Page 39 of The First Kind of Love
I can’t get over the way our wet bodies slide against one another, how the ocean rocks us in a sensual motion. It’s a fast track to Make Out Metropolis, and if we weren’t stranded in the middle of the ocean, I’d spend the rest of the afternoon claiming every inch of her as mine.
“Fulton!” she screeches, her glare sharpening as she shakes like a wet chihuahua. “I thought you were going to let me?—”
I don’t let her finish that sentence. I never want her to second-guess my reliability. I never want her to doubt the extent of my feelings for her.
“I’ve got you, Sunshine. On land, in water, wherever the fuck we are.I’ve got you.”
When we head backto the beach under a curtain of nightfall, that’s when the real surprise date begins. I had a feeling Shiloh doesn’t like surprises, so I didn’t tell her I planned something else after our Jet Ski antics. I made sure to plan our arrival at the perfect spot, and as we disembark, my diligent decision-making is confirmed when we come across a half circle of eagle-eyed spectators.
“What’s going on?” Shiloh asks, allowing me to help her down from the Jet Ski.
Before I can answer her, I see it—a flash of movement scintillating in a glade of moonlight. Something small and dark makes its way toward us, carving a pathway in the sand and tailed by what looks like a moving horde of black spots.
My pulse is an endless sprint waiting for Shiloh to piece the puzzle together, and the confusion plastered on her face quickly evolves into awe. Olive ridley and black turtles shuffledown the slope of sand with their bumbling flippers and snail-like pace, heading out to the water just as Shiloh mentioned on the plane.
We slowly traipse over to the marine biologists, and Shiloh’s eyes double in size while we pass the tiny parade of variegated shells. God, she’s otherworldly. In beauty, in intellect, in compassion. She’s like a camellia blossoming despite the cold, thriving despite her tribulations with a grace that most people strive for but can never achieve.
Shiloh clings to my arm, squealing quietly. “Fulton, look at them! Oh my God, they’re so cute!”
This is the best decision I’ve ever made.
Adoration threads through my muscles as I memorize her smile—the exaggerated swell of her cheeks, the scrunch of her nose, the stretch of her carnation-pink cupid’s bow. Shadows play over her pronounced bone structure, the gibbous moon’s alabaster radiance practically bioluminescent as it emanates off the undulating sea.
Something tickles my bare feet, and I look down to catch a baby turtle’s fin brushing against my sand-crusted skin while it tries to navigate toward the approaching tide. My whole body freezes up, my breath dies in my throat, and my heart quiets as if the staccato beats are loud enough for their little ear holes to discern.
That had to have been some freaky fate or miracle thing, right? That was, like, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I read somewhere that humans can’t touch baby sea turtles because we might disorient their natural path and lead them away from the water.
I know this sounds stupid, but everything isalivetonight. The electricity arcing through the air, the rustle of palm trees in the distance, the rise and fall of the water, even this inexplicable hum existing beneath the sand like a fault line waiting to make its presence known. For once, the air is cold as it collarsmy neck—a marine layer that’s swaddled our temporary home in vaporized brine.
“You knew? You planned this?” Shiloh asks, her wide eyes twinkling, my disproportionate reflection rippling in her pupils.
I grab her hand and interlace our fingers together. “I just wanted to give you a day where you didn’t have to worry about what was happening next—where you didn’t feel responsible for every activity.”
“I don’t know what to say. This is incredible. Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before,” she breathes.
“Being out of control isn’t always so scary,” I say, bringing her knuckles to my lips before peppering kisses on her chilled flesh.
The hatching procession seems never-ending. There are hundreds of these little guys taking their first steps, embarking on the rest of their lives, and being here to witness it is so incredibly gratifying.
Shiloh isn’t focused on our aquatic friends anymore—no, she’s teetering on her tiptoes so she can press her forehead to mine, and I lean down to accommodate her, so infatuated with this girl that I can’t remember what life was like before her.
She tips her chin up an increment, her lower lip brushing against my top one, our breaths mingling in a visible plume. “Maybe it’s not,” she whispers.
Neither of us makes a move. We both just linger in the moment, soaking up each other’s existence, and my whole body prickles with adoration, similar to how static swarms a sky right before a storm. We’re moving so fast. My brain can’t conceive of this girl. She’s not real. What I feel for her…itcan’tbe real. It’s so much bigger than the both of us. Uncontrollable. Unconditional. Unconquerable.
With the breeze slipping in a figure-eight around us—lashing our hair and pelting our naked skin with goose bumps—our lips crash into each other, and my heart nearly withers on the spot from the burst of adrenaline. The kiss is a contact sport in every sense of the word, but there’s a softness, a chasteness, a deepness that can never be matched by fighting tongues or exploratory hands.
Shiloh Nguyen has made a home in my bones, carving a cavern out of my chest to lay right where my heart is. She drapes her arms around my neck to invite me closer, and I link my hands on her lower back, lifting her just slightly in the makeshift sling of my arms. Time stops. The world ceases to exist. We’re nothing but a conglomeration of lost souls, blood vessels, and beating organs floating amongst a canopy of stars.
When she breaks away from me, she tugs me by the arm, maneuvering me past the sea turtles and over to the vast expanse of beach that stretches on for miles, unoccupied.
And we run. With no destination.
We just…run.
I chase after her as she giggles and dashes like a long-distance sprinter. Given my long legs, it only takes me a few strides to catch up with her. All my worries dissipate with each foot of land I cover, and even with the punishing burn in my thighs, it’s not enough incentive to slow me down.
Closing the distance, I tackle her, wrapping my body around hers to bear the brunt of the fall. Her syrupy laughter echoes into the night, and when we unravel after a few rolls, she’s underneath me while I’m kneeling on all fours. Her windswept hair is mussed around her face, small splotches of sand dot her cheeks, and her nose is red from the frigid temperature.
