Left Drowning(6)

Crystal clear thoughts hit me. He is confident, he is assured, and he is centered.

I can’t look away.

He looks down and kicks at the ground a few times before bending down and picking up something. Weirdly, I guess what he is going to do before he does it, and I catch myself smiling slightly as he reaches back his arm and skips a rock into the water. I try to count the skips. One, two, three, four, five… . It’s hard to see from where I am. He takes a few steps from where he is and then roots in the ground for more rocks. I watch as he skips another. Then another.

He moves smoothly, seamlessly. He’s done this before; I can tell by his clean, competent movements and rhythm. He strikes me as free, freer than I am or could be. Again, I catch myself holding my breath as I watch him. I have no idea why I feel so drawn to this stranger. But the feeling is undeniable.

The stone skipper searches the ground again and then reaches into the front pocket of his jeans before sending a stone bouncing across the water. Smart boy. He brought his own stash. I know the sort of perfect stone one needs to get the dance of rings to appear on the water’s surface. I searched for those same kinds of stones as a kid, although despite my repeated efforts to learn, I never got very good at skipping. This boy, on the other hand, is a master.

I inhale and exhale again, wondering why I feel overwhelmed just by watching him. A thought I don’t understand flashes into my consciousness. He is the past, and the present, and the future. I shake my head hard. What in the hell is wrong with me? Is this because I didn’t drink last night? Maybe I’m going into some kind of bizarre booze withdrawal. I should probably go back to the dorm and crawl into bed. But the lure of watching the stone skipper is too much, and I cannot get myself to leave. I stop fighting my impulse to run and lean back on my elbows for the show.

Twenty minutes later, and he is still at it. I like how he takes his time before throwing, the way he assesses the water and rubs each stone in his hand for a few minutes to feel its shape and the texture, weighing it in his palm. He pauses after each throw, letting the ripples from each stone fade, allowing the process to have its full beginning, middle, and end.

Without full awareness of what I’m doing, I stand up and walk toward him. He must catch sight of me from the corner of his eye, because he turns slightly my way and smiles. From my place in the sand, I’d noticed that his muscular body was hard to ignore, but I hadn’t expected his face to be so gorgeous. As I get closer to him, I begin to wish I had stayed away. I want to grimace as I take in the perfect angular lines of his jaw—attractiveness on this level is a bad sign. Anyone this hot is usually a complete creep. I barely care about my own body, and rarely notice someone else’s, but a flat stomach and abs like his are undeniable.

“Hi,” he prompts me.

Oh. I am staring. And not into his eyes. His arms have the most beautiful definition that I’ve ever seen.

“Sorry. Um … Hi.” I am fumbling for words, pathetically so, and it only gets worse when I look up. He pushes his hair from his face. His green eyes, framed by strong dark eyebrows, nearly cause my knees to buckle. This is ridiculous. He is just another human being. I take a deep breath and try to look at him critically. After another minute of staring at him, I’m relieved to see that he probably isn’t every girl’s idea of perfection. He’s a little too skinny, maybe, and his nose is slightly crooked. Of course, I actually like that. I see perfection in things that are likely considered imperfections by others.

“Hi,” he says again, looking slightly amused.

“I saw you skipping stones,” I blurt out. “You’re really good.”

“Years of practice.”

I squirm, curling my toes in my sneakers, wishing yet again that I had just kept my distance. I don’t know what I’m doing. “I’ve … I’ve never been good at that. I used to try as a kid, but my stones always just cannonballed in.”

“I’ve done that plenty of times. You’ve got to send it off with enough force. But also enough care.”

I nod. “Well, sorry to bother you. Just wanted to tell you it was nice to watch.” I pause and brazenly reword what I have said. “You, I mean. You were nice to watch.” I turn to leave, appalled at what I have put out there.

“Hey,” he says stopping me. “Do you want me to help you? I could give you a few tips if you like.”

I spin around, aware that trying to resist would be really f*cking futile.

“If you don’t mind, that would be … cool.” I cannot think of a better word than cool right now because he has rendered me closer to insane than I usually am, and I have no idea why.

“I’m Christopher Shepherd, by the way. Chris. Whatever you like.”

“What do you like?”

“Whatever you like.” He smiles. “And you are… .?”

“I’m Blythe McGuire.”

“It’s nice to meet a fellow enthusiast.” He smiles softly, and I am entranced by how one side of his smile lifts higher than the other. It makes me both unnerved and physically unsteady. “I think I’ve tapped out the area right here for good stones, but if we walk a bit, we should be able to find more.”

“Okay.”

Chris gestures to the left. “Should we try this way?”

“Yes. If you think so.”