by Jude Sierra
“Would it bother you if I have a beer, though?” Joaquim asks. He’s not sure what Reid’s deal is: He had a hard time reading Reid’s apologies about getting drunk and his assertion that he’s not that boy anymore.
“Oh no, go ahead,” Reid says, taking a long sip of his water. When he puts it down, beads of condensation slip down the curved, smooth bell of the glass and onto the white tablecloth. Reid licks the pad of his index finger, a subtle but intentional gesture. Joaquim nudges him with his foot. “I’m not twenty-one.”
“Oh, really?” Joaquim realizes they have many things to learn about each other. Their date on the beach was short and at least half taken up by the delicious build to a kiss that was better than its anticipation. Joaquim has never had a boyfriend whom he hadn’t first known for a long time—not that Reid is technically his boyfriend.
“Is it going to be a problem if I’m younger than you?” Reid asks with a teasing lilt.
“Well, now I’m worried. I should have been the one to take you on a senior citizen date.”
Reid’s expression is brighter than Joaquim would have expected. “I’m almost twenty-one,” he says.
“Ooh, I’m really robbing the cradle.” Joaquim props his chin on his hands and pitches his tone lower. “Two extra years of living equals a lot more experience than you might think.”
Reid’s response is cut short when their waiter comes back. He hasn’t opened the food menu.
“Um, I think we need more time.” He looks to Reid for confirmation. “But I would like a lager. You pick.”
“No problem,” their water says, unfazed. “I’ll bring that right up. We have macadamia-crusted hogfish on special today and it’s happy hour until seven.”
“Excellent,” Reid says. “Thank you.”
Thankful for the interruption to the ratcheting up of sexual tension, Joaquim peruses the menu. It’s hard to focus, because his skin is sensitized; his body craves the press of Reid’s fingers all over him. He tells himself, firmly, to settle down.
They remain quiet as they pick their meals, and, as soon as their waiter has taken their order, Reid turns the full force of his stunning blue eyes back on Joaquim.
“So, Joaquim from Brazil,” Reid starts, then pauses. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“That’s it? Your first date dialogue? I’m having the strangest sense of déjà vu.”
Reid tips his head and says, “Second.” His voice is soft.
“You’re right,” Joaquim says. Are you a second date kind of boy? He swallows before he says it.
“So. You?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” Joaquim goes for teasing. He bites his lip and smiles.
“You’ve got a deal,” Reid says. In contrast with his reticence to talk about himself on their last date, Reid seems much more sure of himself, much more open.
“Well. There’s the basics. Other than that I’m twenty-two. I have been wandering from place to place since I graduated high school. I didn’t want to go to University. I’m bilingual, as you can tell. I went swimming with dolphins last week and it was crazy. They were very rowdy.”
“What’s your sign?” Reid asks.
“Sagittarius. Are you into astrology?” It seems like such a strange thing from Reid, a boy who wears trouble and anxiety, wildness and sexiness by turns.
“No, but my mother is. She always asks someone that the first time she meets them. I suppose it’s a habit. Plus, she’ll ask me about it when I talk about you.”
Warm happiness unfurls through Joaquim’s body. “You’re going to talk about me?”
“Sure,” Reid says. “If that doesn’t scare you off?”
“No, not at all.” Being talked about means being seen. Talking to each other’s families means this isn’t a set of quick and thoughtless dates. It’s not just a prelude to more hooking up that’s going nowhere, as Joaquim’s experience with boys here has often been. It’s too soon to call Reid a boyfriend, but he wants to find out if they’re building on something that’s irrefutably there.
“So,” Joaquim continues, “If your mother knows, will she tell you all kinds of stuff about my sign?”
“Depending on her mood and how annoyed she is with me, yeah.”
“Is she annoyed with you right now?” Joaquim asks, reading the tight set of Reid’s shoulders.
“Yeah. But to be fair, she’s annoyed or upset or lecturing me about seventy-five percent of the time.”
Joaquim thanks their waiter when he brings their appetizer of conch fritters.
“I don’t want to overstep,” Joaquim says when Reid transfers some to his small plate.
“You can ask me questions, as long as you don’t take offense if I say I’m not comfortable answering them or something like that.”
“Of course. I’m no rude boy.”
Reid rewards him with a small chuckle. “Oh my god, try this,” he says around a bite of the fritter after dipping it into the aioli. Joaquim has to pull his eyes away from Reid’s mouth when he licks his lips.
Joaquim tries a fritter, and the moment when he could have asked more slips away from them, a tiny melody carried like chimes on the wind.
“So,” Reid says when Joaquim has shut his car door. During dinner they fell into easier getting-to-know-you conversation; but the easier the conversation, the harder it was to respond with inane conversation about favorite movies, when what Joaquim wanted most was to learn more about Reid’s lips and body. “Home?”
“Yours or mine?” Joaquim says, hoping desperately that Reid wants to go to his condo. The chance of them getting privacy in his own shared room is next to none, but he doesn’t want to assume that Reid wants privacy as much he does. Still, hope is free, and he’s got plenty of that going.
“Dying to see my grandmother’s condo, huh?” Reid says.
“Absolutely.” Joaquim likes the way their laughter sounds, with the open windows beckoning the spill of muggy night air.
Joaquim is a little shocked by the condo; Reid’s grandmother must be loaded. These gated condos on the water are not cheap. Reid leads him up a coral path to the door. The moon is so bright that the white of the coral glows brightly.
“So.” Reid steps back to let Joaquim in. He’s grown uncomfortable, which Joaquim regrets. Joaquim takes his shoes off. The condo is spotless. The white tile floor of the entry leads directly into a room that’s part dining room and part living room. To his right is a bright, open kitchen, with beautiful cherrywood cabinets, pale marble countertops, and a breakfast bar overlooking the dining area. Not a dish is out of place; not a crumb is on the counter. Reid stands behind Joaquim as he ventures onto the plush, cloud-gray dining room carpet. On the wall in front of the sectional couch is a gigantic TV.
“Wow,” Joaquim says, a little awed. “I bet you can see so much detail on this thing.”
“Yeah,” Reid says. He picks up and puts down some knickknacks on the glass shelves of the entertainment unit surrounding the television. “I haven’t been watching a lot of TV, but when I do it’s intense. No one told my grandmother that TV size should correspond with the distance to the sofa.”
“I can see that.” He spots the sliding glass doors that lead to a screened porch. “May I?” he gestures toward it.
“Of course,” Reid unlocks the door. “It’s my favorite part.”
There’s only one light on the porch, a peach and pink shell-encrusted table lamp with a hideous shade on a wicker end table. But it’s nice, the butter yellow of a single bulb, and the rich sounds of a world alive with nature coming through the mosquito netting, the ocean sound clear in the night. It’s easy to see why Reid likes this soothing space. While the condo itself is pristine, it’s cold. Maybe if there were more signs of life, it wouldn’t seem so austere.
Reid walks up to the screen in front of the door. His hand touches i
t lightly. Joaquim wonders if he realizes he’s doing it.
“Hey,” he says, trying for soft. Reid startles anyway. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Reid’s voice is falsely bright. He runs his fingers through his hair in a rough, jerky movement. All of the ease and open invitation seems to be gone. Joaquim tests the waters by taking a step closer and then running his fingers down the back of Reid’s hand. Reid shudders, and his fingers uncurl, allowing Joaquim to draw a line along his palm and to his wrist. He doesn’t step closer, but reads the nervous swallow and the shaky breath Reid takes. Joaquim’s job depends on being able to sense when divers are becoming nervous or clamming up. He’s worked with Reid, too, and spent a good deal of time watching him.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Hey, wanna see the rest of the place?” Reid asks.
“Uh, like, your condo, or…?”
“No, outside. We can’t go down to the water here.” Reid gestures forward. It’s too dark to see what’s beyond the bit of land illuminated by the lamp. But Joaquim takes Reid at his word. “C’mon.” Reid curls his fingers and laces them through Joaquim’s, then pulls him through the condo. He doesn’t slide the sliding glass door closed, and Joaquim turns to do it himself. Reid tugs on his hand, suddenly impatient to move. Once they’re back on the coral path, he relaxes a little. He stops and turns.
“Hold on,” he says, jogging the few steps back to the door. Joaquim follows. Reid rummages in a closet next to the door and comes out with bug spray. He sprays himself, muttering about the horror of mosquitos, and then holds the can out for Joaquim. Joaquim takes it gratefully. He’s used to the mosquitos, but still, they’re a bane upon mankind.
“So, where to?” He waits for Reid to lead the way. Reid reaches for his hand again.
“This okay?”
“Of course!” Joaquim squeezes his fingers and stumbles in the dark. Lamps line the path, but they cast more shadowy ambiance than helpful light in places, especially when they cut through a swath of woods where the moonlight can’t filter through. The trees push in; spindly branches and leaves reach toward them. Joaquim falls back, but keeps a hand in Reid’s. He puts his other hand between Reid’s shoulder blades and follows blindly.
Ten
Reid stops a few feet from the gate to the pool. With the crunch of coral under their feet suddenly suspended and only the night singing to them, the lapping of the waves is still barely discernible because everywhere, everywhere, Reid can hear water ripple into the pool filter, its movement as loud as breathing. He’s not sure why he brought Joaquim here. Nerves that were coalescing into something prickly start to make him panicky.
He opens the gate; the loud screeching noise is seventeen times more obtrusive than during the day. Reid hates how it always announces his presence. Despite wanting to go to the pool more often, he dislikes going during the day when people are there. He hates standing out so starkly; his age and hair, his piercings and tattoos and utter aloneness are all a beacon no one can ignore. He didn’t come here to be the elephant in a room full of strangers. That was Eau Claire, and with people he loved.
Joaquim trips at the seam of the pressed-pebble concrete border of the pool, bumps into Reid’s back, and grabs his waist to steady himself. Standing stock-still, Reid lets himself close his eyes and appreciate the pressure of those fingers and that palm squeezing him; Joaquim is still and pressed against his back. With Joaquim, he hasn’t been the elephant in the room once. Every bit of attention has had to do with the real Reid, not his mental illness, not a silence that’s trying to predict his next, inevitable disaster, not his otherness on an island full of strangers. Joaquim’s attention is about desire, about friendship. It’s so different, so normal, to be forgiven easily by someone who doesn’t know Reid’s other self, the one who ran away. Reid’s used to his family and Felix holding onto his mistakes like scraps they’ll use to make a quilt of proof that he will never get to be normal or even get better.
“Okay?” Joaquim says into the fabric of his shirt. His breath is warm, and his hand tightens at Reid’s waist.
Reid leans back and into Joaquim. “Definitely.”
“So was that the tour?” The hint of teasing in Joaquim’s voice makes Reid smile.
“I don’t know. I didn’t have a plan. C’mon, let’s sit.” The pool is lit only by underwater lamps and the same border lights that line the paths. Moonlight highlights the tables, with their closed umbrellas, and the folded lounge chairs. Joaquim moves toward them, but Reid pulls him to the edge of the pool. He toes off his shoes and sits cross-legged at the edge. Joaquim follows suit.
“This is nice,” Joaquim whispers. Reid nods. The night asks for quiet, for its own voice to be heard over others. Reid likes that Joaquim understands that. He puts his head on Joaquim’s shoulder and trails his fingers through the water. When Joaquim kisses the top of his head, Reid squeezes his eyes shut and swallows a groan. They were moments away from a sexy night when he freaked out, and now he dragged this guy to a pool in the middle of the night and is trying to snuggle him? Not remotely cool.
“Hey,” he says, pulling back. When Joaquim looks at him, Reid kisses him. It’s awkward, him cross-legged and trying to turn toward Joaquim with the pool right there. He grabs Joaquim’s shoulder for balance when he almost falls in. Joaquim is kissing him back, though, and his tongue against Reid’s lips and in his mouth is the nexus of everything Reid can think about or want. When Joaquim breaks the kiss, Reid doesn’t have time to ask why before he’s in the water. When he surfaces, Joaquim is laughing like a maniac.
“Asshole,” Reid says without heat. He swipes his fingers under his eyes and they come away black. “I’ll look like a raccoon now.”
“Aw, no, you’re gorgeous,” Joaquim says as he catches his breath. Reid slips under the water and scrubs his eyes to get most of his eyeliner off. There’s nothing sexy about a man with raccoon eyes. He surfaces in front of Joaquim and puts his hands on his knees.
“Oh no, no way,” Joaquim says with his hands on Reid’s shoulders to push him back.
“I’m stronger than you think,” Reid says in a singsong voice. He wraps his hands around Joaquim’s and pushes back from the wall, hard. Joaquim lands on him, and for a moment their limbs tangle underwater. Joaquim almost accidentally knees him somewhere very vital. Eventually they’re both standing; Joaquim is laughing, scooping his wet hair back when Reid tugs him forward by his wet shirt. His mouth is still open when Reid rises on his toes to take it. The water is warm, filled with the memory of sunlight, but Joaquim’s mouth is warmer. Reid’s hand is around Joaquim’s neck, and when he bites Joaquim’s lower lip, he’s close enough to feel how that nip pulses through Joaquim’s muscles.
Hands splayed at Reid’s lower back, Joaquim pulls him in and, at this slightly new angle, kisses the breath out of him, kisses him differently, kisses him as if he’s never wanted anything so much; hard enough to skirt the edge of pain. Reid doesn’t hide the tiny, wanting noises this elicits. He tries squirming closer, but in wet clothes they’re much too constricted. Joaquim’s hands slip under Reid’s shirt; when they almost brush Reid’s ribs he pushes away and gives Joaquim a cocky grin.
“What’s worse than a hard-on in tight jeans?” He asks. His fingers hook under the waistband of Joaquim’s jeans. Joaquim raises an eyebrow. “One in tight, wet jeans.”
As far as distraction goes, it works beautifully. It’s not easy to get Joaquim out of his pants. Reid unbuttons them, and together they work to get them down. At one point Reid ducks underwater to help pull from the bottom. He comes up for air, laughs at Joaquim’s face, kisses him, and ducks back under. When the jeans are finally off, he bites Joaquim’s calf lightly before coming up again. He smooths a hand up the bulge of Joaquim’s thigh and teases his hard-on.
Joaquim frames Reid’s face in wide palms and breathes against his lips. Reid’s hands are under Joaquim�
��s shirt now, tracing his stomach and ribs and pushing him against the edge of the pool. “Shouldn’t we go back to your place?”
“Your pants are already off,” Reid points out. He kisses under Joaquim’s ear and bites his collarbone.
“You’re making me sex-dumb,” Joaquim says, and Reid snorts against his skin, then starts pulling Joaquim’s shirt off. “Reid,” Joaquim pleads. It’s a whisper of protest.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Fucked?” Joaquim says, and disbelief drips from the question. Reid rolls his eyes.
“No, fucked outside. Taken a chance. Risked getting caught.”
“No.” Despite his protest, he lifts his arms and lets Reid take his shirt off. Reid ducks to lick and nip at his chest above the waterline. Joaquim tastes of chlorine, and his gasp is delicious. “I’ve never been much of a risk-taker.”
“Oh. Well, some would say your job is risky,” Reid counters. He stands and looks right into Joaquim’s eyes. They’re bathed in shadows.
“Not like this.”
“Have you ever thought about it, though?” Reid kisses Joaquim’s chin and licks his lips, tiny teasing licks that lead to Joaquim opening his mouth and then groaning when Reid rubs his hand against his erection. “Doing something impulsive and dumb and fun like this?”
“Not so much for impulse, although…” Joaquim gasps when Reid’s hand works under the band of his boxer briefs. “…you make a very convincing argument.”
They both startle when the pool lights suddenly shut off.
“Wha—”
“It’s ten,” Reid explains. “Pool officially closes at ten.”
With the lights off, Joaquim goes from token protester to active participant. The moonlight can’t compete with the dark, so Reid takes off his own shirt. He tosses it with a plop behind him on the concrete .
“Fuuuck,” Reid groans when Joaquim finds his nipples. Joaquim shushes him. With the lights off, every other sense is amplified; even their kisses sound unbearably loud. Reid’s hands span Joaquim’s hips, the solid curve of his hipbones, before sliding to cup his ass. Joaquim has a beautiful ass, and it’s full and round in Reid’s palms. He pulls Joaquim closer and squeezes.
