Waves crashed on the shore, soaking the warm sand and leaving gentle designs of white foam as they receded back into the ocean. If one were to close their eyes and listen, the sound might almost resemble that of someone breathing deeply – gasping, even – before sighing with satisfaction and falling back into a relaxed state of bliss. Each ebb and flow of the water brought another sensation of inhaling and exhaling, leading Deidre to wonder if the beach’s reputation for dissolving a person’s stress was at all related to the nearly meditative rhythm she could hear.
Of course, the actual beach likely had a slightly different scent than that of the chow mein on the coffee table, and its relaxing effects were probably more profound when one was actually present… and not, as the case was Deidre, watching the waves on the screen of a television. Still, this was the best that she could get at the moment, because the very stresses which had prompted her desire for a vacation were the same ones which kept her from taking one. On the surface, they probably seemed like excuses: There wasn’t enough time, there wasn’t enough money, and there was always something that needed her attention. Until the world saw fit to send her an opportunity, this prerecorded getaway would have to do.
Deidre leaned back on her couch and closed her eyes, trying to breathe in time to the rush and whisper of the waves. In… out. In… out. Deeper, now. In… out. In…
A sudden clattering from outside sent a jolt through her limbs, which was followed soon after by a feeling of irritation. She glanced at the clock, wondering who would be making so much noise at this late hour. People certainly came and went at later times – the grocery stores would still be open for another fifteen minutes, after all – but the thumping and banging didn’t sound at all like someone retrieving their shopping. With a sigh (and one which was decidedly less serene than the ones she’d been offering moments earlier), Deidre rose from the couch and crossed to the window, pulling down a small section of the blinds to see what could be causing all the ruckus.
The first things she noticed were his arms; the way that the taut muscles rippled beneath his skin as he hoisted a cardboard box from the back of a truck. The rest of his body – what wasn’t covered by the worn jeans and the tight, white shirt – seemed to be a match, suggesting a strength that was subtle and unassuming, but still easily visible. The man’s rugged attire gave way to an equally rugged appearance, complete with just slightly too-long hair and stubble which had gone unshaven for the better part of a week. Deidre wondered if it would feel bristly, or if it had grown to the point where be soft against her own face.
SIGN UP FOR SHORT ROMANTIC STORIES
The thought caught her off-guard. Granted, it had been some time since her last relationship, and she hadn’t even entertained a fling in the meantime… but she felt her face growing flush at the same time that she felt her heart start to beat just a little bit more strongly in her chest. Another box was lifted from the back of the truck, and Deidre let herself imagine what it would be like to get picked up by those broad (yet pleasantly slender) hands. Almost of their own accord, Deidre’s own fingers traced their way from her collarbone to her waist, while her other hand pulled the blinds apart a few inches more. Even the way that he moved suggested an inner poise and confidence: Each motion was at once deliberate and measured, yet fluid and unrehearsed, as though every shift in weight and change in balance was a piece of music being offered by a master of improvisational melody. If indeed there was a song being played, then Deidre’s heart was keeping time to it.
There was a sudden cymbal crash as the man looked over, locking eyes with her.
Deidre pulled away from the window, gasping to herself. He had seen her. Of course he had seen her. There was no way that he had missed the way that she’d been staring at him. Had she been biting her lip? Had her expression at all betrayed the images that had been swirling through her mind? The pounding in her chest had taken on a staccato quality, its fluttering taps brought on as much from the embarrassment of having been caught as from the excitement of having watched the man.
Those taps were suddenly joined by a gentle knocking on her front door.
Several seconds passed, and the knocking was repeated. Deidre hurriedly adjusted her clothes. Thankfully, she hadn’t yet changed for the evening. Perhaps her seaside recording would have been more relaxing if she’d traded her blouse and slacks for a t-shirt and sweatpants, but she was grateful for the attire now. After taking a moment to steady herself, Deidre strutted to the door, undoing the latch and swinging the whole thing open.
His eyes were blue, and the beginnings of crow’s feet appeared at their corners as he smiled.
“Hi!” he said. His tone was warm and friendly, offered in a baritone voice that was somehow still light and carefree. “You must have heard the noise I was making. I just moved in next door. I’m Dustin.” A hand was extended, and without even thinking, Deidre put her own into it.
“Deidre,” she replied. She realized that her voice might have sounded meeker or breathier than she had intended, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “You were causing a lot of commotion out there.” Oh, now that sounded too harsh! she thought to herself.
Fortunately, the man – Dustin – didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’d meant to get all of the heavy lifting done earlier in the day. I guess things don’t always work out like we plan!”
Something about his words prompted Deidre to remember the state that her living room was in. Could Dustin see the half-eaten box of Chinese food? Was he at all curious about the ocean scene playing on her television? Could his deep, azure eyes take in the way that her breathing was still quickened and hot, or the way that a hidden thrum of excitement was causing her thighs to tense and shift in their stance? Once more, she felt her face growing flush, and she pulled her hand away. Have I been holding it this whole time? He never pulled away.
“Well,” Deidre said, perhaps a bit too forcefully, “it’s late. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
She’d already started to close the door, but stopped when Dustin replied: “Thanks! Hopefully I’ll see you around.”
The sharp click of the latch was accompanied by a stark shift in Deidre’s mood. As far as first impressions went, that one had probably left something to be desired. She imagined that she could hear Dustin walking away, and with every footfall, she felt herself growing more and more irate. That blue-eyed, broad-shouldered man had almost certainly been left thinking that his new neighbor was an ice queen; a cold, unimpressed rock of a person.
Any relaxation Deidre had found from the sound of crashing waves had swiftly evaporated.
There was no point in trying to recapture that faux-serenity she had been fostering. Deidre growled to herself as she stomped up the stairs, playing the scene over in her mind. A tiny, hopeful voice suggested that she might have seemed coy; that Dustin had been charmed by her apparently aloof attitude, and had returned to his own home with pleasant thoughts of her in his mind. That seemed like wishful thinking, though, and Deidre resolved to push the idea from her head.
Her fingers were shaking slightly as she undid the buttons on her blouse. Even this mundane, everyday activity had been rendered more difficult by that brief encounter with the man next door, and it frustrated her. Eventually, though, she managed to open the garment down to her navel… and it was only then when she realized that her bedroom curtains were still open.
Almost as though he had planned it – or almost as though he had known Deidre’s own routine – Dustin was there, across the way, taking his own shirt off in his own (as-yet-unfurnished, as Deidre saw) bedroom. He hadn’t seen her yet… or if he had, then he was doing a very good job of pretending otherwise. Once more, the rhythm of excitement started pounding in Deidre’s chest, and it only sped up when she got her first view of his: His tight shirt had left very little to the imagination, but the dark, fine hair that descended from the man’s chest to his abdomen had been a surprise. His jeans came off next, and Deidre felt her breath catch at the sight of his toned, almost elegantly muscular legs. A portion of his body was still covered by his boxer shorts, but she had little doubt that it would fit perfectly… with the rest of what she’d seen.
Another cymbal crash. Had that been a glance in her direction? Had she seen a confident (yet slightly sheepish) grin being cast her way? She stepped back without thinking, moving away from the window… but after a moment, she returned to where she had been standing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Dustin moving, but she acted as though there was a blind spot in her vision. With casual motions – with no hint of flourish or show at all – she finished undoing her blouse, letting it fall to the floor behind her. The clasp on her slacks was undone next, and for the briefest of moments, Deidre wished she had worn underwear that matched her brassiere. There was no sense worrying about it now, though… and besides, perhaps the clashing designs would make her performance that much more believable.
She paused in her disrobing then, keeping what modesty her remaining garments allowed, then turned her back to the window. This time, she moved more slowly than she might have otherwise, bending over to retrieve her fallen clothes. She wondered if he was watching; if she’d caught his attention in the same way that he’d caught hers, but she dared not cast her gaze over her shoulder. Still without turning back, she brought her discarded clothing to her hamper, dropping it in with an unceremonious flick of her wrist. Only then did she look back toward the window.
It seemed as though her performance had inspired an imitation. The fabric of Dustin’s boxer shorts grew tight across his backside as he, too, bent to retrieve his fallen clothes. Deidre watched as the backs of his thighs flexed, and felt her own following suit. As it had earlier, he hand began to run from her collarbone to her chest, pausing for just a moment at the cup of her brassiere. Did she dare? She had never done something like this before: This game of mutual voyeurism and exhibitionism, which seemed to dance right on the precipice of something more direct. It was tantalizing, exhilarating… but perhaps best left with some mystery surrounding it. She faced directly at the window – directly at Dustin, who she thought was casting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder – and stood there for a moment, offering a clear view of herself. A second passed, then two, and only after she had exhaled her third breath did Deidre close the curtains.
Her underwear – both the top and the bottoms – joined the rest of her clothes in the hamper. Was her silhouette visible? Was Dustin still watching? Had… had he finished disrobing, as well? Deidre paused, then flipped the switch to turn out her bedroom’s overhead light. Then, moving quietly, she crossed back to the curtains, peeking through the slender gap between them. She was just in time to see Dustin’s own silhouette – his fit physique still more than evident in the dancing shadow – as he walked across his own bedroom. The light went out.
Deidre climbed into bed. She wondered, was he thinking about her?
One thing was for certain: The man next door was definitely more interesting than a recording of the ocean.