A pleasant warmth spreads through my chest. ?e water’s re ection shimmers on the sharp lines of his cheekbones as he holds my face in both hands and bends his head to kiss me, softly, delicately, like I’m something special that deserves to be honored.
But the thing he doesn’t know, the thing that shocks even me, is that I’m not the gentle guardian spirit; I’m the hungry shark. And I fear his arm won’t be enough. I want all of him.
“You’re sweet, and sexy, and completely hot for me.”
—Heath Ledger, 10 ?ings I Hate About You (1999)
19
If I was worried about dying from not kissing before, now the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction. We de nitely overdid it. I got home well before curfew, at eleven, but by then, Porter and I had time to eat dinner in Monterey at a cool restaurant that served a raw ahi tuna salad from Hawaii called poke—so good—and lots more time to park at Lovers Point Park and watch the sunset behind the cypress trees as the waves crashed over the beach.
Or, in our case, not watch the sunset. Which is what we ended up doing. A lot.
And now my dress is covered in grass stains, and because of Porter’s stupid sexy scruff, my face looks red and swollen, as if I got attacked by a swarm of angry bees. And did he really give me three hickeys on my neck? THREE? He swore it was an accident, and that I’m “too white” and bruise too easily. At rst I got a little offended by this, but maybe it could be true, because I don’t remember any Hoover-like suction happening during the proceedings. And he did apologize a million times… .
?en again, I was pretty distracted, because we were lying in the grass on an elevated area above the beach, and he was pressed against me and it was delightful. I mean, nothing serious happened, really. Mostly just a lot of touching that didn’t stray to any untoward areas, unless my hips and side boobs count. (?ey don’t, in my opinion, but it was nice. Very nice.) But there was a lot of heavy breathing, and we both agreed once again that we are compatible arguers and kissers. And when he dropped me off at the surf shop, he tapped his temple and told me, “Today is moving up in the brain bank as best day in recent memory.”
In my own brain bank, my Artful Dodger eyes turned into cartoon hearts that pinwheeled.
But things got a little tricky after that.
“What in the name of planet Earth happened to you?” my dad said when I walked in the door, looking at my unholy, bedraggled state.
“Grace and I were goo ng around outside in the grass,” I said. “Just wrestling and stuff with some other people from work. No big deal.”
He made a face. “Wrestling?”
Yeah. ?at sounded like me, all right. I mentally cringed.
“What happened to your mouth?” he asked. He looked appalled and concerned, like I was contagious, and held the sides of my head while he inspected me, lest he catch it too. “Did you get into poison oak or something?”
“Uh, maybe?”
“Should I get some oatmeal? I don’t have any calamine lotion. Should I go to the twenty-four-hour drugstore?”
I was pretty much horri ed at this point. “I’m sure I’ll be ne. Just a mild burn or something.”
My dad narrowed his eyes at me. His gaze wandered lower. Don’t look at my neck, don’t look at my neck, don’t—
Uh-oh.
Now we were both horri ed. He released my head. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Yep-yep-yep, so sure,” I said.
“Did you nd your lm-fanatic guy? What’s his name, Alex?”
I made a face, because just the mention of his name stings. “I’m not speaking to him at the moment. I think he’s got a girlfriend now, because he blew me off. And no, I haven’t found him yet.”
“Bailey—”
“Dad, just … please don’t.”
“Let me say this, okay?” he said, suddenly irritated, which is really unlike him, so it took me aback. And it took him a moment to calm down enough to nish. But when he spoke again, he was serious and eerily fatherly. “You have grown into a beautiful young lady, and people are going to take notice of that, which I don’t particularly relish.”
Oh, brother.
He raised a hand. “But I accept it. However, what I want to talk about is you. Because the thing is, Mink, sometimes when traumatic things happen to people, they retreat until they feel comfortable. Which is okay. But when they’re nally ready to step back into the world, they can be overcon dent and make mistakes. Which is not okay. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
