“Not sure you want to know. If I tell you I do normal stuff like listen to music and sleep and eat a package of Oreos in one sitting, my image will be shattered.” He steers me through the thickening crowd as we draw closer, putting his arm around me, protectively. I like it and snuggle closer. I sigh because this feels so right.
The bandstand is right in the middle of the boardwalk. A stage with a shell surrounding it faces the street, and benches in a half circle surround it. They’re already filling up with older couples.
“You sure this is the kind of excitement you want?” he asks, his expression doubtful.
“No.” I nudge him. “This is for you. We can have a good time without breaking the law.”
He gasps and falters, pretending to almost fall over. “I’m hurt. Mortally wounded.” He clutches his chest.
I laugh as we squeeze into the back row, but I feel bad for saying that. As the band gets going, I watch Chad lip sync along to the music. He knows more of them than I do and I thought I knew a lot especially since my dad listens to them every Saturday night.
I whisper, “Sorry about that. Obviously eating Oreos and sleeping aren’t illegal.”
In response, he presses his lips into the side of my head, pats his mouth as if hiding a yawn, then goes back to listening. Curse words roll through my head, but then I remember my planned surprise. I stifle a squeal, anticipating his reaction and hoping it’s good.
I know exactly how to get our fun started. “Fine, if this is a little boring for you, let’s play a game.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “You sure you want to risk playing with me? I’m known to be pretty competitive.”
“Despite my good girl image,” I fluff the ends of my hair, “I do like to have fun.”
He rubs his hands together. “What do you have in mind, sweetheart?”
“Truth or dare.”
He smirks. “Seriously? Can we then go back to your place and play Two Minutes in the Closet?” Then right after he hugs me. “Just kidding. I’m game. Go ahead.”
“Um, I was thinking you could start.”
He leans back and rubs his chin. “Dare.”
“Ooh, starting out with a dare.” Crap. Now I have to think of something. I glance around at the crowds, clapping, singing and getting into it. “Okay. The next song, you have to be the one to stand up, sing, clap and get at least two people to join in with you.”
“Oh, man. You’re tough.” He clears his throat and takes a few deep breaths. I have a feeling they’re more for my benefit.
The band starts in with a bluesy rock song. Chad jumps up and with wide sweeping arm motions claps. When the first chorus comes, he belts it out, rising above the people surrounding us. He moves his body to the rhythm. Before long, I find myself wanting to join in.
I stand and clap, singing, just not quite as loud as him. I yell, “I don’t count!” He smiles and keeps going. The adrenaline increases around us, crackling in the air. Slowly but surely, he affects the crowd. The man behind us stands us and claps feebly, but he claps. Then the person next to him. And the person next to him. It’s like a wave.
He finishes the dare, but he doesn’t stop until the song is over. Then he plops down. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Wow, that was good. I guess I was too easy on you considering these people clap to almost every song.” He has such charisma when he wants. I begin to understand why his father might want him working on his side. If he wanted, Chad could be a force to be reckoned with.
“Time to pay the piper. Your turn,” he says.
“Truth.”
“Of course, of course,” he scoffs. “Girls always pick truth.”
“That’s only because boys give these ridiculous dares that usually involve taking off clothes.” I stand by my decision while he thinks of a question.
He leans closer with an evil smirk. “If you could have sex anywhere at any time, where would it be?”
My face blooms like a ripe tomato. I feel it spread through my neck and cheeks. Not just because my thoughts spread to sex but who I might want to have that sex with. What girl hasn’t fantasized about the time and place of their first?
He smiles, a knowing smile, like he knew the question would embarrass me. “I can wait.” He belts out the words to the current song and joins into the spirit spreading through the audience as the song picks up the pace.
After two more songs, and I’m still debating my answer, he says, “I can offer up some suggestions if you need them.” He points his thumb toward his chest. “I’m good for something.”
More time passes. This is too intimate. I can’t share with him my fantasies about something so private. Not here. Not now.