I turn so I can see Olivia’s face in profile, the ski slope of her nose, the sharp bones of her shoulders, her cartoonish eyelashes lengthening up to the sky.
“What?” Olivia asks, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I can feel you looking at me.”
“Sorry.” I look down at my feet, bury my toes in the sand as heat spreads in my cheeks. “Ethan and I broke up.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I think everyone does.”
“It happened like two days ago.”
Olivia bursts out laughing, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she rests a hand on her chest. “No one keeps secrets here. You should know that.”
“Nuh-uh. I didn’t know about that stupid postcard for years.”
I sneak a glance at her to see her head tilting straight up, but then she licks her lips and says, “Is that why? Because of the postcard?”
“No,” I say. “Well. Yes…and no. It’s complicated.”
“Everything is.”
We’re both quiet, and for a moment I worry I’ve said too much, but then she speaks. “You can say it, you know. For real. We can stop tiptoeing around it.”
My mouth is dry, and I force myself not to look at her, because ifI do, I might give in to the magnetic pull toward her. There’s a force pushing through the surface of my chest, like it wants to elbow its way through my ribs. I wonder if this is an admission that she feels it, too. I could play dumb, but I don’t want to do things like that anymore. I want to be honest and open and accept whatever feelings are tangled in my stomach—and thenacton them. I’m sick of doing what I’m supposed to do, worrying about everyone else’s feelings.
I only want to worry about mine.
But before I can speak, she lies back down and rolls over to one side so she’s resting her head in her hand, propped up on her elbow. Her eyes are on me, traveling my body, but I force myself to stay still, to not make eye contact for fear of doingsomethingwithout warning, for fear of my body—my want—taking over. Though maybe that’s not a bad thing.
“I think I still have feelings for you.” There’s a hitch in her voice, a softening.
Slowly, I roll over to face her, and my breath catches when I see her front teeth resting on her bottom lip, a desperation in her eye as she looks right at me. Our noses are only a few centimeters apart, and I force myself not to move, to try to remember this moment and how my chest aches so acutely it might break open right here on this beach.
All the questions about Billy and Mr.Godwin slip out of my head like they were never there at all. The moment is weighty, heavy, and there’s heat between my thighs I can’t ignore.
“I think I do, too.” The words come out fast and slippery, but once I see her eyes blink wide, I can’t stop them. I don’t want to. I want to tell hereverything, lay myself bare, because for the first timeall summer, I feel like I can trust her, like whatever I say in front of her will be therightthing.
“I never stopped wondering what happened to us.” I press my lips together, the words hanging between us. “I loved Ethan. I did. I do…but you were a question mark.” I shake my head. “I’m not saying it right. I don’t even knowwhatI’m saying.”
Olivia’s chest rises and falls, each breath bringing us closer, and her fingers reach for mine, hold them tightly. My limbs are made of live wires, like every touch is a spark, an explosion.
“Here we are,” Olivia says. “Back on Pelican Island, back on the beach.”
“Here we are,” I say, repeating her words.
Olivia’s eyes drop to my lips, and a thrill rumbles through my core. Heat blooms in my chest, at my very center. I want to taste her, to slide my fingers through her hair and feel how soft it is.
Together, we’re quiet for a moment, taking each other in. I focus on the apples of her cheeks, the smooth expanse of her neck, the bare pink skin along her shoulders. Blood pulses in my stomach, my wrists, my need growing with every thump.
“I want to kiss you,” I whisper, the words slipping out into the night.
Olivia raises her hand and places it on my cheek. Her fingers are cold, but I don’t flinch. I want them to travel over me, and like she reads my mind, Olivia palms my neck, the top of my chest, where goose pimples rise under her touch. And still, I want more. I want her fingers to roam, to find the very center of me and press. I inch closer to her, moving my face toward hers, and finally, Olivia hovers her mouth above mine, and then we meet—a kiss, a flower, a rolling wave of seawater, salty and delicious and wholly new yetjust as I remember. Kissing her is like finding my favorite T-shirt, hidden in my closet, like eating a warm bagel from thegoodplace on Main, like diving into the ocean headfirst at the beginning of the summer. A familiar revelation. A wakened memory.
I rest my hand on Olivia’s thigh, my fingers slipping under the fold of her shorts, grazing her skin, all of it somuch, so unbelievable, so charged, that in that moment, I forget I’ve ever kissed anyone else before, that there are mouths that belong to other people, other bodies. All the desire that had come before was nothing compared to what I’m experiencing in this exact moment, and based on the way Olivia kisses me back—the hunger, the need, the tender little noises slipping between my lips—Olivia feels the same.
“Whoa,” Olivia says, blinking open her eyes. There is nothing else to say. Only another kiss, another flame, another rolling wave that has nowhere to go but back to shore.
