14 Days

11

The days spent at Silver Sands were like the breaking of a dam. The walls built within our own minds disintegrated into dust, allowing a stream of truth to filter in. For the moment, that truth was warm. A welcome sensation when waking to Beau's messy hair and crooked smile, or the touch of our hands intertwined under the summer sun, or a kiss on the beach, after breakfast, in bed, whenever and for no reason other than just because. We never separated, splashing in the cool ocean waves, laying on the warm sand or walking the boardwalk to take pictures and talk.

Once bickering arguments turned into almost questioning challenges. Teasing that built tension until we broke, kissing or laughing or pushing past yet another boundary. It happened on our final night at Silver Sands.

Late that evening, a certain someone did not listen to their mother concerning the reapplication of sunscreen, and that certain someone grimaced while waiting in bed for some form of relief. The hotel door opened. Beau entered, aloe vera in hand. I would have gone with him, but I wasn't in the mood for a lecture from my mother dearest.

Rounding the bed, he sat beside me, one leg resting on the mattress. I sat angled with my back to him where the brunt of the burn resided.

"You're an idiot," he stated.

"No, the sun is just an asshole."

"I told you to put more sunscreen on earlier."

Smirking, I turned slightly to flick his bangs. "Hey, Mom, you look different. Did you get a haircut?"

"If someone used their head, I wouldn't have to act motherly."

"Eeeh, you jest."

Beau curled his nose then leaned away when I moved in. His breath fanned against my warming cheeks. His own face was light pink with a blush, eyes already darting to my lips.

"Are you implying that you feel obligated to care about me instead of wanting the honor to care for me?" I teased.

"Honor?" He snorted then slammed a cold hand against my back. I yelped, my entire body spasming from the ripple of pain followed by the cool relief of aloe vera. "Get over yourself, dumb ass."

"I know you like it. Taking care of me."

"Oh, yeah? What makes you say that?"

"Because you've always done it without question and without expecting anything in return," I admitted, reminiscing for reasons unknown, or reasons I continued to ignore.

His movements stilled then picked up. "I don't know what you've been smoking, but sharing is caring."

I chuckled, skin tingling from the constant motion of Beau's hand across my back, over my shoulders. He was careful, slow, unknowingly making my breath catch in my throat.

"Fifth grade, Tanner Wells--"

Beau hummed. "The asshole from the class next door?"

"Yeah. He had a bunch of us play Bloody Mary, not cluing me in that he got one of the girls to hide in the stalls with a wig. Scared the hell out of me. I cried until my parents had to come get me, but you sat with me in the office and held my hand the whole time, lecturing me that ghosts aren't real."

"Because they aren't. You were easy to tease. You need to--" he caught himself, probably noticed my smirk and chose to stop there.

"Gym class. Seventh grade. I was being super competitive, sprained my ankle during a basketball game and refused to sit out until you dragged my ass to the nurse's office, even as I yelled at you the whole time."

"...what's your point?" he whispered, fingers running slowly over my shoulders until the bed creaked. I faced him. He averted his gaze, wiping his hands on one of the beach towels laying on the bed.