’s selling the best tacos in La Jolla according to the hand-painted lettering on the side, and orders for us. Never asking what I want or if I’m even interested in eating. He says nothing to me, just smiles and pays for the order, afterward handing me a plastic cup as he tilts his head toward the beach.
It isn’t late, maybe around nine o’clock and while the beach is shrouded in a dim light, it hasn’t stopped people from continuing to enjoy the day.
We walk out onto the warm sand and I slide my flip-flops off as soon as we do. Taking them in my free hand, I follow Elliot to a quiet spot on the south end of the beach.
I sit down next to him and push my feet into the sand, warming my toes and finding comfort in the softness as it covers my feet.
He reaches into the bag and pulls out two tacos, handing one to me and keeping one for himself. Again, we eat in silence, the only sound being the waves lapping at the shore as they surge forward and then recede. It’s the most peaceful sound I’ve ever heard.
But when Elliot’s voice cuts through, melodic, almost musical, like he’s singing to me, I swallow hard and fight back the need to tell him to talk to me forever.
“I’ve never found someone who enjoys silence as much as I do,” he says and it makes me close my eyes, relishing the tone of his voice paired with the sound of the ocean.
“Sometimes there is more said through silence than you can ever say with words,” I tell him and he nods his head. “My name is Nora,” I blurt out and Elliot coughs, nearly choking on his taco. I hand him the drink we’ve already begun sharing and he takes a long sip.
“That was strangely awkward,” Elliot says, laughing.
“It was,” I add, laughing right along with him. “But I just realized I never told you my name.”
“You intrigue me, Nora. You’re like no one I’ve ever met,” he says and I feel his hand brush mine as it rests alongside my body, my fingertips tucked neatly into the sand. “The way you stood at that party, not talking to anyone, yet you looked completely comfortable, totally okay with being alone.”
“Maybe,” I say, knowing I was anything but comfortable there. Alone I’m good with, but alone in an unknown place, not so much.
He shakes his head and turns to look at me. Although it’s dark, I can picture his beautiful face and something about it makes me smile.
“So what are you doing here, Nora?” he asks, looking back out at the water. I like the way my name sounds on his lips, so pure, so simple, but like it means the world to him.
“It’s that obvious?” I ask playfully.
“Only mildly. You just seem like you belong somewhere else. Somewhere bigger than here. Somewhere you can get lost.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, curious as to who he thinks I am.
“You have an aura about you, like one day you’re going to do something great, something far bigger than you’d ever find in this coastal town.”
“Thank you, I think,” I say feeling oddly self-conscious. “But I’m just a simple girl from Boston with dreams of being a writer.”
Elliot lays back, his arms tucked behind his head and I find myself settling against him, my head resting in the crook of his arm. I can feel his heartbeat pulsing hard in his chest and I rest my hand gently over it.
“A simple girl couldn’t make my heart race like this,” Elliot says, his hand covering mine.
Suddenly my heart is beating in time with Elliot’s, fast and heavy, throbbing in my ears, thumping against my ribs. Almost like it’s trying to escape, like it feels too much too soon.
“I never thought I’d be swept away by a boy from California that I just met,” I murmur, keeping my voice low in hopes that he doesn’t hear the truth behind my words.
When I feel his lips touch the top of my head, my entire body covers itself in goose bumps and a shiver runs up my spine. Elliot pulls me closer, wrapping his free arm around my body. There is something far more intimate in his kiss than if we had kissed each other, than if we had had sex. It’s almost a declaration of his true feelings, of the person I realize he is. I trust him completely.
“What will you write about?” Elliot asks, his hand now stroking up and down my arm.
“I don’t know, but I feel like it’s what I’m meant to do.”
Elliot doesn’t respond immediately, but a few seconds later he asks if I have a pen. I pull one from my purse and hand it to him. He slips out from under my body, sitting up next to me; he takes my arm in his hand. His fingers are warm against my skin, his touch light, as I watch him pull the pen cap off with his teeth and drop it off to the side. He straightens my arm out, resting it on his lap; he begins to write on my forearm.
“Just in case you ever forget why you wanted to be a writer,” he says and kisses me softly on the lips.
I’ve been kissed before, hell I’ve even had sex before, but none of those times ever ignited sparks in me like the touch of Elliot’s lips to mine. And when I read what he’s written on my arm, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk away from him.