Beachwood Bay 04 - Untamed Hearts

what to say now, or how to bridge this divide.
    Suddenly, out of nowhere, Hunter turns to me with a wide grin. “ I don’t think we’ve met,” he says, sticking out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Bob. Bob Smith.”
    I giggle in surprise. “Bob?” I ask, taken aback.
    “Sure,” Hunter keeps his hand out. “And you are...?”
    I study him cautiously for a moment, not sure where this is coming from--or going. Then I see: he feels it too. The weird distance; the undeniable connection. This is his way of saying we can be anyone we want tonight, just between us.
    He’s wiping the slate clean.
    “I’m Susie,” I say, smiling shyly, reaching to shake his hand. The touch sends a shiver rolling right through me, and Hunter looks startled for a second, like he didn’t expect me to play along. Then he recovers.
    “A pleasure to meet you, Susie.”
    There’s a pause. My heart is racing in my chest, and I know it’s my move. My turn to put myself on the line.
    This is your last chance. A voice whispers. The last night of summer. What are you going to do about it?
    I steel myself and hear myself asking. “You busy, Bob?”
    Hunter shakes his head.
    “Come on,” I gather every last ounce of courage and hold out my hand to him. “There’s some place I want to show you.”

I follow beside her, about mile along the shoreline, and with every step, my heartbeat races faster, until I feel like I’m standing on a ledge, about to hurl myself off into the unknown.
    Brit doesn’t look at me. She’s wrapped up in my too-big sweater, eyes fixed ahead of us on the moon-lit beach. I can’t stop myself sneaking looks at her, mesmerized by her nearness. God, she looks beautiful, all that tough-girl attitude stripped away so there’s nothing but vulnerability and nerves on her face. Whatever I’m feeling, the panic, the anticipation, I somehow know, she feels it, too.
    I taste a rush of fierce possession so strong, it takes me by surprise.
    I want to see her in that hoodie tomorrow morning; next week; always. I want to feel her below me in my bed; wake up gazing into those dark, haunted eyes.
    I want all of her, forever.
    Easy, boy. I force myself back to reality. You don’t even know where she’s taking you. After that scene at the party, kissing you might be the last thing on her mind.
    I take a breath, trying to stay in control. She’s just a girl, I tell myself. But the words have barely formed in my mind when I’m struck with how ridiculous it sounds.
    Even now, I know. Brittany Ray will never be just some girl to me.
    I reach out and take her hand.
    Brit flinches at my touch, tripping on the rocky shore. Damn. I quickly pull her up before she falls.
    “I got you,” I say, self-conscious. I should let go, I know, but my hand has a life of its own: it closes around hers, lacing my fingers through hers.
    “Thanks,” she whispers. She glances over at me shyly, and I catch her eyes, struck dumb all over again just at the sight of her.
    I feel like a kid again, like I’ve never even held a girl’s hand. My heartbeat is skittering, my whole body feels alive with panic, but still, there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. The beach is empty, we’re all alone. Just for a moment, she’s mine.
    I smile at her, so full of gladness just to be here with her. Brit stares back, like a deer in the headlights, but she doesn’t let go of my hand.
    Thank God she doesn’t let go.
    I clear my throat, awkward. “So, Susie, tell me about yourself,” I say, trying to sound casual. “What brings you to Beachwood Bay?”
    “I’m just passing through.” Brit replies slowly “I’m… really from the city. My parents have a place there. I’m starting fashion school soon.”
    I turn in surprise. “Oh yeah?” Fashion school. I should have guessed. She’s always wearing these cool, unique outfits. It never occurred to me that she had made them for herself. I play along with the story she’s building. “What do your folks do?”
    “My mom’s a designer, too,” Brit replies, and I swear I hear a twist of something sad in her voice. “And my dad… he’s just a regular guy. He works in an office, but he’s always home for dinner at night.”
    “Sounds nice,” I take a long breath, just imagining that fantasy. Ordinary parents, a simple, normal life. “My parents are pretty regular too.” I say, They’re teachers. We live in the middle of the suburbs, with a dog and a minivan.”
    “What’s your