On the eleventh hole he wraps his arms around your waist, pulls you close to him, so close you can smell the gum on his breath, and whispers in your ear, “I would love to kiss you.”
There is a family waiting impatiently behind you for their turn. Neither of you wants your first kiss to be on the eleventh hole while an annoying family waits their turn for putt-putt. The moment is lost, and you move on to the twelfth hole. But something’s changed. He looks at you more intently and touches you carefully as you maneuver through the maze of windmills and castles to finish the course. You wonder what’s next.
You can’t wait for what’s next.
Your whole body buzzes.
You shove the monster far down. You’re not telling Ben about him tonight.
You can’t.
12
Ben buys milk shakes for the both of you, and then he drives down the highway.
The milk shake is vanilla. It’s safe. You like chocolate too, but vanilla is good. You didn’t realize how hungry you were, and when the cold, creamy froth makes its way down into your stomach, the monster growls his approval. Usually you don’t think about the last thing you ate, and now you remember it was breakfast; you had half a chocolate-chip muffin and a glass of Carnation Instant milk. This milk shake is heaven. Being with Ben is heaven.
You slurp through the straw and ask, “Where are we going?” You really don’t care, because you’re in the car with Ben, and you’re drinking a milk shake, and the monster is satiated. Really, there’s nothing to worry about. Things at the moment are pretty perfect.
“You’ll see,” he says.
And because it’s Ben, and you already trust him, you trust him.
Ben pulls off the highway onto a gravelly semi-road and you tell yourself to still trust him. There are cacti everywhere, which isn’t unusual, but you’re really in the desert and you know if you get too far out, there are some serious wild animals. Where you live, the wildest animals you encounter are Todd and his dick friends.
“What if there are like javelinas or coyotes or bobcats out here? What about rattlesnakes?” you ask.
“Don’t worry,” he says, and laughs.
Then you think that you haven’t known Ben that long, and even if he is hot and looks and smells like an Abercrombie model, should you really be okay with this? Your heart starts thumping at a faster pace.
“Why are we driving this far into the desert?”
“It’s okay. We’re going to go watch shooting stars,” he says. Then he tilts his head toward you. “Did you think…?”
“Well. What was I supposed to think?”
The road is bumpy and Ben has stopped the car. He turns toward you and grabs your hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you nervous. You okay? I thought this would be nice, you know, kind of romantic.”
You laugh quietly, a bit embarrassed, and say, “Okay.” You can’t believe he’s planned a romantic date.
You see a sign for the trailhead of Lone Dog Mountain, a trail you and your family used to hike when you were little, when you didn’t mind hiking. Now that you know where you are, you feel more relaxed.
“Oh, we’re at Lone Dog?” you ask.
“Yep. Come on,” he says. He grabs a blanket from the backseat and you both get out of the car. Ben pulls you toward him and puts his arm around you.
The night is pitch-black but the sky is bursting with stars. Ben suggests sitting on some rocks at the trailhead but you say no because you’re sure there are rattlesnakes and scorpions. But there is a visitors’ center so you point and say, “Let’s sit there.”
Since the trail closes at sunset, the night is still and quiet, except for the sound of water trickling from somewhere. Ben uses the light from his phone to guide you to an open area where a water feature sits beyond the visitors’ center. Surrounding the fountain are six large concrete benches in a hexagon shape that are almost too big to even call benches. You imagine dozens of children scrambling upon them during the day while tired parents rest after long hikes.
You and Ben sit side by side on one of the concrete benches, facing the fountain, and at first it’s a bit awkward and uncomfortable because you’re straining your necks upward to the sky, waiting for stars to fall. Then Ben says, “Here, let’s try this,” and he pulls you up.
He spreads the blanket out on the concrete bench and tells you to lie down on your back. Your heart is racing like crazy but you do this. Then he lies down, not next to you, although there is plenty of space for him to do that. Instead, he lies so the top of his head is touching the top of yours and his body is sprawled in the opposite direction of yours. He says, “Now, give me your hands.” You reach your hands over your head and he reaches to touch your hands and you connect that way. You’re both lying there, looking up at the sky.
“There,” he says.
“There,” you say.
“So,” he says.
“So.” You giggle.
“Are you copying me?” he says.
“Are you copying me?” you ask.
“Do you want to play a game?” he asks, moving his fingers along the length of your fingertips. He’s doing this with both of his hands, to each of your fingers. It, of course, feels freaking amazing.
“What do you want to play?” you ask.
“Twenty questions, I go first,” he says.
“Okay,” you say.
“Um, favorite band?” he asks.
“Oh God, I don’t know, like forever, or of the moment?” you ask.
“Ever.”
“U2.”
“Bonus points, right there,” he says. “Favorite movie?”
“Perks of Being a Wallflower, also favorite book.”
“Favorite flower?”
“Definitely white carnations.”
“Not red roses?”
“So cliché.”
“I knew I liked you. Okay, next question, best day of the week?”
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Then Tuesday is the best day of the week.”
“You are winning all sorts of points in this game,” he says.
You pull your hands away from him and flip over so you’re lying on your stomach. You settle onto your elbows because you’re tired of looking up at the sky. You want to look at him.
He flips over too so you’re face-to-face. He’s got his elbows on the concrete, his chin in his hands, and he’s staring at you.
“You cold?” he asks, and places his finger gently on your forearm.
“Is that one of your twenty questions?”
“Nah, just want to know.”
You feel cozy and not one bit cold even though the temperature has dropped. “I’m okay,” you whisper.
“I have another question I just thought of,” he says.
“Yeah?”