The Truth About That Summer

forty

"Depends." I twirl my hair around my finger. "Do you have more planned or are you taking me home?"

His eyes twinkle. "Whatever you prefer."

The eye contact is intense, the sexual tension palpable in the air between us.

"How was everything?" The waiter, a young woman in a bright yellow shirt and green baseball cap, asks, breaking our trance.

"Everything was great." I say truthfully.

And it was. Ryan is typical, but easy to talk to. He told me stories of his frat house on campus, the summer vacations he takes with his family, and the many plans he has for opening his own business.

So naive to the darkness in the world, he was refreshing to talk to for the couple of hours we spent at the burger shack.

Now the urge keeping me with him is a physical one.

"Shall we?" Ryan murmurs, pulling my chair out so that I can stand.

"Mind if I use the restroom?" I ask, hoping to double check for stray lettuce in my teeth or anything of the sort.

Ryan nods, telling me he'll wait by the car, and I scurry to the ladies room to freshen up.

Having peed, swished my mouth out, and wet wiped all private areas, I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if I'm being totally crazy.

My eyes, alight with curiosity and piqued sexual interest, still seem sad.

Shaking it away, I turn from my reflection and hurry out to Ryan's truck.

"So I was thinking, why don't we hit the beach?" Ryan offers. "Enjoy the ocean without all of the crowds?"

"Sure," I smile, staring out at the darkness around us.

This is one of my favorite times to visit the beach, the sand cool against my feet, the sky free of screeching gulls so the only sound is the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. It's perfect.

And relatively empty. A perfect place to get a little handsy.

Ryan grins back, starting the engine. His truck roars to life and he navigates through the town as though he's already familiar with its roads. I guess it's easy to be, in a town so small. He must've made good use of his vacation.

"Go straight through this intersection." I instruct, heartbeat quickening a bit.

Instead, Ryan turns his truck to the right. My heart begins to pound.

"No, you were supposed to go straight," I squirm in my seat, looking over my shoulder.

"This way's quicker," Ryan shrugs. "I checked the GPS while you were in the bathroom." He winks at me. "Private roads make great short cuts."

"No, really." I plead, a sheen of sweat forming on the back of my neck. I suck in deeply, my chest tightening the further he drives. "Please, go back."

"It's not a big deal, Dylan." Ryan laughs easily. "We'll get there faster."

I barely see it, in the distance. The bend in the road marked with a wooden cross.