Currents

Twenty-six ~ Date

Twenty-six ~ Date

When I finally slept later that night, dreams of Brent tortured me—our kisses turning into touches, turning into mind-blowing sex... 

I woke up flustered and distressed but unable to work out why. Nothing suggested that things between us would be awkward, but I couldn't help worrying that our connection would disintegrate again in the harsh light of day, and that the kisses had only represented a spur-of-the-moment urge that needed fulfilling at the time.

I'd learned not to run from my problems, though, and made a not-so-subtle suggestion to Mia that we should nurse our hangovers on the beach. Much like rip currents, you can't fight against nagging worries—not without getting sucked under, anyway.

Brent was visible on top of his chair when we settled down on our towels, the warmth of the sand seeping through the fabric. It was only half past ten, but the sun already sat high in the sky, threatening to set me back a few days of crucial tanning time.

As it happened, I'd only been sunbathing for five minutes when a shadow fell over me, blocking out the rays and plunging me into the shade.

"Mind if we have a chat, Rosalie?" Brent asked, not bothering to hide his candidness in the presence of Mia.

Used to his abrasive attitude, she didn't flinch, but smiled for me to go ahead.

I scrambled to my feet to follow Brent, who was already halfway towards his beach hut, and then swept up my kaftan at the last moment, deciding that wearing a bikini in front of him wasn't the best choice given recent events. 

As I trudged through the hot sand, I pulled the flimsy, sheer material over my head and smoothed it down over my body, tugging at the hem as if that would make it reach further down my thighs.

When I got into the hut, Brent was leaning against the rickety wooden table with his arms folded.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

He allowed his arms to extend down his sides, balling his fists as he straightened up and freed himself from the support of the table.

"Yeah. Just wanted to check you were okay, too."

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Definitely, although I'll admit last night opened a whole can of worms that I'd been trying to... keep in the can."

His eyes, coincidentally or not, chose that moment to flicker over my body. While only a fleeting glance, I was on high alert, already self-conscious of my revealing kaftan. Brent wasn't covered up, sporting his standard pair of red shorts and nothing else, his golden-brown chest in all its glory, the light reflecting off the surface of his skin which glistened with sun cream, or water, or...

"I've been thinking..." he said, clearing his throat. "There's no happy medium with us. I started off resenting you, and when I felt myself growing fond of you, I tried to convince myself I still hated you. The prospect of liking you was so scary that I kept it up. And now I've let go of it. And instead I've got all these emotions I've not experienced in years, if ever, and I don't know how to deal with them."

I absorbed his words, not knowing how to respond. He seemed to have a lot he needed to get off his chest so, for once, I remained silent for him to take the lead.

"And I feel that way physically, too," he said. "It's all or nothing. Temptation got the better of me by the dune that day. I just don't know where to draw the line."

"Because I'll be going back to England in a few weeks?"

I glanced up at him and he raised one shoulder to shrug. I took that as confirmation.