Cake: 3

You know when people say when you're onto something good, just ride the wave? Ride the wave regardless, I say. Anyway, I'm doing just that. I'm riding the wave at the beach, with Mark.

The sun's just about on the horizon, the waves coming in quickly. There were just a few people at the far end of the beach throwing a stick around, with their dog. Other than that, it was just Mark and I.

"You know," Mark said, finishing off the last of his fish. "I didn't get cups or sauce. I know you like sauce though."

"How?" I asked, blankly.

"You're a saucy kinda guy," he responded, tongue out slightly.

I snorted.

"Well, effectively, if we share the bottle we're kissing," he shrugged. He unscrewed the bottle and out pissed some Coke dribble. "Crafty."

He took a swig back. Then handed me the bottle.

"You don't have germies?" I cringed. I smiled .

"I bet you don't think that when you're horny," he said, straight faced.

Fair point. I took the bottle and had a swig. The last of the chips had been demolished and I caught Mark staring at me twice.

I grinned.

"Are you going shy on me?" he asked, reaching out to touch my ear. He touched it lightly. He moved to my hair and ran his fingers through it. "Come here."

He embraced me again. I could smell his cologne and it was making me weak again.

"Lie on my lap," he suggested, patting his lap gently.

I looked at him suspiciously.

"Not face down," he joked, lightly punching me on the arm.

1735 hours

I got comfortable and I got to look, not just the sky, but up at him because this didn't sound or looked cheesy. You see all those romantic comedies and think, maybe one day I will find my knight in shining armour and I can too, do all that corny shit. Nothing like conditioning and programming the masses!

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, running his hands through my hair.

"A song," I grinned. It felt amazing to know that a guy was showing me affection and not just in a sexual way. Well, not the vibe I was getting from Mark.

"And?" he looked down at me.

Those eyes have pummelled my insides over the course of the afternoon. Ominous but genuine. And that jawline. I think I have a fetish for jawlines.

"The cuteness of this situation now."

"It is, isn't it?" He giggled. "And it started with cake."

"What's the song?" he continued.

"Do you remember Nesian Mystik?" I said. "Their song, "Sun goes down,""

"Kiss me till the sun goes down," he sang, tapping my arm for a beat. "You have a song for everything?"

"Mostly."

"That's cute," he said, quietly.

There was a pivotal moment where we were just staring at each intently. Nothing creepy. You know, in the movies, where there is that suspenseful moment of two characters about to kiss and you're screaming at the screen going, just bloody kiss already? Yeah, something like that. The adrenaline was pumping through my body. I was gripping the side of my pants; my hands were sweating, and I could just imagine the fairy-tale fireworks flying all over the show.

Mark leaned in lowering his head, getting closer to me. I pushed myself up on my hands, to meet him halfway.

Ride that bloody wave, Peyt's. Get it!

We got closer. It was inevitable. We were going to kiss!

Then he stopped, suddenly.

Don’t stop, please! What are you doing, Mark?

The romantic kiss on the beach; the sun as our backdrop, draping the horizon, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach as our soundtrack- gone.

"This is too soon,” he said, looking away from me. He looked like he had just panicked.

"Kissing is an art and if you wanna show your art off then I'm not complaining," I said, giggling at him.

Maybe another time. I can deal with that.

"I don't want to be considered as a horny bastard," Mark said, trying to pull himself together.

"Well, you’re not,” I said, trying to disguise my disappointment. He knew he had messed up.

“You’re just being nice,” Mark said, as he pushed back on the driftwood that he was using for support.

I looked up at Mark. He was just trying hard not to engage with me and to enjoy the last of the sun. The transition into the evening was beautiful as the clouds we had earlier on, had disappeared. It was going to be a nice night full of stars, I think. Mark wasn’t as confident as he proclaimed and I like that. I know he’s confident in his profession, I can feel it whereas in a relationship, he’s like me. We’re vulnerable. If we communicate and keep the communication up, we could both build each other up.

“You’re thinking again,” he observed, as he looked down at me. “Are you all good?”

“I’m alright,” I grinned. I was a bit peeved off that he had stopped in mid-flight regarding the kiss. But hey, can't have the whole shebang at once, right? I swallowed, “Just enjoying the moment.”

“Same.”

1755 hours

The sun had well and truly gone. It had got colder and I’m pretty sure my head was weighing down on his lap. I pulled myself up and stretched out my legs.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

I looked at him. “You want more of my attention?”

“Well,” he sighed. I knew he was getting cheeky again. “I have enjoyed my day since roughly about three hours ago. I thought, maybe we could watch Napoleon Dynamite.”

I threw the chip packet at him. He shot me a toothy smirk.

“I supposed I could spend a little more time with you,” I said, starting to get up.

“Do you like ice-cream?” he asked, as we cleaned up our mess. We started walking back to the car. “We could get some ice-cream, a box, some junk food, and watch some movies?”

“You know what happens during movies, aye?” I said, suggestively.

He shot me another look.

“Somebody falls asleep,” I said, knowing too well his mind had gone straight to the gutter.

I love our humour and banter we give each other. I love that none of us gets offended by our dad jokes. He could be something to pursue.

“You can fall asleep with me,” he said, as we jumped into his truck.

We both put on our seat belts and he readjusted everything as he turned the truck on. He pulled out his mobile phone and hitched it up to his truck radio. He loaded up Spotify and handed his phone to me.

“Pick some music,” he suggested. “I bet you got some hits up your sleeve.”

I did just that. I took the phone and smiled. I searched up “Jet lag,” by Simple Plan and played it. I looked at Mark, as he reversed out of the park. He was tapping his finger on wheel. I think he was listening to the lyrics.

“Sounds like a song for right now?” he questioned. He stroked his stubble on his chin.

“I got the vibes after you had left the coffee shop. I don’t know, I just felt the vibes. I mean, Pierre and Natasha Bedingfield are singing about being away from each other. I know we have only met and you’re not on the other side of the world, we are on different levels. I mean, we are still strangers at the moment, even though we know each other,” I explained. I looked at him, hoping he would understand where I was coming from.

He looked at me. “No, I understand where you’re coming from, I think. We haven’t properly justified ourselves. We know each other, yes, but we aren’t tight yet. We’re on different sides of the spectrum. We will get there. Just like Pierre and Natasha will get there. Actually a good way of putting it.”

1835 hours

We left the beach village, drove right through the next town, and ended back out on the country road heading back to the city. The drive back home always seems quicker, than going to the destination you’ve just come from. Once we got back into a stronger reception, the texts came through. Some from mum, some from friends, and one from an unknown number.

“Who’s that pig you’re driving with? Fancy Ford Ranger.”

I ignored the message. Here comes the backlash.