Summit Books

by Maya Calica

Publication Date: May 2003
Price: P150.00
Available at your favorite magazine stands

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EXCERPT

Sultry nights of quiet stars

All throughout the walk back to the cabana, Beach steadied me with one arm wrapped around my waist to keep me from collapsing on the sand, in case my knees gave in to the alcohol whizzing through my system.

Still, my knees finally buckled under me, and I fell flat on my back. My arms and legs were splayed in all four directions, as if I was halfway through making sand angels on the powdery white shore.

"Hey, are you alright?" Beach asked.

"Uh-huh," I laughed, more than just a little tipsy.

Above me, the stars hung bright and plentiful, punched into a vast tarpaulin sky.

And then I saw Beach's handsome face appear above me. He was shaking his head but smiling. He lowered himself onto the sand next to me. Then with utmost care, he gently lifted my head and rested it on his lap.

"How does this feel?"

"Much better," I smiled.

Much, much better! Giselle was spot-on about Beach: He was really quite a babe.

In the moonlight, his skin looked translucent and ethereal, kind of how I'd imagine an angel's complexion to look like.

But the angelic references had to stop there - the rest of his face reflected a contradiction. Beneath Beach's dark eyebrows were piercing chestnut brown eyes that glinted with a rare combination of fire and ice, passion and innocence, intensity and sweetness. He had a high, European nose. Siobhan said she heard Beach was half-Italian.

And don't even get me started about his mouth. Or that pilyo smile. Because if the French are connoisseurs of kissing, I wonder what their neighbors are good at. The thought was making me giddy.

Ack, had he noticed me staring?

"What's on your mind, little girl?" Beach asked.

"I was just wondering..."

"About what?"

"What's your real name?"

"Beach," he grinned.

"My mom took me to the beach a lot so, it kind of stuck..."

"But what's your real real name?"

He laughed. "Well if I tell you, I'm going to have to kill you."

"What's the big secret?" I teased. "Bet you it's ugly like Salustiano or Procopio..."

"Nah, you're way off the bat now."

"Clue, give me a clue, Beach..."

"Ok if you really want to know, it's"

"Oh, oh!" I squealed! "Oh! Did you see that shooting star?" I asked pointing to the sky. "Make a wish! Make a wish quick!"

I silently made one.

"What? Where?" Beach indulged me, looking up at the heavens.

"There!" I said pointing to what looked like a beam of light traveling across the sky.

"That one?" Beach asked.

"Yup."

He let out an easy laugh. "Sweetie, that's an airplane."

"Oh." No wonder it was moving very slowly.

"You've had a little too much to drink," he said. "Easy now..."

He was so right.

The world was spinning. Lights were going fuzzy on me. Things were starting to blur, then split into replicas of themselves. I was beginning to see double, so I shut my eyes.

Great, Monica. Here you are, basking in moonshine on one of the most glorious beaches in the world, and you're too wasted to even enjoy the view. Or the company.

"What I'd give to see what you see now without the world spinning," I slurred while keeping my eyes closed.

Then Beach spoke in low, soothing tones, saying, "Out on the water, I watch a myriad of diamonds bounce off foamy waves." He paused. "They sparkle in the moonglow for a split second only to get swept away by waves crashing at the shore. If you listen with your heart, you'll hear the swell of the sea whisper secrets meant only for you and me."

I opened my eyes and stared at him, open-mouthed.

Oops, did it again

And then, I did it.

I parted my lips slightly, and pressed them against his. It was a sweet, soft and lingering kiss. Beach smelt like musk and moonlight.

For once, I wasn't pinning the blame on Monique. Or the Kamikazes. Not this time.

This act of courage was definitely brought to you by me, Monica Tanseco. Surprisingly, the kiss didn't make me feel hot and bothered the way Jordache made me feel.

Try warm and tingly...and strangely familiar. I'm not saying it felt the same as kissing Itos - far from it. It's just that I've heard so many people describe love and kisses with a certain phrase before, and I never quite understood what they meant.

Until now. But it was the best way I could describe the experience. Because, really, kissing Beach felt like "coming home."

Now, whether Beach kissed me back is sort of a blur now.

All I remember was his angel face calling out to me, then a soft sensation brushing against my forehead and words being uttered like a name or a magic incantation or a prayer. The next thing I knew I had fallen into some deep sleep.

The dreaded morning after

When I woke up the next morning, the sun was casting shards of light across a white bedspread that smelled of musk. Only I don't wear musk. I wear baby cologne.

The queen-sized bed I was on seemed smaller than the pounding hangover in my head - did I mention this wasn't my bed? Or my cabana?

And I was wearing a man's T-shirt. Last time I checked, I WASN'T WEARING A MAN'S T-SHIRT!

But today, all I had on was this oversized tee with a large guitar emblazoned on it. And oh, by the way, my early morning shock parade was on a roll: I was only in my underwear.

That's all. That's freaking all!

A paper cup of coffee balanced on the side table, with a note underneath the saucer that said, "You'll need this."

Then I remembered Beach. Did we...

Oh. My. God. Please tell me no.

Not that I...well, not that I didn't think about it. You can't enjoy a sultry night, on an enchanting beach, with a full-fledged hottie and not think about... things. You would have to have the imagination of an eraser, or a foot-stool, to not even casually think of... but - ohmygodohmygodohmygod - I couldn't remember a thing! Not a single damned thing!

As I scrambled out of bed, I heard a toilet flush and a doorknob turn. I felt a little faint as I braced myself to see Beach emerging from the bathroom. I mean, am I not entitled to a rehearsal in front of a mirror on what to say the morning after? I'm entitled to collect my thoughts, right? Especially since I never really intended there to be a morning after?

Only it wasn't Beach.

It was Jordache.

In nothing but a towel.

"Good morning, gwapa," he greeted me. "How did you sleep?"