by Xavier Neal
My arms slide around her waist. “Or hear us.”
“That’s half the fun of public sex, Hot Stuff.”
“I meant more so when my downstairs neighbor knocks on the door with a noise complaint.”
We’ve had the woman who lives below me come complain seven times in the past month. The out of control sex noises coincide with London’s return here from work. Originally, I thought she was just exhibiting more fears of commitment by living in her father’s guest house. However, she really isn’t usually in town more than three days a week, and that’s the high end. Her job keeps her moving, which she loves, but it makes being together, even digitally , difficult. Between time zone changes, meetings, and just daily activities we have to work harder to stay connected. The longer spans of time apart have me jerking off to the point I think I’m getting blisters. It often feels like I’m putting more effort in by trying to get us on the same schedule or at the very least one reliable moment each day. I always swear to myself I’ll gripe about it to her when we’re face to face since that’s not really an easy conversation to have from across the ocean, but then it feels so damn good to have her back in my arms, I completely forget. That’s the most exhilarating and the hardest thing about being with this woman. Everything is so instinctually based, logic ceases to typically exist.
London innocently shrugs. “She wouldn’t be bitching if she were having the kind of sex I’m having.”
The compliment elicits another grin.
“I think I’ll light a candle for her in the morning after yoga. Perhaps that’ll lift the blockage surrounding her aura.”
Her odd sentence simply makes me smile wider. “Perhaps.”
“What do you say in the meantime you order us Chinese food and we give her another reason to complain while we wait?”
I cup her ass receiving a soft whimper from her full lips. “I can definitely do that.”
“Can we also spend the evening watching the Hellcats play? It’s their last game of the season.”
“Of course,” I answer without reluctance.
Basketball, like all other sports does absolute shit for me, but the joy she gets while watching and seeing her passionately shout at the screen is worth it. Sometimes I wonder if her father wasn’t who he is would her love for it run so deep. I’d ask, but those aren’t the type of questions she likes to answer. However, she does love to lie her head in my lap and let me trace the #18 tattoo behind her ear. It’s her father’s retired number.
“You wanna invite Matty and Brando over to watch it too?”
She frowns. “Not in the mood to have our bodies constricted in clothing today. Can we do something with them tomorrow instead?”
“Will you remember ?”
While London likes my friends, she’s managed to flake on them the last couple of times we were all supposed to hang out. I arranged for us to meet up for drinks at a piano bar and she changed her flight last minute to meet some motorcross asshole instead. Two weeks ago we were supposed to attend a wine tasting. It was marked on the calendar. I sent her four reminders, yet she still managed to forget and ended up at hot yoga instead.
I’m not sure if she is genuinely that out of sync with the rest of world’s clock or if it is some weird London style anarchy against conforming to something she doesn’t enjoy.
“You’ll be here to remind me,” she sasses.
“We’ll do brunch with them then. Assuming they’re not busy.”
Her head dramatically falls back over the idea of being up before noon.
I chuckle and squeeze her ass again forcing her face back to mine. “Maybe the sleep deprivation will help your long-term memory.”
“Doubtful. But I did pick up a time thread when I was in Ireland. That could help with my time keeping abilities.”
It takes everything I have to swallow the sarcastic retort I’m on the verge of saying. “Do you mind if I tinker with something else while we watch the game?”
She purses her lips together and gives me a skeptical look. “Something else or someone else?”
The joke receives a hard grab of the ass. “You know you’re the only woman coming on my cock, Sunshine.”
London grins proudly but offers no such guarantee in return.
This is the most fucking frustrating part of being a couple that’s not a couple. I don’t know for a fact I’m the only man on her mind. I don’t know if I’m the only one she sends naked photos to and goes on dates with. I don’t know without an absolute doubt if she’s got both feet in this or one out. If she’s got a backup or is possibly looking for a better match while still testing the waters with me. Not knowing the answer is killing me. But demanding one, demanding she acknowledges precise precedents of “normal couple” behaviors and answers to them, could end this. And the absolute last thing I fucking want is that .
I swallow away the sadness sticking to my tongue. “I found an old Gameboy last weekend and have been trying to fix it in my spare time.”
She tilts her head at me. “I thought you just liked to fix computers.”
“Computers. Consoles. Really any piece of technology like that.” My effortless confession is preceded with a shrug. “I love to see how that shit works. I love seeing all the tiny pieces not only fit together, but how they work together. It’s been a running fascination since the day Pop taught me how to fix Mama’s sewing machine. The only thing I love almost as much as fixing them is building them.”
Shock and awe grace her blue eyes and my chest instantly swells with pride. “You know how to build computers?”
“More like assemble . Taking the time to put all the pieces together. Gutting old towers and revamping them. Bringing them back to life.”
“That sounds very Dr. Frankenstein for robots.”
Her lame joke causes me to roll my eyes.
“Mind if I watch you work during commercial breaks?”
A loving sensation floods my entire system. “Not at all….”
London graces me a gracious grin before lowering her parted lips down to mine.
Maybe she doesn’t have to declare our status with words. Maybe she doesn’t need to promise me I’m the only man she’s seeing. I mean that’s exactly what she’s doing by flying back to Highland every non-work day she has, even if it means we’re only together for a few hours. She spends every night she’s in town in my bed and has even begun to take over a bit of my closet space. Perhaps in her own way, she’s letting me know we’re much more than bed buddies by letting me pick the type of pizza we share, watching my favorite shows more often than Sports Insider, and trying to learn about the part of me no one else ever has. Huh. Are those words something I really need when her actions speak in much higher volumes?
The surfer does a 360 on his board, and I toss my hand victoriously in the air.
It’s moments like this I live for. Random amateurs defying the odds as well as gravity. Proving the dreamers always achieve more than the non-believers. I love watching and encouraging others to find their wings and make the attempt to fly. I love the fact that I get paid for it too. Though, truthfully speaking, I would travel the world and watch people do wild shit for free. It would just be a bit more expensive.
“That was so wicked,” I gush, saving the footage on my phone before putting it away.
Oliver beams down at me. “It was really impressive.”
“The wave! His form! Fuck, the height he got!”
His excitement doesn’t match mine but adds to it. Having him by my side while I’m working brings me unexpected happiness. I thought life couldn’t get any better than traveling around with my best friend, tossing back bags of chips and cheering for people doing wild things like extreme motorsports. The adrenaline rush combined with your best friend’s girlish screams as she grips your arm while watching them tumble over onto their roof is one of a kind. But after spending the day with my feet in the sand, Oliver glued to my hip, and watching his face morph from terrified to horrified to thrilled
at each surfer’s safe landing I’m starting to think I was wrong. This feels more incredible than that ever did. This is the type of energy I wanna keep for a lifetime.
“I thought when he grabbed the rail earlier, it wouldn’t get any more exciting, but that ,” his head motions towards what just happened, “was amazing.”
I can’t stop myself from cooing, “Aw, Hot Stuff. You used the right surf term…”
Oliver’s face forms one of shock. “I did?”
“Yeah.”
Pride takes over and his entire presence seems to lift.
He wasn’t exaggerating about sports not being his thing. It’s frustratingly adorable watching him try to convey something he saw or heard about it from his brothers. I know he makes the effort for me. It’s what makes trying to understand the tiny parts inside computers for him worth anything. I will say during those times I’ve learned the importance of having a calming crystal around. He’s a lot less patient when I mix up words like power driver with hard drive.
The blond male we have been watching for the past hour finally exits the water. I wait for him to high five his friends that were also cheering for him on the beach, and for him to enjoy the victory kisses from the beach bunnies bouncing around.
Once he’s finished, I catch his eye and begin strolling his direction. Oliver poorly muffles his groans of objection.
He’s gotten better with the whole other males in my life, especially when I let him mark his territory with the type of kiss that makes me thankful I usually wear skirts for easy access, but it’s obvious it still bothers him. Not sure if that’s because most of his life he’s been brushed over for his brothers or because he secretly fears about me what I also secretly fear about him. That maybe we’re too different to make this shit work. Then again, we’re both having a good time, it always feels incredible when we’re together, so should being polar opposites matter? If the elements can co-exist than so can we.
As soon as enough distance has closed, I compliment, “That was sexy.”
Oliver harshly clears his throat.
The blond male laughs and tosses his head Oliver’s direction. “Your boyfriend didn’t appreciate that.”
“This isn’t about him,” I brush past the pesky terminology and accusation. “This is about you . Your board. And an opportunity to showcase your talent.”
He sticks his board in the sand to lean against it. “I just showcased it.”
“Did I forget to mention for pay ?”
His green eyes suddenly illuminate.
“Damn. I always let that part slip from the sales pitch.”
We exchange a small chuckle, and Oliver’s weight noticeably shifts beside me.
“Let me properly introduce myself. My name is London Hall, but most people know me as Little L.”
“Liam Haines.”
“Pleasure.”
Oliver’s hushed grunt isn’t lost to my ears.
“I work primarily in the extreme sports industry, which often encompasses the bigger surf competitions. However, I have many connections across the board. I know a few coaches and sponsors practically in every avenue who are looking for fresh talent, including surfing. If you’re interested and I mean seriously interested, because I don’t like anyone who wastes my precious time, I’ll pass along your name, number, and the video I just recorded to those who can give you a career in the World Surf League as well as a haircut.”
He gives his shaggy hair a ruffle. “I like it this way.”
“You won’t when your coaches and sponsors ride you like you ride your board.”
The hint of intrigue in his expression reveals all.
“Let’s grab a pic for me to post on IG then I’ll prove to you I’m not just some random beach bimbo trying to jump your dick.”
Oliver’s groan at the wording makes me smirk.
Didn’t want him to think for a moment I forgot he was here too.
I spin myself around, lean in close, and allow Liam to drop his free arm around my shoulder while holding up the hang ten sign. After snapping several pictures, trying to perfect one that gives my face the best lighting, I post the picture on IG with the hashtag Scouting.
The surfer leaves his arm slung around my shoulder as he looks at other photos over my shoulder. “Hey, I recognize that guy!”
“You should. That’s Danny ‘Whoa There’ Caplan.”
“Yeah! He won like four back to back competitions last year!”
“And is now the proud sponsor of Wave Wave apparel.”
Oliver clears his throat again, grabs my hand, and successfully slips me out of the surfer’s grasp.
Does he honestly not trust me while he’s standing their staring at me? The real problem is his animalistic behaviors like this are typically more invigorating than upsetting. It reminds me he’s dropped his guard and is letting his emotions play an active role in his life rather than just a once in a while thing. His little fits of jealousy, or wanting to properly let the world know I’m all his, are signs he’s overthinking less and learning to feel more.
“It was a post I wrote after watching one of his competitions that got him that deal. Well, aside from his ability to ride a wave like a good dick on a bad day.”
Oliver harrumphs loudly at the analogy.
It was accurate.…
Liam’s look remains skeptical.
“Believe it or not, that’s how this works, Liam. I can make or break your career with one post. I can be the best PR you’ve ever had or the worst. But, I typically avoid trying to ruin reputations. The world’s a much better place with positive energy rather than negative.”
“True that.”
The grip on my hand tightens.
See. His negative energy is physically painful.
I snatch my hand out of Oliver’s. “What do you say, you give me your number and I’ll see what I can do for you?”
Liam cracks his mouth yet hesitates to reply. He gives his head another scratch. “What’s in it for you?”
It’s my turn to look confused.
“What’s in it for you ? No one does something for nothing. So, what do you get out of this? Finder’s fee? Ten percent of my first earnings? An autographed board when I hit it big?”
With a cocky grin, I state, “At least you’re pretty and not dumb.”
This time Oliver’s growl is audible to the point it’s almost deafening.
I take a moment to give my mate a stern stare. “Do you need to wait for me over there?”
“I need you to keep the conversation more professional.”
“Trust me, Hot Stuff. This is professional….In fact, I’m almost flattered he hasn’t hit on me yet or offered sexual favors to guarantee I pass his video along.”
“Hard to hit on a pretty chick when her boyfriend is breathing down her neck.”
The obnoxious label sends an unpleasant chill down my spine.
Terms like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ bring so many expectations. So many social “norm” boxes to check. Little pin points to hit now that you’ve given it an “official title”. Fuck that. I don’t want us forced into square pegs when we’re having so much joy being circles. I am not looking to trade in bar hopping until two a.m. because we’re following around an Irish band, for Yahtzee tournaments that end at nine p.m. because they don’t wanna miss late night talk shows like Jimmy Kimmel.
Oliver’s fist noticeably tightens, which prompts me to pull his pinky into mine. “I’ve got this handled. Relax.”
Our blue eyes meet, and the fear in his vanquishes almost instantly.
Now there’s something I love. Just one long, hard look and he’s putty in my hands. Truth is that power pumps both ways. The universe has the puppet strings to our hearts completely woven together.
Turning back to face Liam, I state, “The answer to your question is simple. I get whatever it is I want in return.”
His eyes widen.
“I want tickets to see you compete they’re mine. I
want an autographed photo to auction off at a charity event, it’s in the mail the moment the conversation is over. I want to be your plus one at a dinner in Maui with surfing legend Anthony Parks, you better be prepared to share your roasted pig with me.” Stepping slightly forward, I forcefully inform, “You’re correct. Nothing happens in this business or any other business for free. I help you get this , you help me when I want something. My entire job revolves around hopping the globe, discovering new talent, and reporting on those moments worth talking about. Your payment to me is an open-ended favor trade.”
