Stalk Me

We spent days driving a little convertible around, lying in the sand, swimming in the ocean, and kissing.

Lots and lots of kissing.

We found a place to rent surf boards, and we played around in the water. We walked to little cafés and shopped in quaint stores. We spent our nights drinking wine from the wine cellar and kissing.

He found an old book of poetry in the library and recited poetry to me.

I was as happy as I’d ever been, but I sort of felt like I was hiding a secret.

Last Brooklyn had heard, I was a virgin.

In our short time together, Cush and I had quite a bit of sex, and I’ve been trying to decide if I should tell Brooklyn about it or not.

About a week after he arrived, we’re swaying on a hammock in the back yard doing nothing but holding hands and watching the clouds go by.

“Look at that one,” he says. “It looks like a parrot.”

I laugh. “It looks more like a horse to me.”

He leans in and kisses me. It’s weird how even though kissing is kissing, every guy you kiss feels different. When Sander and I kissed, it was sweet. Mostly friendly. When Cush and I kissed, it was fiery. When Brooklyn and I kiss, it feels like a day at the beach.

Easy, breezy, soft kisses.

Kisses that warm my heart.

Kisses that make me feel like a girl in love.

I can’t deny it. I’m in love with him.

I have been for a long time.

Even though we’ve been together day and night, and even slept in the same bed, we haven’t had sex. Brooklyn says we should wait until it’s right.

But I know he’s waiting because he thinks I’m still a virgin.

We’re leaving tomorrow and driving from where we are now on the eastern coast of France to the west coast. If we drove straight through, it will take us about nine hours, but we’ve decided to not be in a hurry and stop anywhere that looks interesting. The trip might take us days. Once we hit the west coast, we’ll go from Seignosse, to Hossegor, to Biarritz. Then we’ll cross into Spain and visit Zarautz. After that, we’re going to the Canary Islands. Staying a week at a resort on Fuerteventura and then another week on Lanzarote. Basically visiting what are supposed to be some of Europe’s best spots to surf.

“So you keep telling me that you want to wait for sex so that it will be right. What’s going to make it right?”

He cups my cheek in his hand. “I don’t think you should be in such a hurry to grow up. I think we’ll both know when it’s right.”

“What do you mean, in a hurry to grow up? I’m almost seventeen. I’m pretty much grown.”

“You know what I mean. You want your first time to be special. To mean something. Don’t you?”

I let out a big huff of air. “I did, yes.”

“What do you mean, you did?”

“I mean,” I sigh. “Never mind. I do want our first time to be special and to mean something.”

He moves his hand off my face quickly, like all of a sudden my skin burned him. “Our first time, but not your first time. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“That’s correct; it won’t be my first time.”

He sits up, rocking the hammock. “Who did you have sex with? Damian?”

“Oh, gosh, no. He wouldn’t. He’s writing a song about us. He knows I’m in love with you.”

I stop talking. My stupid mouth hangs wide open.

Shit.

I so did not mean to say that. I’ve been waiting for him to say it.

I clamp my mouth shut.

He looked mad before, but now he looks softer.

“You’re in love with me?”

I shut my eyes tight and cover my face with my hand.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I can feel the tears prickling my eyelids.

I am so freaking embarrassed, but I nod my head yes. Then I get brave, open my eyes, and peek at him through my fingers.

He pulls my hand off my face. “Why are you crying? Do you not want to be in love with me?”

“No. I don’t know. I just didn’t mean to say it. I don’t want it to be some dumb crush. I don’t know how you feel. I don’t know what this is. What we are.”

He leans down and kisses me.

“What we are is in love, Keats. I love you too.”

“Really?”

Now the tears really start falling.

He nods softly, and I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again.

He pulls me tightly into his chest.

“I’m sorry about us leaving you that night. I should have waited for you. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s the night it happened. I’m sorry. I thought I didn’t mean anything to you. That it was, I don’t know, just a hookup to you. I thought you were down there hooking up with other girls. Damian told me it was surfers. I’m really sorry. He told me he loved me and after your rejection, I needed to feel loved. I wasn’t in love with him at the time.”

“At the time? Does that mean you’re in love with him now?”

“No. I’m not.” Definitely not. Especially after he blamed me for what Mandy did.

“Was it that guy from the beach that day? The one that twirled you around?”

“Yeah. It was Cush. He’s who I was going out with.”

Brooklyn takes my hand in his and kisses it. “It’s not where you’ve been that matters, Keats, it’s where you end up that does.”

“Is that from a poem?”

“No, I think I just made that up.” He laughs.

“It’s poetic. You should write it down.”

“I might have to do that. Wow.”

“Wow, what?”

“Now that I’ve finally said it, I want to say it all the time. I love you.” He kisses me sweetly on the neck. “I love you.” He kisses my cheek. “I love you.” He kisses my forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Wednesday, June 29th

Keats for my Keats.

7pm

 Our drive across France was supposed to be relaxed and fun. We stopped along the way for lunch, but Brooklyn seemed to be in a hurry.

When we were almost to the city of Bordeaux, I find out why.

He turns off the main road and onto a little lane. The countryside in this area is amazing. Rolling hills, rows of grapes growing from dark dirt, and green as far as the eye can see.

“So, my dad stays here and loves it,” he says to me with a grin. “When I told him we were headed this way, he booked us a special suite.”

And special was a good way to put it. The small luxury hotel was recently built of all recycled wood and finishes. Our suite is its own structure that sits on stilts over a pond. It has a cozy, cabin-like feel, a large deck for relaxing, and a big bed topped with luxury linens and a beautiful quilt. I’ve never stayed anywhere quite like this. The property also features a small bistro, a five-star restaurant, and an incredible spa.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him.

“You’re beautiful.”

He kisses me and then leads me toward the bed.

He slowly unbuttons the white cotton blouse I wore today.

As it slides off my shoulders, he kisses my neck and whispers in my ear. “Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced.”

“That’s Keats, right?”

“Keats poetry for my Keats,” he says with a nod and a grin.

“So does that mean I finally get to experience you?”

He caresses my shoulder, kisses my neck, and then looks into my eyes. The way he looks is better than anything I ever scripted. Better than anything I ever imagined. I smile at him and wrap my arms around his waist.

He gently pushes my bangs out of my face and looks deep into my eyes. “You said when you did it before that you weren't in love with him. I've never been in love before either. So in a way, it's both of our first times.”

I fight the temptation to throw him on the bed. I’ve waited a long time for this. I want to savor it.