Prude

by Hilaria Alexander

  “I know you know what I’m thinking. I’m not one to believe in signs, but you have to admit it is a pretty big coincidence I have something that belonged to you for all these years.”

  He’s right. It does make me feel a little like we were maybe really destined to be together.

  “The right girl was right in front of me all those years ago, and I was the stupid idiot who couldn’t see it.”

  What’s he saying? I turn around in his arms, my curiosity winning over.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, frowning.

  “What I mean is . . . I wish I would have gotten to know you when we were in school together,” he says, shrugging. “I know, it’s stupid. Believe me. I feel stupid that . . . don’t laugh, but . . . the truth is . . . I was a little intimidated by you at the time,” he confesses.

  I chuckle. What? This is interesting.

  “Me? You, Mr. Popularity, felt intimidated by me?” I ask incredulously.

  He shrugs.

  “Yeah, you,” he says, moving a strand of hair behind my ear. “You were so much smarter than anyone else, even then. You seemed to always have the right questions and the most intelligent answers. I was just a boy, and I felt a little intimidated by you, Miss Bright Eyes.”

  I laugh, exhaling a breath. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m dead serious,” he says with a grin. “Anyway, when we started spending time together, I realized I was missing out. And now, I find out I had something of yours. I mean, we didn’t even really hang out, barely had any friends in common, and your CD ends up with me? I’m sorry, laugh all you want, but it’s more than just a coincidence.”

  He’s really serious about all this. I feel my blood pumping faster and faster through my veins, courtesy of my heart beating a million miles per hour. He holds my face with one hand and pulls me closer to him with the other. I can feel his hard body against my own. I study his face, and there is no question I am in love with him. Just the way my heart is beating is a dead giveaway. I knew all along this would happen to me, and here I am. But I didn’t think he would ever feel the same, or even be the one initiating the talk.

  He lifts my chin with his fingers and makes me look at him.

  “You know that this thing between us isn't just sex, right?” he asks, while I get lost in his gorgeous blue eyes. I know what he is trying to say, but there’s no way I’m saying it first.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and exhale a long breath. He’s going to say it. Any moment now.

  I am waiting. Waiting for him to say it, but he doesn’t.

  Just say it, Ben.

  Does he need some encouragement?

  I caress his face and get closer to give him a peck on the lips.

  “What are you trying to say, Benjamin?” I say, my voice shaky and feeble.

  He pauses, moving his hand to cradle my face, finally letting his declaration come out.

  “I love you, Prudence Clearwater,” he says, with a voice full of emotion.

  I feel my heart explode with joy.

  I almost choke on my own words when I tell him, “I love you too,” before crashing against his lips.

  Finally we are on our way to a cottage in Montauk. I’m replaying the scene at his apartment over and over in my head. I’m so deliriously happy that I can’t even look at him without breaking into a smile like an idiot. Thankfully, it’s not just me. A lopsided grin appears on his face and he squeezes my hand.

  “Do you think we are moving too fast?” I blurt out.

  “What?” he says, chuckling. “Too fast? We’ve only known each other ten years.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don't think I do.”

  I try to think how to say what I want to say without hurting his feelings. I don't think there is a good way to do it. I let out a deep breath.

  “I’m not saying I didn't mean it. I do love you and I’m the happiest I have been in ages, if not ever . . . but I’m afraid . . . is this too soon? Should we take things slower?” I never take my eyes off of him the entire time I’m talking.

  His expression is worried at first, but it softens when he glances at me and he grins when I say I love him. I see him wince and his brow furrows when he hears me say we should take things slower.

  He lets go of my hand. He keeps his eyes on the road, but I see his arms tensing and he grabs the steering wheel harder.

  I ruined it, didn’t I?

  He is quiet for a moment, but then starts talking.

  “I get what you're saying, I do. I understand being concerned . . . to an extent. But I don't think it applies to us . . . let me see, how can I put it?” he says, pausing for a moment. “You know how sometimes you have to read a whole book before you can figure out if you really like the story or even if you like the main character? But then, other times, it doesn't really matter, all it takes is one chapter,” he says, holding up a finger, “and you know you're already completely in love with the protagonist and where the story is going?”

  I nod. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I have been there, many, many times.

  That’s one of the things I love most about reading. Sometimes one chapter is all it takes to fall in love with a book, no matter where it takes you.

  “That's the way I feel about you,” he says, taking my hand in his again. “I don't need a week, or a month, or whatever amount of time might be considered appropriate, before I can tell you how I feel. I knew how I felt about you after reading the first chapter.”

  He smiles, squeezing my hand before releasing it. I smile back and I feel my heart expanding in my chest, like it's never been this full. My heart, though, is not the only thing affected by Mr. Hallstrom’s metaphors.

  “Can you stop the car?” I say, scanning the road, but there’s really nowhere we could stop. “I mean, can you stop the car as soon as possible?”

  A concerned look makes him furrow his brows in that delicious way I like.

  “Why? Are you getting car sick?”

  “No,” I say, my heart racing. “I am fighting the urge to climb in your seat and take advantage of you.”

  I look at him, trying to make him understand I am dead serious about this.

  “My boyfriend uses books as metaphors. It's so fucking hot I can barely stand it,” I blurt out. The sound of his laughter bursting through the car makes me even more excited. He is so damn sexy. I bite my lip. I got this.

  “Next rest area?” I say, pleading.

  He chuckles and smiles, with a little nod of his head. “Deal.”

  My horny hormones have to wait though, because between where we were and our destination, we encounter not even one rest stop.

  Zero. Nada.

  You suck, State of New York.

  Keeping me from having sex in the car with my hot, book-savvy boyfriend is not very traveler friendly. My frustration seems to amuse Ben, so at least there is that. I am amusing him. In some way other than sexually.

  A little later, we have another stop to make. We stop at his mother’s house to get his surfboard and wetsuit.

  “My mom’s not here, so there’s no need to freak out,” he says with a teasing smile.

  He knows me so well.

  He leads me to the garage behind the white cottage-style house and opens the door with his keys. It looks like there is an apartment on top of the garage.

  “This is where I stay when I come and visit. My mom never used the garage anyway, so I took it over.” The inside of the place looks like a woodworking shop or something along those lines. An unfinished board catches my eye.

  “Are you working on this?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m trying to. It’s the first time I’m doing something like this. I haven’t made a lot of progress . . . in the last few weeks,” he says, winking at me.

  We go upstairs. It’s a small, cozy studio apartment. There’s a miniscule kitchenette and a door that I’m guessing leads to a bathroom. A few music po
sters on the wall, a bed, a couch and a smallish flat screen TV. The place smells like him. It’s an instant turn on.

  But it’s not just the smell that has me all worked up. It’s also the idea of him, spending most weekends in this garage apartment, in the workshop downstairs, seeing the passion in his eyes when he talks about something he loves. I lock the door behind me, and start unzipping my dress, never taking my eyes off of him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks with a smirk, his eyes alive with excitement.

  “I want you,” I say, walking to him in just my panties.

  When I get closer to him, his eyes roam my body, hungrily. He places a finger inside each side of my panties and starts taking them off.

  “You are so damn sexy, do you know that?” he asks, almost whispering against my lips. I nod, and kiss him until I have to come up for air.

  Chapter 18

  WE MAKE it to the cottage in Montauk by late evening. The place is tiny but beautiful. It has a wonderful garden with direct access to the beach. Ben says it belongs to a pro surfer friend who travels a lot. The cottage inside is as cool as it looks outside. It has lots of vintage mid-century furniture, surfer memorabilia, and quite the vinyl collection, which we take advantage of while dancing around the living room later that night.

  We wake up early in the morning, ready to surf. Correction, Ben is going to teach me. I even bought a wetsuit just for the occasion.

  He doesn’t know yet that when it comes to agility, I’m pretty much a lost cause. But I’m not going to be a Debbie Downer, I’ll try to do my best.

  “Sorry, babe. It doesn't look like there are any ankle busters today. The waves are too choppy.” I look at him quizzically, as if he just spoke in a foreign language. He soon realizes that, and clarifies. “What I mean is, there are no waves small enough for a beginner.”

  I exhale and let out a laugh. “Thank God! I am not going to lie, I was a little clucked.”

  A wide smile spreads on his face when he realizes I have been studying the lingo. Clucked means afraid in surfer slang. However, I had no idea what ankle busters meant.

  “Did you think I was going to make you go out in that? Not a chance. I just don't want you to be bored watching me,” he says, and I grin at him.

  Bored? Not likely.

  “I think I can still be fairly entertained. I'll be fine sitting this one out.”

  “It's too bad, really. I was ready to see that butt in action,” he says, studying me in my wetsuit.

  “Ha! You mean you were ready to see my butt fall in the water a lot!”

  “Whatever,” he says hugging me around my waist.

  The weather is not so great today. It’s kind of an ugly day by beachgoer standards, but it seems great for a surfer. There are plenty of waves, but, like my teacher said, too big for a beginner.

  We stare at the waves for a while. I’m taking the scenery in, comparing it to the coasts of Florida that I’m used to, when I see him studying the waves.

  He starts stretching a little and after a few minutes he says, “I’m going to head in. If that’s okay.”

  “Of course it is. I want to see you in action out there!” I say excitedly.

  He leans in for a kiss and I pull him to me, for a long and hard one. Our lips part, our tongues twist around each other, and all too soon, he pulls away.

  Smiling, he gives me one last peck, grabs his board, and kisses me again on the cheek before walking toward the shore. I put a hoodie on over my wetsuit and sit down on the sand.

  Watching Ben ride the waves is mesmerizing, leaving me breathless. I would probably be fascinated watching someone else, but the fact that this man is mine is adding so much more to the equation. I have never actually seen him do this before. He looks strong yet graceful. I watch him taking the drop, then carving the waves, doing aerials and cutbacks. I definitely envy him and his agility.

  It's beautiful to watch.

  He is beautiful. The way his body moves to keep the balance on the board and how quickly he moves from one position to another. He is pretty far away, and I could probably see him better from somewhere higher up, but I stay put and start listening to some music. The waves seem to get bigger. They are just barreling out there, and I see him enter one.

  Oh God.

  I’m sure he's done this countless times before, but it still makes me nervous. It might be stupid, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him come out of the barrel. He goes on surfing for about an hour, and I never get bored. I get a little chilly though.

  He comes out of the water and runs toward me. I want to run to him and wrap my legs around him, so I take my earplugs out and put the phone in my bag. I get up and run as fast as I can to him. I’m smiling from ear to ear.

  Later in the day, we ride bikes to the nearest market in town. We pick up something to eat and head back to the cottage. Ben cooks some steaks on the state-of-the-art grill, while I make a salad and strawberry shortcake. We eat outside on the quiet beachfront lawn. It looks like an oasis, lit by a few dim outdoor lights. We are quiet while we eat. I see him peeking at me over and over again behind those long lashes, and I grow more and more suspicious.

  “What? You look guilty of something,” I say jokingly. “What is it?”

  “I was going to wait until after dinner, but apparently I cannot keep a straight face anymore. I have something to give you.”

  He gets up to leave and I follow him with my eyes, stunned.

  What in the world? First he says he loves me and now he has a present for me?

  He comes back shortly after, my eyes focusing more on his lean body and the muscles that show through his t-shirt than the manila envelope he hands me. I am a lovesick puppy.

  So pathetic. Whatever, I don’t care.

  I look at the envelope without opening it.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it,” he says as he sits back in the chair.

  I pull out the papers and start reading. I scan the document in front of me and read: “Agreement made this day of . . . between the author, Prudence Clearwater and Matt Young . . .”

  No, it can’t be. I haven’t heard anything from Matt, and I was sure as hell he didn’t want to have anything to do with the book. I flip through the pages and scan the legal language, then I get to the signature page.

  Matt signed it.

  I can’t believe it.

  He is agreeing to let me use all the songs and lyrics for the book. It also states that the author will be responsible for guaranteeing the artist a deal with a publishing company willing to record a companion soundtrack for the book.

  I look at Ben, speechless.

  “It’s not technically valid until you execute it,” he says. I launch out of my chair and squeal with delight, because he has literally just given me the best gift ever. I land in his lap and throw my arms around his neck, kissing his face.

  “How? How did you do it?”

  He smiles shyly.

  “I don’t mean to sound too cocky, but I told you I would convince him. We just talked and I illustrated to him all the pros of doing something like this.”

  “God, I love you.” It just comes out of my mouth, almost unconsciously, and his eyes light up.

  “You do?” he asks, smirking.

  “Of course,” I say, resting my head in the nook of his neck. “You’re the best.”

  He smiles shyly, but then his face grows serious and I wonder what he could possibly be thinking about.

  He is sitting on the grass when I bring out the dessert. I hand him his plate and he takes it, thanking me, but motions for me to sit next to him. I’m waiting for him to take a bite, but instead, he cuts a piece with his fork and tries to feed it to me. I have a knee-jerk reaction and pull away slightly, staring at him.

  “We're feeding each other cake? Seriously? I think you just reached your maximum level of corniness allowed for the day.”

  He puts the bite of cake down on his plate and licks his fingers. He shakes his he
ad at me in disbelief.

  Maybe I have been too harsh, I think, until I see a grin spreading on his face.

  “What can I say, I’m a corny guy, guilty as charged,” he says, raising a hand.

  “But,” he adds, leaning his face closer to mine, “if I have to have a limit for corniness, you should have a maximum level of nerdiness allowed per day, sweetheart. Besides, just give it a try. If you still think it’s corny after the first bite, we’ll stop.”

  All right, that seems fair, but when I try to feed him a bite with the fork, he shakes his head no, and demands I use my fingers. He then proceeds to lick each one of them.

  Oh God.

  The feeling of his tongue sucking on my fingers makes my breath falter. He never breaks eye contact with me, the fucker. He knows exactly what he is doing. My insides are squirming, my panties are already wet, and my throat is so dry. Forget the dessert, I really just want to jump him. I’m sure he can see the look of lust in my eyes and I know he feels the same. When it’s his turn to feed me the cake, I suck his thumb and index finger, then his thumb lingers on my bottom lip.

  “I can’t hold back anymore. You’re killing me, Prudence. I need to be inside of you . . . right now.”

  Well, I don't need further invitation, so I sit in his lap. I kiss him furiously, my tongue meeting his as soon as he parts his lips. He can barely hold himself up underneath me, but it’s his own fault, he has me so worked up.

  When he pulls away, the grin that spreads on his face tells me he is happy with how his little experiment went. Yeah, he was right. Corny or not, it was definitely one of the most sensual experiences I have ever had. His hands run up my thighs and soon they are inside my panties, a finger moves lazily, in and out, inside of me.

  “You should just go around naked all the time. Seriously. Getting dressed, it’s just a waste of time.”

  “Hmmm,” I hum, pressing my lips against his. I pull off my dress, and remain in my underwear.

  He gives me an appreciative look.

  “No bra. Nice.”