“Sex,” he said, at once.
I laughed, even as my body overheated.
“Well, you’ll have to take a rain check: we haven’t booked that room for the night yet. And I’ve warned you what will happen if you get arrested.”
He smirked at me.
“You owe me a lot of rain checks, Caro. I’m going to enjoy cashing them in.”
He didn’t bother using the towel when he changed into his board shorts: he just dropped his pants and briefs right out there in the open.
“Sebastian!” I muttered, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.
He’d already pulled on the garish board shorts by the time my eyes flickered back to him. He laughed at my surprised expression.
“Years of practice changing out of my wetsuit in windswept parking lots along Sunset Cliffs, Caro,” he said. “I’ll show you how quick I can get out of my clothes now if you like?”
“Go. Surf.”
“Here – look after these for me.”
He pulled off his dog tags and placed them around my neck, where the small metal tags nestled between my breasts. He stood back for a moment.
“Those look hot on you, Caro. Really fucking hot.”
Then he scooped me up in a ridiculous Hollywood kiss, dipping me so low, my hair was touching the sand, then he put me back on my feet. I was still off balance as he ran down to the water.
I loved to watch him surf: it brought back many good memories of our time in San Diego. There had been too few from that turbulent summer, but being on the beach with Sebastian, watching him in the waves, those had been happy times. He was so graceful out there, charging down the glassy, green surfaces; diving through the foam.
I’d taken my camera with me, so I zoomed in and snapped some photographs of Sebastian surfing. I had a pretty decent lens, and I got some really good close-ups of him in action.
Hmm, photographs of Sebastian in action, now there was a thought to warm a cold winter night.
I lay back on our beach towel, relaxed and filled with a quiet happiness. Once again my life had swung across the pendulum from bitterness and despair to an overwhelming sense of love and being loved. And this time I would allow myself to believe in it.
The warmth of the sun was pleasant, adding to my sense of peaceful well-being. It wasn’t really hot, maybe a balmy 68oF or 69oF. Enough to be relaxing: not enough to worry about getting burned.
Suddenly I realized someone was standing over me.
“Buon giorno!”
An attractive man about my own age was smiling down at me.
“Ciao?” I replied.
I sat up, wondering what he wanted.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said, in Italian.
“Yes,” I agreed, rather puzzled.
“It looks like you’re enjoying the sun.”
Oh crap! He was hitting on me. Was he hitting on me?
“Um, yes. It’s very pleasant.”
“Are you here on vacation?”
“Yes, we are,” I replied with the faintest emphasis on the plural.
“Ah,” he said, looking around him for my absent companion.
“My boyfriend is surfing,” I explained, with a small smile.
“Then he will be having some good rides,” replied my new friend, who then winked at me and ambled away.
I could see Sebastian jogging up the beach to join me.
“What did he want?” he said, looking none too pleased.
“Don’t blame me, Chief,” I said, raising one eyebrow, “You’re the one who bought this itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini for me. Anyway, I told him my boyfriend was surfing, so you don’t need to worry.”
Sebastian scowled.
Oh boy, talk about double standards.
“Did you have fun?” I said, trying not to laugh at him.
“Yeah,” he agreed, looking in the direction where my ‘friend’ had vanished, “not bad. Got some good rides.”
“I know, I was watching.” I pointed to the camera, “I got some great shots, too.”