by A. M. Hooper
“I like to know my competition,” he argued.
“You mean to tell me you’re a basketball player with a head on your shoulders, eh?”
“Wow, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” He sounded offended, but his face betrayed him.
“Sorry,” I replied sheepishly. “Chase is just . . .” my voice trailed off with my growing embarrassment.
“So Chase is amazing at basketball but he’s not too smart, huh?” A devious smile showed in his face. “I thought he seemed relatively bright.” I laughed.
“You’re terrible, ya know,” I giggled. The air was silent for a moment, holding captive the tension that permeated our conversation
“That tree doesn’t look too comfortable,” Cephas observed, gesturing toward the seat next to him. My mouth twitched and I bit my bottom lip. I looked out over the lake nervously: Chase's canoe was nowhere in sight. If he saw me sitting next to another guy . . .
“It’s okay. I’m a pretty nice guy.” Cephas flashed one of his irresistible smiles. I slowly walked over to the dock, sitting cautiously at a small distance. Cephas leaned back on his hands and his muscles flexed. The white undershirt he wore clung to his biceps and hung loosely over his torso. I wondered what enticing muscles loomed beneath his shirt, then reminded myself that I had a boyfriend. He looked good, too, after all, and we had fun together. But alas, none of my coy reasoning could replace that tingling sensation ever present when I was around this somehow familiar stranger. I took a deep breath and turned toward Cephas, who was actually quite close to me. He chuckled a little.
“Relax, sweetheart. I’m not going to do anything.” I rolled my eyes. Why did all men have to be so full of themselves, acting like they knew exactly what I was thinking? He did hit it head on, I suppose.
“So,” I began, trying to clear my anxious mood. “Where do you live?”
“Are you coming over later?” he asked in a cheeky tone, a smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. His smile, or start of a smile, drove me insane. Waiting for a full smile to flash across that chiseled face was like waiting for a boy to kiss you! I decided to wipe the smirk off of his face.
“Not a chance,” I shot. It worked. The smirk moved to his eyebrows that shot up in surprise.
“Never?” he asked.
“Where did you move into?” I repeated.
“Why do you ask?”
“I just saw a light on in an old house, and I was just wondering if that was where you lived.”
“Oh, well in that case, yes. I did move into the old house.”
“All by yourself?”
“Nah. I moved out here with a distant relative. My parents died a while ago.” His eyes looked distant, and I thought I saw his chin quiver slightly.
“I’m sorry,” I answered awkwardly.
“Don’t be.” His sorrow changed to a smile. “I’ve got one relative left. And now I’ve got a friend.” He nodded toward me. I smiled and nodded my acceptance with a small laugh. “Besides, I never saw my dad much anyway.”
“Why?” I asked, amazed he was sharing so much personal information. He looked away.
“Sorry, you don’t have to expound,” I added anxiously. The ability to make people feel awkward was one of my worst, though frequently manifested, abilities. Cephas was silent for a moment.
“My dad started out poor and then became very wealthy, and he spent a lot of time making it there.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Yeah, well, I can't change where I come from, only where I go.”
“That's very philosophical,” I smiled with sarcasm. “So tell me, Cephas. Where did your name come from?”
He looked down a moment, muttering something under his breath. He looked up to the left, seemingly pondering something important. His eyes softened before he replied.
“My mom.” He paused for a moment. “She loved the bible. Cephas is basically the Greek equivalent of Peter. Except . . . well . . . she didn’t like the pronunciation with an ee sound, so she changed the double e sound to a short vowel—Ce-phas.” He raised his eyebrows toward me as his feet swung nervously over the water below. “You look like you don’t believe me,” he chuckled. I surrendered a smile.
“I don't trust anybody,” I replied. “Except for my dad, that is.”
“And why do you trust him?” he asked.
“You can always trust your dad.”
Cephas looked curiously at me again.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I asked, embarrassed but intrigued.
“I’m just trying to figure you out is all.”
“What have you got so far?” I asked, my voice slightly challenging.
“Oh, not much. I can’t put my finger on it. You don’t trust anyone, you want to go to a pretentious university, you date someone you don’t like—“
“Hey, now—” I argued. He put up the palms of his hands.
“Okay, okay. You might like your boyfriend.” A devious smile crossed his face. “But that university is definitely pretentious.”
“What else?” I asked, trying to keep a smile from my face.
“Okay,” he thought a moment. “You’re very smart and you have lots of ambition. You’re beautiful, but you don’t think so—”
I looked at the ground. I didn’t know whether to be offended, embarrassed, or elated at his comment. Perhaps he was right, just a little, but how dare he act like he knew me! But then, the man whose charisma made me nervous at every turn had also called me beautiful, and my body chose its feelings. My cheeks flushed.
“And—” He playfully pushed up my chin. “You’re terrible at canoeing.”
My eyes widened and I lifted my face fully upright.
“What!” I laughed at the challenge. I stood defiantly and put out my hand to help him stand.
“C’mon. I don’t think anybody else is coming. Let’s head over to the island.”
Cephas took my open hand and stood. Why did he always look so entertained when he talked to me? We untied the last canoe and stepped carefully into the watercraft. Cephas picked up an oar.
“Do you know how to properly use this?” he asked, looking very serious.
“Please, enlighten me,” I responded sarcastically.
“Well, you’re in the front, so you don’t have very much control over the boat.“
“You don’t think, eh?” I interrupted.
Cephas smirked again. “So you can basically just paddle and I’ll take care of the rest.” I shook my head and grabbed the other oar.
"I was only talking about canoeing—no hidden meaning intended," he explained, smirking all the while.
“Just try not to drop your oar in the lake, okay,” I retorted, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear.
We pushed off from the dock and began the short ride to the island. The sun seared my tanned legs, reflecting off the water that splashed every so often onto my skin. Aqua water slid past the stern of the canoe, the island growing closer with each paddle stroke. The island's gradual shoreline, consisting of smooth stones and sand, provided an ideal beach if it weren't for the tall trees that jutted upward almost as soon as you stepped out of your boat. Waves were beginning to beat against the shore, chaos ruling the darkening water. The waves grew choppy, beating even against the sturdy canoe in the middle of the lake. I looked up toward the distant sky and saw hoary clouds tumbling across the blue sky. Purple and gray swirled through the cloudy whiteness and static electricity itched to escape. Thunder rolled across the lake’s surface. The foreboding clouds moved quicker and quicker toward the island and the black water crashed against its shore.
I gulped, silently hoping the clouds would disperse. My already jumpy nerves were freaking out from overstimulation—Cephas with his overwhelming presence, and the storm with its overpowering arrival, was all just too much. I stuck the tip of my paddle in the lake and began grazing it through the top of the water, attempting to move the canoe more quickly to the shore. Cepha
s must have noticed my agitation, because a light chuckle sounded behind me. I turned my head and tried to look angry, but started giggling instead.
“Don’t make fun of me!” I retorted in good humor. “I don’t know how to use this!
“Here, I’ll help ya.” Cephas got up to move toward me. I felt him come up behind me and his arms slipped around mine. My body tensed.
“Relax, I’m not gonna do anything,” he reassured me, the left corner of his mouth twitching upward. I gripped the oar, feigning ignorance at his insinuation. He pulled my right hand off and moved it in one direction, then moved my other hand farther down the oar.
“So the trick is to move slowly—in rhythm.” I felt his biceps flex against my slender arms as he moved the paddle—up, down, back, up, down, back. “See that? Now you try.” He released my hands and sat up a little, but his proximity was still worrisome.
“You know, I should probably thank you,” I began, trying to move the oar in the way he showed me.
“Why’s that?” he whispered, trailing his hand up the length of my arm.
“Most guys would have tried something stupid by now.” The scruff on his cheek rubbed slowly along my neck. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, smelling his aftershave.
“I don’t know how long that’s going to last,” he muttered. I ignored the feel of his mouth along my shoulder and moved the oar deep through the water. The boat actually began moving forward!
“I’m doing it!” I exclaimed, a bright smile flooding my elated face. “I’ve never been able to use these before!” Cephas abruptly stopped the motion of the oar in my hand and sat still.
“So all that talk about how great you were—”
“I’m a good liar,” I jeered, trying to move the oar.
“I don't think that's something you want to be good at,” he retorted, his strong arms holding mine motionless.
“What do you want to be good at?” I asked, finally relenting.
“What do I want to be good at?” he asked me, skimming his lips along my neck. “I'm already good at everything.” I stretched my shoulders, hoping physical motion would relieve some of the tension slicing through the air right then.
“That's not true,” I scoffed, not wanting him to stop.
“Are you sure?” he whispered back, his mouth near my ear. I turned toward him and saw the smirk on his face. The boat rocked and I could see the water out of the corner of my eye. A rather large set of waves was coming toward us.
“Cephas,” I said.
“You're not sure?” he asked, his face moving closer to mine.
“No, I—there's—”
“Why are you so nervous?” he asked, tipping his head in toward my mouth.
“Because—Cephas, the water!” I shouted. A large wave crashed against the boat. Cephas was leaning toward me, throwing off the weight of the canoe. Before I had time to react, the entire canoe flipped over into the dark lake. Water instantly surrounded my head and I flailed my arms in an attempt to regain the surface. All was suddenly quiet, except for the bubbles rushing around my face. The water swooshed past my ears, throwing off my balance. Unable to decipher up from down, my body flailed hopelessly through the dark water. I began rushing toward the surface before I could orient myself. Popping out of the water, my hand flew out instinctively to grab the bottom of the canoe. I coughed violently, trying to remove the water from my lungs. I felt a strong arm pull me a little ways out of the water. Cephas was holding onto me with one hand, the other clinging to the canoe.
“Are you okay?” he asked between coughs. His arm wrapped around my waist, holding me against his body. Nodding, I looked over his sopping wet clothes and dripping wet face. I began giggling, unable to resist the urge to laugh out loud. His worried look turned to a grin and he chuckled.
“You did that on purpose, didn't you?” I accused. Cephas released me and swam to the front of the canoe and began pulling us to shore. My waist was cold where Cephas’ warm hand had been. I held on to the boat and let my body relax as Cephas pulled us to dry ground.
“Right, because that was clearly my objective.”
“What was your objective?” I asked slyly. He was silent: I could picture the left corner of his mouth twitching upward. When the water was only a few feet deep I stood from my floating position and called to Cephas across the canoe.
“Do you want to lift it now?” I suggested, heaving my end upward. His eyebrows raised and he lifted his end.
“Wow, who knew you had any muscles,” he replied, walking up the beach.
“What, you couldn't see them popping through my sleeves?” I asked innocently. He was silent again, carrying his end of the canoe.
“I’m serious—I wouldn’t have tried to throw you into the water when it’s so cold. Besides, I’m soaked,” he grumbled. He looked down at his wet clothing in disgust. I felt a drop of water on my face and looked up into the sky. Two more drops hit my cheek and I smiled.
“I love summer rain,” I commented. “It’s so warm—I just want to twirl in it.” My eyes closed automatically and I tilted my head skyward. “Isn’t it so romantic?”
We walked up the beach and dropped the canoe. Cephas wasted no time in peeling his wet shirt from his body, revealing a smooth, bronzed chest. I averted my eyes and took a step around the canoe, reminding myself I had a boyfriend. I jumped. Sometime in the commotion of waves my sandals had fallen off, exposing my foot to a sharp rock just beneath the surface of the beach. A small yelp escaped my lips. Cephas turned around.
“What happened?”
“I just stepped on a sharp rock—I—my flip flops must have fallen off when the canoe flipped over. I'll be fine.” I hobbled a little ways and looked up. Cephas was standing still, arms folded, smirk flashing.
“Don't make fun of me.” He strode over to me and turned around, his back toward me.
“Get on,” he offered, his voice drawling out in annoyance.
“No, I'm fine—really.” I wasn't about to hop on his back.
“Do it, or I'll carry you in my arms,” he threatened, grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh, fine,” I acquiesced, placing my hands on his shoulders. I bent my knees and sprung onto his back. He grabbed my legs and held me in place, piggy—backing me up the shore. He jogged a little ways up the sand and walked up the rocks into the trees.
“I can't believe you tipped over the canoe,” I said, making fun of him.
“I didn't mean to,” he complained.
"Are you embarrassed, Mr. Perfect?" I asked in jest.
"Mr. Perfect?" he asked. I could tell from his tone that he was regaining his wit.
"Oh, yes. You've got charisma, good looks, and you're practically perfect at everything—or so you think."
"So you think I'm perfect, huh?" he asked, lifting me higher on his back.
"No, I said you think you're perfect."
"I do not!" he replied indignantly.
"Oh, but your eyes deceive you."
"So what if I am perfect?" he acceded, carefully setting my feet down on the ground. He turned around just two steps in front of me.
"I already found a flaw," I smiled.
"What's that?" he asked, taking a step toward me. I took a step back.
"You're too easily smitten by me," I replied. He raised his eyebrows, taking another step toward me. His face was very close to mine. I sucked in a deep breath to fill my struggling lungs. I never seemed to have the upper hand, even when I tried. Cephas always seemed to have under his thumb, effortlessly making me willing to acquiesce to any request he might make.
"So what if I am?" he replied, that mischievous smile inching from the corner of his mouth. I swallowed, taking another step backward—right onto a large rock. Tripping clumsily, I fell backward toward the ground, but Cephas caught me before I landed on my back. He erupted into laughter.
"You did that on purpose!" I exclaimed, unable to squelch a giggle as he pulled me to a standing position.
"Perhaps,
" he replied affably. My jaw dropped as he spun on his heels and lifted me onto his back. He began walking briskly in between the trees.
"Let's play truth or dare," he started.
“What are we—ten year old girls?”
“Come on,” he coaxed. “It's a good way to find out about a person.”
“Do you do this with all the girls you meet?” I asked.
“Just play,” he complained, ignoring my question.
"K, you first,” I agreed, clinging to his shoulders.
"Do you want truth or dare?" he asked, excitement lacing his voice.
"Truth, 'cause I'm kind of a baby," I responded truthfully.
"Okay, but you can choose truth only twice, and then you have to choose dare."
"Deal."
"Okay," he began, "who was your first love?" He stopped jogging and slowed to walk down the path. Had he been thinking about that? He didn't even stop to think before asking the question. I usually lied in this game, or chose not to play, but something about Cephas made me want to tell him everything about myself. It was probably his captivating eyes, or perhaps the closeness of our bodies. His hands hugged my bare legs against his shirtless body. There was no way this could turn out well.
"Well, when I was four, there was this boy."
"That doesn't count!"
"Yes, it does," I responded in as stubborn a voice as I could muster. "Let me finish. So our parents were friends, and he came over all the time. One day I was crying, and he asked me what was wrong. I told him that not a single boy loved me, and so I wouldn't get any presents on Valentine's day. He claimed he loved me, but I told him to prove it."
"I can picture that," he said. His pace had gradually slowed. "You've always been stubborn, haven't you?" The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk. I smiled and continued, happy in my childhood memory.
"Anyway, he didn't have much to say, so he went home. The next day—Valentine's Day—he came over to play and handed me a penny when he walked into my playroom. It was really shiny. He said it was his favorite out of his whole piggy bank, and that he had had to crack open the container to find it. He had spent a long time shining it, and that was how I could know he loved me," I finished whimsically. I couldn't wipe the grin from my face. Looking down at Cephas, I noticed his eyes had turned a turquoise blue color. He looked—how would you describe it? Touched?