Unexpected

Chapter 8

“I have and I have the same philosophy. For better or for worse.”

“Yes, I've gotten both the better and the worse sides of your honesty,” he joked. “I can’t decide which I like better.”

“Would you like a roadie?” I asked politely, ignoring his last statement.

“I’m not sure what that means, but I’m leaning towards … yes?”

“I meant, would you like a beer for the road, or in this case, for the walk -- you interested or not?” I was slightly curt with him as I belated realized that roadie can also refer to road head as well but hoped that wasn't a term that was used in the U.K. Judging by the smirk on Alex’s face, though, I feared that it was, or at least he knew what it was. Stupid internet anyway.

“Yes, I would adore a roadie, thank you.”

I all but ran to the kitchen to get out of there, and grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge, rolling one along my forehead and cheeks to cool down my raging blush. Stupid stupid stupid.

By the time I brought the open beers back to Alex, I was much more collected. “Ok, let’s head out!”

Our same spot was still open on the beach, so we sat back down in our same exact places as the morning. I couldn't help but wonder if he was planning on sticking around all day or what his plans were. Notwithstanding my recent awkwardness, I very much wanted him to stay but hoped we’d have enough to talk about. Or more to the point, I worried that I would be able to hold his interest for all that much longer. Surely the novelty of “chatting up” an American would be fading soon enough.

But I’d forgotten about the magical transformative power of alcohol. We both continued to drink all afternoon -- we both stuck with beer instead of any of the hard stuff -- not at a ridiculous pace or anything, but enough that my worries about running out of conversation were completely unfounded. 

We did run into a bit of an awkward moment when I finally remembered that I had brought my camera down to take pictures of the beach and ocean. After getting several snaps of the scenery, I asked if I could take a couple of him, as I always like to have people as the subjects of my pictures. I figured he would offer up the typical protest of “I hate having my picture taken” then give in quickly as most people do. 

Instead, I got a crisp, “Absolutely not.”

“Ok...sorry about that. Forget I asked.” I was shocked by his rude response, it was completely out of character for the person I thought he was. It was a good reminder that we didn’t know each other all that well, so I just took it as a not-so-subtle reminder that he might not be quite as nice as he’d been acting up until that point.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me. I just really, really dislike my picture being taken, and I’m not just saying that like most people do, so as not to appear vain or what have you. But I didn’t need to snap at you like I did, that’s the alcohol removing my filter. How about as a compromise, we take a picture together -- one of those ‘selfies,’ I think they’re called?”

I laughed at his use of air quotes. “That sounds perfect. Just a warning though, it’s not as easy to take a selfie on a camera like this as it is on a cell phone when you can flip the camera around. We might have to take several to get one where both of our faces are actually in the picture.”

“For you, I’m willing to sacrifice.”

I was right, it took us five pictures to both get in there -- the first few were just operator error and then after that, we kept cracking up as we pressed our faces together and smiled for the camera, so our laughs would jostle my arm that was holding the camera. We finally got the perfect one when Alex helped out by holding the other side of the camera for me, to stabilize it against our movements. I was glad he’d suggested us taking a picture together as it was nice to be close to him -- my heart beat a bit faster and I couldn’t stop smiling, even after we were sitting further apart on his chair, looking over the pictures and laughing again at the outtakes.