Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series)

by Cooksey, Jenn

  “I hope you’re not expecting the rest of the lines because I’m just gonna say yes and be done with it.”

  Oh my God! He asked me out! He asked me out! He asked me out! I’m doing the Snoopy happy dance in my head and wondering if this day could possibly get any better than being asked out on my first date ever—by Tristan no less, who used quotes from my favorite television show do it. I really kinda doubt it.

  Oh man! Was I ever wrong about that!

  I didn’t even have the chance to get nervous or scared before he leaned down and started to kiss me.

  OMG!! I KNOW!!

  Okay, since I’m pretty well occupied and we have some time here, you know how every girl will never forget the song playing during her first kiss? You know, provided there’s music in the first place. Well, my mom’s first kiss happened while she was at a party in eighth grade. She was dancing with the kid whose house the party was at to Depeche Mode’s quintessential song “Somebody.” From what I gather, it was a very ‘80s moment. Anyway, guess what song I get. You have no idea? Alright, I’ll tell you; the second Tristan’s lips met mine, none other than “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd began playing. From the title of the song alone, you should be able to understand how ridiculously fitting this is for a first kiss.

  Actually, I’m not sure how much time is allowed to elapse during a kiss for it still to be considered as a kiss before it must be constituted as making out. I think we might’ve broken whatever ground rules there are on that, though, because we didn’t stop when the song ended…or the one after that…or the one after that. I’m guessing that’s because neither of us seems to be interested in oxygen at the moment.

  Although the music was just barely registering—and I wouldn’t think this until later that night when I could actually think—I had to wonder if God was controlling the shuffle on Tristan’s iPod. Honestly, the soundtrack to this most glorious of experiences was simply uncanny. Allow me to explain. The second song was Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You” and it seemed like that’s exactly what was happening. As Tristan kissed me and I kissed him back, everything…our environment, sound, thought…simply everything faded away until it was just us. We were like one, living and breathing as one entity. Then with the third song, “Hanging by a Moment” by Lifehouse, well, if you take some of the lyrics that say, “...forgetting all I’m lacking, completely incomplete, I’ll take your invitation, you take all of me”—which is basically what’s happening here—and then these as well; “...and I don’t know what I’m diving into, just hanging by a moment here with you”…well, hopefully you get my point. That is to say, it just really felt like I was living in lyrics.

  Coincidentally, or maybe not so coincidentally, that last song also has a section of lyrics that goes like this: “...there’s nothing else to lose, nothing else to find, there’s nothing in the world that can change my mind.” But as it would happen, I’d discover that’s not quite so true.

  Anyhow, we were just getting into the fourth song in God’s playlist—Limp Bizkit’s “Build A Bridge,” which I’d unfortunately find to be just as appropriate—when we so very rudely interrupted by Tristan’s cell phone jingling “The Chicken Dance” song. Tristan let it go to voicemail at least thrice times (that means three) before he broke the mind numbingly thorough kiss.

  He collapsed with his face in my neck in defeat, whimpered for a second and then grumbled, “I swear to God, I’m gonna throw both of our cell phones in the ocean.”

  Now that I was becoming coherent again, I started giggling. I would’ve gladly kept kissing him, but the polka music streaming from his phone was damned funny and I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Is that Jeff?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?” He asked and while blindly reaching for his phone that was polka-ing again, he began to absentmindedly nibble on my neck.

  It almost seemed like he thought, “Well, since I’m here, I may as well make myself at home.” I welcomed him by lifting and tilting my chin a little so his lips could get more comfy along my jaw line.

  “The Chicken Dance song? Who else could it be? Hey, put it on speaker, let me talk to him.”

  It’s only fair; Tristan answered my phone when it was bugging him, now it’s my turn. And as a side note: Holy cow! You should see the size of the goose bumps he’s giving me!

  “Tell him to go to hell,” Tristan murmured, handing me his phone while he continued to nuzzle my neck.

  As much as I wanted to do as he asked, I was thinking it was going to be difficult because I was having a really tough time concentrating, but, I gave it a go. Here’s the transcript:

  Me: “What’s up, he who shalt not be the blithering ninny any longer, but henceforth shalt be dubbed, the vexing hindrance.” (My “Ye Olde English” that I picked up mostly from Monty Python and the Holy Grail isn’t as good as it could be but I’m being distracted—and very well at that.)

  Jeff: “Uhhh. Camie?”

  Me: “Yes, good for you. You finally got something right.”

  Jeff: (Pause) “I did dial Tristan, didn’t I?”

  Me: (Pause while I pull my mouth away from Tristan’s and he moves a piece of hair away from my neck for better accessibility—I think.) “Uhhh, yes.” (I’m chanting “focus, focus, focus” to myself.) “You have not been deceived, My Lord Irksomeness. I have a message, are you ready?”

  Jeff: “Uh, I don’t know. So far I haven’t understood a damned thing you’ve said...but, go ahead I guess.”

  Me: “Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting perdition for this much grievous offense thou hast committed.” (Tristan apparently loved that, because now he’s laughing into my neck.)

  Jeff: “What?!”

  Tristan: “Do they speak English in What? It means go to hell, Jeff.” (He starts kissing me again.) (Oh, and that first part was definitely a quote from Pulp Fiction.)

  Jeff: “Oh, you’re there…Hey! Am I on speaker phone?”

  Tristan: “Yes. What do you want?” (He kisses me some more.)

  Jeff: “Oh, right. Hey, we’re here, come help us unload the wood.”

  Tristan: “Unload it your damned selves.” (He goes back to inspecting my neck with his mouth. I’m thinking he might have some vampiric tendencies—which I’m totally cool with of course.)

  Jeff: “What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

  Tristan: “You and your girlfriend are a pain in the ass.” (He rolls away from me to make a gesture telling the phone to f-off and then pulls me to him for more kissing.)

  Jeff: “Whatever. Dude, come on…we need help and I know you’re already down here ‘cause I saw the bus, so if you don’t want me to hunt you down, you’ll get your ass over here.”

  Tristan: (He stops kissing me, sighs in defeat again and rolls his eyes in exasperation.) “You’re a dick.”

  Tristan hung up on Mr. Chicken, tossed his phone aside and gave me a look that I think was him contemplating kissing me again, but I’m not really sure because it’s kind of dark in here now. Then he sighed. “Come on, he’ll just come over here and drag us out anyway.”

  When he opened the doors of the bus and I went to climb out, I shivered with the chilly beach air. I hadn’t thought about this little issue when I agreed to stay down here with him all day. All I have to wear is what I’ve got on and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna freeze my butt off in shorts and a t-shirt even if the bonfire resembles Hell’s little cousin. Plus, I think I might have a bit of a sunburn and that’s just going to make it worse.

  When Tristan saw me rubbing my arms he asked, “Are you cold?”

  “Yeah. I’m not acclimated to the weather yet and I think I might have a sunburn.”

  “Yeah, your cheeks and nose look a little pink. Lemme see if I have something you can wear.” He climbed back into his bus to search through storage compartments and then he turned back around, holding out a pair of lifeguard-red sweat pants that have a faded orange logo down one leg. “Here, these should work. We’ll have to roll ‘em up
, but they’ll be better than what you have now.”

  I gratefully took the sweat pants. “I don’t care, anything will be better than wearing damp shorts right now.”

  As I was shimmying out of my shorts, I realized how much sand was still in my suit and I considered, for one brief moment of lunacy, going commando. I think that would just be too much for either of us to handle with dignity, though, especially since I’m still unsure about his underwear status. Better to be chafed by sand then have to think about knowing that he knows that I’m wearing his clothes without any underwear—again.

  He turned to hand me his Letterman’s jacket and said, “I am gonna want this back but you can wear it tonight.”

  “You got it. Since I don’t play any of these sports and it doesn’t fit, I don’t think it’d be an appropriate addition to my wardrobe.” After having pulled it on, though, I looked down at myself and groaned at my fashion statement.

  “What?”

  “I’m a fashion nightmare. I look like a seven year old playing dress up and I clash,” I said, referring to the red sweat pants with the orange logo—of which the ankles are rolled several times over so they don’t drag on the ground—my purple and white striped t-shirt, and his blue and gold jacket which I’m swimming in. Really, it’s quite disturbing.

  “I think you look cute,” he said and kissed me once sweetly.

  “Whatever. I think you’re biased…they’re your clothes after all,” I pouted and took the blanket he handed me to carry.

  “You see my point then.” Ha! Kate was right! He’s making me into a walking poster board that says “Back off, I’m with Tristan tonight.” Pretty cool, huh? “Okay, you’ve got that, I have the cooler…I think that’s it…let’s go.” Tristan locked the bus and then giving me another quick kiss, he took my hand and we left.

  We made our way to where a lifted, extra-cab truck filled with firewood was backed into a cul-de-sac, and met up with Jeff, Mike, and my not-stalker, Pete. Really, there’s been absolutely nothing to indicate that Pete’s been spying on me for Tristan. I know that Kate said he’s really dialed in and everything, but, I hardly ever see him around school and I practically never hear his name mentioned by anyone—I mean I don’t even know what the guy’s last name is for crying out loud! He seems like a genuinely nice guy, but he’s almost always so quiet you don’t even notice him, and although he appears to be a really close friend of Tristan’s and Jeff’s, my conclusion is that he’s clueless in regards to Tristan and me and, that the three of us girls have just been paranoid in that respect.

  As Tristan let go of my hand and jumped into the bed of the truck to start unloading wood, I deduced that the truck must be Pete’s because Mike was locking up a BMW, and as we now know, Jeff drives an old Jeep CJ7.

  Mike told me that Kristen was holding the fire-ring down on the beach, so I headed off to find her while the guys did the manual labor of unloading and carrying the wood to the beach. By the time the fire was getting started, Kate showed up, Melissa and Keith following soon after. Since it was still sort of early and everyone aside from Pete was coupled up, the environment was nice and mellow. Pete didn’t appear bothered by the fact that he was odd man out, but instead it seemed like this is typical.

  He did, however, along with pretty much everyone else, lift an interested eyebrow at how Tristan and I were sitting; making me think this sight isn’t so typical. Forming the mirror image of Jeff and Kate, I was sitting in front of Tristan with my back against his chest; he had his chin on my shoulder and his arms were wrapped around my waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world. As atypical as it might be and being the object of undisguised interest as we were right then, I didn’t care. I was totally loving it!

  The intimacy didn’t last very long though, as kids started trickling in to join us. With the appearance of others, our little group abandoned sitting on blankets to mingle with those who were standing, and what had began as a gathering, started to become a shindig. I’m hoping that with the entire beach surrounding us, I won’t feel so claustrophobic if it progresses to be a hootenanny. Oh and the fire is more closely related to Hell than being a little cousin, so I ended up taking Tristan’s jacket off too.

  “Hey, you guys want a beer?” Jeff asked Tristan and me as he dug through a cooler.

  “No, but grab a Gatorade out of my cooler,” Tristan answered over his shoulder as he pulled his phone out to presumably read a text.

  “You’re not drinking?” Jeff asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

  “No, I’m driving Camie home tonight.” Aw, staying sober just for me.

  “Oh, okay. What about you, Camie? Want a beer?” He asked and handed Tristan the fruit punch flavored sports drink.

  “Uh-uh, nope, negatory, no way, no.” I actually shivered at the thought.

  “What was that little shaking thing about?” Jeff asked, having noticed my minor epileptic fit.

  “She doesn’t want anything, so drop it,” Tristan snapped, sticking his cell phone back in his pocket and valiantly rescuing me from having to divulge my dirty little secret to anyone else. Then he cracked open the Gatorade and handed it to me before meandering away to talk to some other people.

  “Jesus...you’re being a moody son of bitch tonight,” Jeff called out to Tristan’s departing back.

  In answer, without looking back and still walking away, Tristan raised his arm and flipped Jeff off.

  About midway through the evening, I was chatting with a group of people a little ways from the fire when I started to get cold, so rubbing my arms again; I left them and headed over to the other side of the fire and Tristan’s cooler where I’d left his jacket. Halfway there, I was waylaid by she who must not be named. However, instead of snickering behind my back, this time she opted to taunt me to my face.

  “That’s a stunning outfit. What did you do, get dressed in the dark?”

  I rolled my eyes. Seriously, my six year old cousin could’ve come up with something much more original.

  “Teresa, you know…I’d tell you to bite me but I don’t want rabies or any of the other various strains of disease common in your species,” I said, not quite politely. Although I did say it with a smile, so that has to count for something, right?

  “Did you just call me a dog?” She asked, sounding as if she were unsure of my meaning.

  “That’s amazing. You lack the ability to use the English language to any degree aside from the most vulgar yet you understand it sufficiently well. I’ll admit I find that to be quite the conundrum.” I had to stifle a little giggle when I noticed Tristan standing behind her, fighting his own laughter.

  Looking really confused, she made another attempt at degrading me. “Whatever. Really though, who in the hell dressed you? Helen Kel—”

  “I did,” Tristan said, cutting her off mid-sophomoric insult and stepping around her to my side to hand me his jacket.

  Teresa was just standing there, her mouth hanging open, finally at a loss for words. Oh and did I mention that I’m picturing Tristan astride a magnificent white stallion while wearing chain mail right now? Well I am. Join me, won’t you?

  I put his jacket on then smacked his arm. “See? I told you I clash.”

  He chuckled and loud enough to be overheard he whispered, “Fight fair, Camie. You know she’s unarmed without a dictionary.”

  “I know, but she started it.”

  “I bet. Now come on…you two should be separated,” he pronounced in a very parental manner. Then he picked me up in a big, bear hug and turned to carry me away, my feet dangling well of the ground. “You need to learn how to avoid your enemies.”

  As Tristan bodily removed me from Teresa’s presence, I stuck my tongue out at her over his shoulder. I was a little disappointed though; I don’t think she actually saw me do it.

  Tristan however, did see my childlike “last word” and he chuckled again. “Don’t be a tease, put that away.”

  When I looked at his face in question, he flash
ed me one of my favorite lopsided, yet cocky grins and then gave me a lightning quick kiss. I didn’t even get a chance to pucker for this one.

  “Here, you like Kate. Now be a good girl and play nice.” Tristan deposited me on the ground in front of Kate who’d witnessed the whole scene and was laughing, and then without another word, he walked off.

  While Kate and I wandered up to the bathroom together, I quickly and quietly filled her in on the details of the day and evening. She teased me about my apparel, congratulated me on my upcoming date and finally getting to partake in the much desirous smooching. In turn, I thanked her for her perseverance in trying to reach me, because that was what really started the whole thing off in the first place. She got a kick out of how he asked me out too. I mean I couldn’t have asked for a better way for him to do it, although I guess it’s not something he usually does. From what Kate said, he’s always just asked girls out the normal way. And yeah, having never been asked out before, I don’t really know what the “normal way” is, but whatever.

  The rest of the evening passed by in a blur as, excepting that first party, I’m finding this type of merriment is wont to do. And once again before I knew it, my alarm went off, announcing midnight had arrived and the time to leave lest Tristan’s bus turn into a pumpkin and I end up in rags on the side of the road. However, not being able to locate Tristan in the rumpus the bonfire had become, I was thinking I’d have to extricate Kate from her blanket in front of the fire where she and Jeff were cuddled up together. So by now, I’m sure you can imagine how startled I was—yes, I think I even squeaked—when Tristan came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck all too briefly before asking if I was ready to go. We gathered up his bonfire paraphernalia, said goodbye to those within hearing range, and then left. Actually, there wasn’t that much stuff really, only the blanket and cooler…I just like the word “paraphernalia.” It’s fun to say and it sounds better than stuff or gear.