Page 23 of Hot to Go

She looks confused and slightly fed up. ‘I’m naked. I don’t have any clothes.’

‘They what?’ I say, struggling to hear her. Why is she changing to English now? She swims a bit closer.

‘Mi ropa, mes vêtements – GONE! Je suis naked.’

Oh. She’s starkers in the sea. I don’t quite know how to answer that. I look around the rocks and don’t see anything that she may have left here. Which brings me back to my mermaid theory. How did she get in there then?

‘I…I…Do you want me to look for your clothes?’ I shout out randomly in a mixed foreign accent trying to keep up with the strange multilingual flow of the conversation.

‘Non, no. They’re in…Another playa…Don’t worry.’

There is a moment where we both just look at each other trying to work out what the solution is. I see her bottom jaw starting to tremble with the cold. ‘You should come out. You’re cold. Let me help you.’

I step down on to the rocks to offer a hand but she puts her hands in the air.

‘I’m naked. Get back, amigo. I don’t know who you are. You could be some random Spaniard who’s going to take advantage.’

I am slightly hurt by the suggestion but also secretly pleasedI could be confused for a native. ‘Look. It’s me or drowning from exhaustion. How about I take off my T-shirt and leave it on this rock and then I’ll turn around and you can come out and put it on.’

‘You’ll give me your T-shirt?’ she says, curiously.

‘Well, it’s that or the shorts. You can decide.’

I see a smile that she’s desperately trying to keep in. ‘OK. But if you turn to look then I will scream. I know stuff.’

She is a pirate. I put my hands to the air to surrender, removing my T-shirt awkwardly, not before backing away and turning to look at the beach. I hear her pulling herself up onto the rocks and then the sound of her wet footsteps.

‘OK, señor. You can turn around.’

As soon as I turn, it feels like that gameshow at home where people meet each other for the first time naked. I do go to the gym but hello, lady who’s just emerged from the sea, this is my bare chest and those are your legs. The night air is dim and lit by lamps on the beach but all I see are her big brown eyes, a petite frame and a face framed by wet raven hair. She’s very pretty. I shouldn’t stare. She desperately tries to pull the T-shirt down so it doesn’t get inappropriate while I breathe in ever so slightly, not sure whether to tell her I’ve only been here for a day which is why I’m so under-tanned. She’s still tugging the T-shirt down as far as she can so I cover my eyes to help her feel more comfortable in the situation. I hear her laugh.

‘Gracias. Sincerely gracias,’ she whispers, shivering slightly. She tilts her head, but I don’t engage, my eyes darting in different directions, anywhere but directly at her. She looks like she’s wondering what on earth I might be doing. ‘Are your eyes OK?’

‘It’s just…nipples,’ I say. I said that out loud, didn’t I? And in English because I don’t know what the Spanish or French word is for nipples. It’s just never come up. Until now. And they are really up. She grabs at the material so it doesn’t cling toher. ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was staring and being weird.’ I should stop talking about nipples. I’m grateful she’s not kicked me in the cojones and run away, stealing one of my favourite T-shirts.

‘Maybe if I looked at your nipples now, we would be even,’ she suggests, laughing.

‘Be my guest,’ I tell her, standing straight and pushing my chest out a little. She stares at them, for a good three seconds. I try not to be too self-conscious. I’d never really considered them before now. ‘Are they OK?’ I ask her.

‘They’re your nipples. Maybe you should ask them,’ she says, grinning.

‘Are you telling me to talk to my nipples?’ I ask her.

She laughs again and I’ll admit to quite liking that sound. I think I might draw a line at talking to my nipples in front of her though. She stands there shivering. The night air can’t be doing much to warm her up. ‘Look, this might seem strange but can I make an odd suggestion?’ I ask her.

‘The fact I’m wearing your clothes and staring at your nipples isn’t strange enough?’ she asks me.

‘You need to move around,’ I tell her. I simulate such movement in the form of some keep-fit dance moves.

Again, she laughs. In terms of first meets, I really am excelling here. ‘To warm up,’ she says, jogging on the spot.

‘Exactly. Or you could roll around in the warm sand…’ I suggest.

‘I could do what now?’ she says.

‘Se rouler dans le sable…’ I repeat. I look at the smirk on her face. ‘Oh, shit. Not like that. I meant like the sand is warm and you could roll. On your own.’

‘Like a meerkat,’ she asks.

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