“I’mnotan artist. I’m a teaching fellow,” I tell him. “Or, I was.”
“Right. The dreaded suspension.”
I groan. That’s one tidbit from our day at the beach I wish hehadforgotten.
“Are you happy there?” he asks. “With your fellowship?”
I screw up my face.
“It’s one of the most competitive programs in the country,” I tell him.
Caleb laughs, and I visually trace the lines of his Adam’s apple as he cocks his head back.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I open my mouth to answer back, but realize I’m not sure what to say. Do I…likeit? It’s what I’ve built my whole life around. It’s all I’ve worked towards since I was twenty-one years old. I don’t know how to be anything without my work. When did I last stop to consider if I actually enjoy it?
“Before you start lecturing me about following my bliss, or whatever,” I protest, “Idon’thate my job. I’m just going through a rough patch. I know you’re madly in love with the sea, but not all of us have the luxury of getting paid to follow our dreams.”
“Relax, Olsen,” Caleb chuckles. “I didn’t say any of those things.”
“Ya, well. You insinuated them.”
Caleb groans.
“Are you always this defensive?” he asks.
Yes.
“All I meant was that I think it’s a shame you don’t get to focus on your art when you’re clearly so talented.”
I look back at him, hoping he can’t see me blush in the half-darkness. I don’t have any bratty response for that. If he can still compliment me after I drew him as an angry troll, maybe I’m not as rusty as I thought.
Caleb and I don’t speak for a while after that, and all I can hear is the gentle whoosh of his paddle in the sea. But he’s moving us faster than three of me put together. There’s something about the way the kayak’s nose splits the black water so effortlessly that tells me its more than just strength. I saw it the first time we swam together in the way he dove down and disappeared beneath the ridge of honeymoon reef. It’s like the tides part for him. Caleb understands the water the way I understand paper and charcoal. I can practically taste the salt running through his veins.
Great. Now I’m thinking about tasting Caleb.
Two rocks on either side of us appear as if from nothing and my hands tighten on the edges. For a moment, I think we’re about to slam straight into them.
“Head down,” Caleb tells me, and I bend as far as I can into the kayak. There’s an opening I didn’t see—a hole in the rocks just big enough for us to glide through. When we come out the other side, we’re alone in a small lagoon surrounded by craggy, algae-slicked rocks. I look around. I don’t see another way out.
Ok, I’mdefinitelygoing to get murdered.
“Ca—“ I start to say, but I lose my train of thought as I turn back to him. Scratch that—the train isobliterated.Caleb’s arms are above his head, his muscles flexed as he lifts his shirt off of him and drops it into the kayak. It’s everything I do to keep my jaw from literally falling open as I take in the length of his half-naked form in the dusky moonlight.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and it takes all of my concentration to make sure the words come out in actual English.
“Taking off my shirt. You can go in with your clothes on if you like, but it’ll be a chilly ride back.”
“Goin?”I ask incredulously. “There’s no way I’m swimming at night! You promised no sharks!”
“Sharks are crepuscular.”
“Cre-what now?”
“They hunt mainly at dawn and dusk. Besides, you’re a pro now! What are the chances of running into a tiger twice?”
Higher than the chances of letting Caleb see me soaking wet in a sheer white bra.
