After so long of dreaming about it, it should have been a disappointment. His expectations, never reined in, had climbed so high that reality should not have been able to live up to the moment. The mind got carried away and life’s job was to show it how things really were. Dave knew that’s how these things often went for romantics. People longed for something for years, and when they got it, they couldn’t help but feel cheated.
This wasn’t like that at all. Kissing Julia was exactly as great as kissing Julia should have been. Their mouths fit each other. He couldn’t think of it any other way. It wasn’t all that long of a kiss, and the world didn’t go into slow motion or anything like that. He felt her lips, the sweet tea on her breath, a quick flick of their tongues meeting. They pulled away rather quickly, though their hands remained on each other, their sides pressed together, the cheap towel slipping down from around Julia’s shoulder just an inch.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Dave said, unable to keep himself from whispering.
“Really?”
“Years,” Dave said, nodding, leaning in for a repeat.
The second kiss was longer, hungrier. Julia turned herself over and sat on his lap, wrapping them both up inside the towel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I’m dumb.” He kissed her again, one hand on the side of her face, the other holding the towel up around them. The fire had dwindled down, and he grabbed one of the last remaining logs and tossed it at Julia’s impromptu pit, not wanting the whole thing to turn to ash. It had already been one of those nights that felt significant even before the kissing—the drive, the concert, this perfectly isolated beach—and he didn’t want it to end. He wished they’d bought more firewood. “I can’t believe we could have been doing this the whole time.”
Julia laughed through her kisses, as if she didn’t want to pull away from his lips for even a second. “I guess we have to make up for lost time.”
She laid herself heavy against him until he was lying down on the sand, the weight of her a wonder. It was strange that of all the things he could be marveling at, Julia’s hair falling across his face, her lips on his, the sheer nakedness of her as the towel slipped away, it was weight that he was focusing on. She raised herself slightly to kiss his neck and he instantly pulled her closer, wanting the weight of her to remain.
“Easy, Dave. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” he said. “You just feel great.”
“I hate to be crass, but I bet I can make you feel better.”
“You do not hate to be crass,” Dave said, laughing a little and brushing the hair away from her face—uselessly, since it only fell back down.
“True. I’d much rather be crass than touchy about this.”
“About what?”
“Boning my best friend on a beach,” she said, grabbing his hands and holding them down, smirking even as she moved to kiss him again, to more than kiss him.
When the moon had turned into something a little less spectacular, a little more itself, Julia and Dave were lying together on the towel, the last of the logs dropped into the fire along with the skewers, the charred remains of marshmallows that hadn’t made it into s’mores. Sand was absolutely everywhere.
“This is such a cliché,” Dave said, offering dozens of little pecks all over her face, beneath her ears, those three freckles on her neck, which he could have devoted his attention to for the rest of the night.
“What is?” Julia’s eyes were closed, her arms on his bare back.
“Sex on a beach.” He kissed his way across her throat, down to her collarbone. “The fire, the moon. Virginities lost amidst romance. We are so cheesy.”
She pulled him up and kissed him firmly, wrapping her legs around his, pulling him as close as they could get. “No complaints here.”