Page 108 of You + Me – Against the World

Vadim leans forward, takes my face in his hands, and stops when his lips are only a few inches from mine. “On that date, I wanted to do this a hundred times… No, a thousand times.”

Vadim kisses me tenderly. He captures my lips, and our kiss immediately deepens. It’s the only thing he and I know how to do: want each other, always more, through every storm, every battle we face.

“Come on!” I cry out, tearing myself away from him.

This time, I’m the one who grabs his hand and pulls him into a wild dash. We run back down the pier, then leap onto the sand when we get to the end. With the guy I love close behind me, I laugh as I sprint toward the ocean, my body light, my heart overflowing.

“Ah so it’s time for a midnight swim?” he calls out to me.

He overtakes me and starts running backwards.

“It was on your list,” he continues.

“Are you game, Arcadi?”

“Hmm, it’s not midnight, though. It’s only 10 p.m.”

“Are you chickening out?”

“The water can’t be more than sixty degrees…”

“Afraid of getting cold, tough guy?”

“There might be some pervert hanging around who will see you!”

“Who says I wouldn’t like that?”

His smile turns into a fierce grin. “Okay, you asked for it!”

Vadim pounces on me, wraps one arm around my waist, and the other under my knees. He lifts me off the ground, starts running, and enters the water, yelling. A second later, he sends us both plunging under the surface. The icy water takes my breath away, and I come back up with a shriek, calling him every name I can think of.

“I wasn’t ready, Arcadi! And now my clothes are soaked. They’re never going to dry! Stop laughing, or I’ll drown you!”

He continues to laugh loudly. Pushing his hair back, he splashes me to make me stop, and then comes to take me in his arms. I’m shivering, and he is too, but he kisses me anyway. I bite him, curse him, and he holds me tighter and laughs even harder.

We drag ourselves out of the water, make our way back up the beach, and end up leaning against one of the large pillars supporting the pier. There, hidden from view, Vadim presses himself against me and steals another kiss. I can feel warmth spreading through me. His hands trace every curve of my body beneath my wet clothes. Drops of seawater slide down his hair and bead on my face, making our kisses salty. Even more intense.

I no longer know if I’m shivering from the cold or from wanting him so much.

“Let’s go back, Alma. You’re going to get sick.”

Soaked to the bone, we run back across the sand until we reach Ocean Avenue. We enter the hotel lobby, which is deserted except for the receptionist and her disapproving stare. Her eyes narrow as she follows the wet tracks we leave behind with every step.

The squelch of our waterlogged shoes mingles with our muffled laughter. We race to the elevator, the metal doors close, and we fall into each other again. Again, those hands—cool and impatient—messing up my hair, undressing me, wanting me. Again, those lips—warm and hungry—kissing me, nipping me, devouring me. Again, our floor, our room, the keycard refusing to slide into the slot because Vadim’s fingers are trembling too much. Again, my body against his body, his body in mine… and the warmth returning, sweeping everything away.

Everything.

Even us.

37

At midday on Saturday, after long moments wrapped around each other on the bed, when time seemed to stop, and one last look toward the Santa Monica pier from the balcony, we resign ourselves to giving up the room. While we wait in line for checkout, the surly receptionist from the day before gets snapped at by a hurried guest paying his bill, who is even more disgruntled than she is.

“Miss, maybe you should consider doing a job you like. Smiling might make you prettier,” the guy in the suit snaps at her.

He must be at least ten years older than us, but Vadim moves between him and the counter, while the receptionist fights back her tears. “Her job is to put up with you, not to look pretty just to please you. Maybe you should consider respecting women—it would make you less of an asshole.”

My heart races, torn between the fear that he’s going to get punched in the face and the pride I feel at having such a brave, fair, and irreverent boyfriend.