Every Girl Does It

Chapter Eighteen



So, word to the wise, never say bomb. Ever. Not even as a slang word, because apparently, it's like a free ticket to jail. Which I found out the hard way, since I’m currently sitting behind the bars of a Maui airport holding cell, looking out and wondering if I’ll ever, in fact, see freedom. I mean, seriously. They didn’t go over what you could and couldn’t say on the stupid safety video on the plane. Oh sure, they tell you what to do if the plane crashes. Gee, thanks. But if the plane does, by some miracle, manage to stay in the air, you better be careful to say only kind words to other people, or else…

The office door opens, and I hear footsteps coming down the hall toward my cell. I strain against the bars in an effort to see who it is, until Preston appears with the smuggest of all smug grins on his face. Naturally, he didn’t get arrested. He was the one being threatened, and he had the foresight not to say bomb like I did. I mean, he’s not a complete idiot. Which I’m just now realizing as I see he hasn’t come to laugh at me, but to free me from my prison.

He shakes his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he walks up to the bars and chuckles. “How you get yourself in situations like this, I’ll never understand.”

“Wow. Stating the obvious. You shouldn’t have.”

“Ha ha! I love it when you get so sentimental. It warms my heart.”

“I’ll warm your heart,” I sneer.

“I’m counting on it.”

Okay, and now I’m blushing and looking away. Why is he torturing me?

“You know,” he says. “It’s only fair I keep you in here a little bit longer after all the hitting and threatening. Plus, you aren’t so good at listening when you’re busy chasing me.”

The man had a point, not that I was admitting anything in my current position.

“So, I’ve decided on a compromise.”

“How kind of you, good sir,” I say in my British accent that sounds more like Australian.

“Give me five minutes, and then I’ll free you. You can either get on a plane and never see me again, or…If you like what you hear, you can stay a few more days with me before we go back to Boise.”

It didn’t sound too bad. I mean, I can listen for five minutes if it indicates freedom. All I truly want to do is break through these metal bars superman style, but I’m pretty sure any effort to escape is frowned upon in these cases. So I'll resign myself to the only choice I actually have.

“Deal.” I sit by the nearest wall and cross my legs. The metal bench might have been a good way to escape, minus the fact it’s literally chained to the wall.

“Good,” he says, then he starts to pace in front of my cell. Wow. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear come out of my own mouth. Awesome.

“Clock's ticking, buddy,” I say impatiently. Immediately I realize the irony and hope he didn't catch it. No such luck.

“Oh, pardon me. Do you have somewhere you need to be?” he asks, mocking me.

“Fine, sorry,” I mutter.

“Even though you’ve insulted me gravely, tried to maim and sometimes kill me, I find that I’ve fallen for you.” He looks up to meet my eyes with an intense gaze of his own, which sends my heart fluttering like it did during our first kiss. “You’re aggravating, insulting, brave, hilarious, menacing, and well, a little insane.”

“Point taken.”

“But,” he says holding up his finger. “You’re adventurous, loving, outgoing, caring, and hilarious. I mean, you’re in jail and all, because you threatened to kill me for lying to you. Talk about keeping a guy accountable. I think about the adventures we’ve had over the past four days, and I can’t imagine having a normal day ever again as long as I know you.”

I’m trying to decide if he’s insulting me or complimenting me. Either way, the fluttering is back, and all I want to do is kiss him. I want to kiss him because nobody has ever made me so angry and so happy all at once. The feelings are intoxicating, choking out any previous desire to maim him.

“So…” He looks so adorable and innocent. “Angelina,” he laughs. “What do you think?”

Darn, I thought for sure he was going to propose. But then again, it would be awkward telling all my church friends my future husband and I got engaged in a Maui prison. Then again those who know me well would just be like, “Oh right, okay. That makes sense.”

“I think…I want to stay,” I find myself saying, and I actually mean it. I want to stay and I want to be with him forever. Only he already knows I’m in love with him on account of my incessant blabbing earlier this week when I thought he was leaving me. Perfect. How romantic of me.

"Great!" he says, clapping his hands together. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Oh my gosh. He loves me so much. I could tell by the way he was hoping I’d stay. I mean, come on—

"It would have been super expensive to reschedule our plane tickets for today," he says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Wow, you’re the epitome of romance," I snarl at him, not realizing I have no room to talk, considering I somehow got myself arrested. But let’s review, it really wasn't my fault. Just saying.

"Amanda, you’re going to have to improve your attitude if you want me to spring you from this place," he teases, motioning for the officer to unlock the doors.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry, are you threatening me?" I ask, smiling innocently on the outside but sweating on the inside. You know, if that was like...possible.

"Pretty sure if I threaten you, I’ll somehow offend you again, leaving you no choice but to take it further. Because, let’s face it, that’s just what you do. And somehow I feel we would, yet again, find ourselves in a prison, or getting kicked off a plane, or out of the country," he says, looking up as if that was inevitable if he chooses a life with me.

"Yeah, I get it," I snap, cutting him off and sticking my tongue out at him again.

The guard shakes his head, then opens the gate. "I'm free, I'm free!" I yell throwing my hands into the air. The problem with flailing like that is I wasn't totally aware of the close proximity of the guard. So, naturally, I knocked him square in the face. His nose only bled for like five seconds, but it’s enough for Preston to shoot me a pensive if-you-get-yourself-thrown-back into-jail-I’m-not-getting-you-out glare. I apologize several times before Preston has to physically lift me off the floor and carry me out. Again, so romantic. I punch him while he’s carrying me, but it’s no use. The man is solid, and I’m a pesky little girl fighting her way through pounds of muscle.

"Oh, wow, did you tucker out already?" He teases as he puts me down on my feet.

"I'm not a child," I say loudly enough for a little boy and his mom to stare, then walk away fast. The mother also had her hands over the kid’s eyes. Please, like I’m more indecent than TV.

I lift my hand in protest, getting ready to argue my point to the hovering mother, when Preston puts his hand over my mouth.

"No."

"But," I argue.

"No."

"But," I say again. I mean, come on, at least let me explain myself.

Instead, he gives me one of Kristin’s famous glares. I roll my eyes and grab his hand. "Where are we off to? The hotel? The beach? Food? OOOO let’s get food!" I yell rather loudly. Apparently being locked up in a prison makes you want to yell. I wonder if this is how people feel when they spend the night in jail, like their whole lives have a renwed purpose. Well, actually, I don’t have any new visions of the future. I just find prison makes my stomach feel empty.

Preston, still staring at me, smiles widely before answering, "I think it's best we go to the hotel to get you cleaned up, and possibly have a late, late, late dinner, considering it’s around nine already."

"Oh, wow. It is late. Weird. I thought I’d been in there a whole day," I say dramatically shaking my head.

"Please, Amanda. It was like ten minutes, and it was only that long because I had to explain to them exactly why you were making death threats toward me."

I nodded my head in understanding, but couldn't hold back the laughter.

"Most interesting vacation ever?" I ask meeting his green eyes in amusement.

"Definitely," he says, stopping in the middle of the street.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Kissing you."

Before I know it, he’s pushing my hair behind my ear and leaning down to my lips. I close my eyes just as he gently touches them with his own, then wrap my hands around his neck. I’m just getting used to the way it feels when he pushes me away and continues walking. A sinking feeling develops in the pit of my stomach. I can’t help it. I mean, most of the kisses we’ve shared had been in anger, frustration, or just plain passion. This was a good kiss, but it was our first honest kiss, and I feel like I somehow messed it up. We hold hands all the way back to the hut. I watch him pour me some POG juice and take a giant sip before slipping into my room to freshen up. I come back from the bathroom and notice a note on my bed. Meet me here. It was the beach; he wanted me to meet him at the beach?

I start sweating as I realize what this could mean. He's either leaving me, proposing, or playing a trick on me? Which one is it? I quickly get ready then run down to the beach, forgetting my room card in the process. I skip down to where he’s pointing and am stopped by Preston himself. He smiles and blindfolds me, then carries me—yes, carries me to the sand, and puts me on a blanket. Let’s face it, he’s romantic. I’m smiling so big, if there were bugs in the air, they’d be stuck in my teeth. I mean, I’m elated. I wait for him to take off my blindfold, but instead of taking it off, he leans in close. I can tell because I feel his breath on my face. My heart suddenly starts fluttering, as I feel his lips touch mine. Wait, how is this fair? I’m blindfolded. Well, actually it does kind of make sense. I mean, people close their eyes when they kiss. Then a thought hits me. What if I’m the freaky girl who opens her eyes when she kisses, and he can't stand it, so he had to blindfold me! Oh my gosh, that’s why! I immediately panic, making my kissing worse, considering I can't catch my breath. Only he takes it as an invitation to kiss me harder, making me more nervous, and well, that’s when I make some sort of whimpering noise as if he’s biting me. He stops and laughs, then begins talking.

"I love you... so much. I want to be the one." He stops talking then takes my hands in his. His hands feel a little clammy like he’s nervous. My stomach does somersaults while I wait for him to say more. "But–” He just said but. This is it. Is he already breaking up with me? I can’t be that bad. I can change.

"I won’t open my eyes anymore," I blurt out before thinking, and then silence.

I wait and wait some more before he asks, "What?"

I then proceed to explain to him my theory until I hear him rumbling with laughter. "So not where I was going with that, but good to know you have that particular insecurity," he answers, still laughing.

I’m most likely red, why can't I ever stop talking? Why must I even speak. It would have been better for me to be mute.

"You were saying..." I urge him along.

"I was saying," he says, taking my cue. "That I love you. I can't imagine not being with you, even if you are bordering on insanity most days."

"And those are the good days," I interrupt jokingly.

"Sadly, I know," he says laughing. "But I also want you to know I’d never ask for forever if I didn’t do it the right way first, and since your dad is no longer here, I thought the only way to prove to you that I want to honor him first, was to do this."

He pulls off my blind fold. Directly in front of me is a sandcastle. I can tell he used buckets because you can still see their indentations on the castle tops, but it's perfect. He's perfect. I start to cry, and he pulls me into his arms.

"I think he would've liked me," Preston says, smiling, as I continue to cry. I nod my head in agreement, because the words won't come. "Anyway, I want to start a new tradition with you. We build sandcastles together now. Is that okay? I want to be the missing piece. Amanda,, I want you forever."

I look at him dumbstruck. The guy was basically proposing, and he built me a sandcastle! I know, for some girls it’s a little cheesy, but for me…well, it's perfect. I don't even know how to respond. So in pure Amanda fashion, I tackle him, knocking him over in the process, and kiss him passionately with my wet tears. He answers my kisses with a few of his own before pulling me into a hug.

"Forever," I say shyly.

"Maybe," he answers smugly then laughs and tries to grab my hand. I glare at him as he starts to run away. I hold out my foot and see him trip while I suppress the snickering.. Aggravating man.