Naked, Barefoot, and Accused of Cheating

“Stella, are you always this competitive naked?” Hana asked, walking backward in front of me with an expression that made an innocent question sound decidedly less innocent. Until then, I had barely thought about being undressed. Now I was trying to work out where to put my hands. On my hips looked confrontational. Folded across me looked defensive. Apparently I needed pockets to cope with a woman smiling at me.

This was supposed to be a quiet dawn walk along the coast outside Auckland: six adults, a headland, then back for breakfast. Hana had invited me after we met at the naturist beach earlier that week. She had described herself as an excellent guide. What she had neglected to mention was that her idea of guiding involved accusing me of cheating because I knew which birds nested beyond a black rock. “You read the information board,” she said. “You make that sound illegal,” I told her. Her smile widened. I stopped worrying about my hands and started worrying about how much I wanted her to keep looking at me.

One of the men suggested that whoever reached the next rock first could ask the next question. Hana glanced toward it, then at me. “Shall we?” she asked, already shifting her weight. “Are we counting down?” I said. “Probably.” Then she ran. I stood there for one offended second before chasing her, while the other four called after us about rules neither of us had bothered to establish.

The wet sand was firm under my feet, and the cold air made running feel wonderfully reckless. I was closing the gap when a shallow wave spread across our path. Hana hopped over it. I tried to cut behind her, planted a foot in the wash, and went sideways just as she turned to check on me. My hands found her shoulders; hers closed around my forearms. We managed three absurd, shuffling steps together before landing on our knees in the foam. For a moment we just stared at each other, too surprised even to laugh.

Then Hana pushed wet hair away from her face. “That was absolutely a foul.” I tried to answer, but I was laughing too hard. Behind us, our companions were enjoying themselves without making any effort to help. Another wave slid around our knees. Hana still had hold of my wrist, and suddenly I noticed how close we were: her shoulder against mine, both of us naked, my breath still coming fast. “You started early,” I managed. “And you brought the sea into it,” she said. “Seems excessive.”

We stood up before the next wave, rather carefully this time. Hana asked if I had hurt anything. “Only my dignity.” “Oh, that went at the starting line.” She squeezed my arm before letting go, and I found myself wishing the check for injuries had taken longer. The walk resumed, although peace was no longer a serious possibility. There were challenges over bird calls, tracks in the sand, and who could reach a piece of driftwood first. I lost that one because Hana made me laugh halfway there. She insisted this was a legitimate technique.

At the headland we sat on towels and passed around coffee from two flasks. Hana settled beside me, our shoulders occasionally touching as we reached for the cups. “You were catching me,” she admitted quietly. “Before your ambitious landing.” I straightened, absurdly pleased, then caught her noticing. “What?” I asked. “Nothing. You look very satisfied with yourself.” I could have tucked my knees up and hidden behind my cup. Instead, I stretched my legs out beside hers. “I’d like that recorded in the official results.”

On the way back, Hana fell into step with me without either of us asking. A few more adults had arrived on the beach, but I was far more aware of her walking close than of anyone else seeing me. Near the black rock, she nudged my hand with hers. “Rematch?” I looked at the smooth sand ahead, then took her hand properly. “Walking pace. I’ve already seen what happens when you turn around.” She laughed and stayed beside me. For someone supposedly desperate to win, she made no attempt to get ahead.