The Girl Who Read [And the Boy Who Kissed Her]

c h a p t e r 5 ; nearly drowning and blue ear buds

CHAPTER FIVE, The Girl Who Read [And The Boy Who Kissed Her]: nearly drowning and blue ear buds

       ❝You love me. Real or not real?
                I tell him, Real.❞

                       ― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

        Spencer had officially decided that Skylar was the creative one in their 'relationship'.

        Spencer could not come up with a single idea.

        Dancing in a diner (and eat ice cream), check. Stargaze, done that. Throw rocks at window, yep. Send a message in a bottle, old news. Twenty one questions, yawn.

        Spencer decided on one of the less creative ideas they had not yet completely indulged in, being the ocean. Otherwise known as: the beach. It was confirmed ten minutes later.

        They were to meet at Aggelos Beach, about a half hour's drive. The beautiful, rolling, deep blue waters crashed against the sand and rocks with a mesmerizing sound. Giant rainbow, polka-dotted, striped, and multi-colored umbrellas were scattered among the beach folk, kids frolicking in the waves waving plastic shovels and passing beach balls.

        He had arrived first, a couple minutes early, and patiently camped out in the back of his truck, waiting for the camouflage jeep to pull up.

        They had come to ignore the game of more-than-twenty questions that occurred in his bedroom, but he could tell even though he apologized, something was off between the two of them.

        Her car suddenly swerved into the parking lot, and he smiled. He had almost been afraid he had been stood up. Almost.

        In his navy blue swim trunks with little black fishies on them, a towel slung over his shoulder and a picnic basket in hand, he set out to her car.

        And stopped as soon as she stepped out of the jeep.

        She was sexy as hell. Wearing a ruby red bikini, her long golden hair whipping around in the slight breeze, her legs looking a mile long, even though she was only five feet five inches, about. He could see every male's eyes on her (a few females, too) and he wanted to grab her hand and yank her away from all the stares she was receiving. Only he should be allowed to stare at her like that.

        No. Bad Spencer.

        She opened the trunk and bent to grab something in the back of it. He was too busy with a growing problem to notice what she took, shifting his towel to cover his certain do-whop.

        Running a hand through his unruly, light brown hair, he took a deep breath.

        She turned around, carrying a bright yellow tote bag in one hand, and an iced coffee in the other.

        Her eyes met his and he gave her a sad smile, biting his lip and looking away towards the magnificent and enticing tide in the distance. He saw out of the corner of his eye that she was gawking at his broad chest, her eyes dancing across his abs. He saw her eyes widen when she realized his dilemma.

        His face was brighter than a firetruck. He shifted awkwardly. "Shall we...?"

        She blushed, a cute, pink tinge blossoming on her freckly cheeks and replied softly, "All right."