To him, she was another diversion. A petite, almond-eyed conquest with an accent he couldn’t place. She told him her family was from Egypt, which he didn’t entirely believe.
The pier was closed past sunset, he held up the corner of a cut fence to let her through before he hopped it. His scuffed shoes hit the sand and she laughed a little when he stumbled. He recovered with a rakish smile and offered his hand.
Despite herself, she was impressed. He was the bad boy of every teenager’s dream. Illicit but ultimately harmless, danger without violence, intoxication without addiction. It was rare to meet such a perfectly cultivated personality.
She took his hand and they started walking towards the dark water and the silhouette of the aging pier.”You visit here a lot?” She asked.
He did, when he was in this city at least. There were many ways to get past the gate and the girls he brought always thought it was romantic. She didn’t need him to answer. Instead she spoke the words he wanted to hear. “It is very romantic.”
“Is it?”His crooked smile made his looks less classic, but more handsome. A bit of dark blond hair flopped in front of his eyes as he leaned down to her, stealing a deep quick kiss. “I just like the ocean.”
She rolled her eyes, but enjoyed the buzz his mouth had left on hers.They traveled across the beach until they walked the damp wood of the pier. He spoke easily, full of light stories of himself and the people he knew. She listened, content to breath in the compelling lies and the scent of brine.
Sensing his audience was elsewhere, he drew her back with his arms. She let him, he was warm and smelled like old cotton.
“You’re very mysterious you know.” He said. He thought she’d like the description. But she knew it would be one of the words he’d use later when bragging of this conquest. Mysterious, striking, exotic.
“Everyone has secrets.” With her arms around his shoulders, she ran the tip of her finger over the collar of his shirt. The fabric was worn in from many washings. This was his second favorite shirt, he’d had it since Memphis when it had been someone else’s.
“Not me.” He delivered the words without thinking, as if he believed them.
She didn’t believe him. Not for a moment, but she didn’t care either. She wasn’t here for his secrets. “That’s a lie, but let’s stop talking.” Then she kissed him.
This week I stole ‘a secret’ from More Than 1/2 Mad, though for what purpose I cannot say anymore.