A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  “You’re not the first guy I’ve heard that from.” His lips quirked. “My friends all thought I was gay for a long, long time.” He laughed quietly. “Some of them still do, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, to be fair, I have dated men. And the people I hung out with in high school can’t even figure out what ‘bisexual’ means, so I’m not about to explain ‘biromantic asexual’ to them.” He shrugged. “They can think what they want.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Zafir smiled. Then he glanced at his watch and scowled. “Crap. I didn’t realize how late it was.” He met my gaze. “I should probably go get some sleep so I can take my kid to school at the crack of dawn.”

  “Yeah, no problem.” I gestured for the waitress to bring the new check. To Zafir, I said, “Thanks again for coming. I really appreciate this. I was just hoping to clarify a few things, but you’ve been . . .” I exhaled. “A much bigger help than that.”

  He smiled. “Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help you skip over that shitty phase I went through where I thought something was wrong with me. Email me or come by the shop anytime.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.” I paused. “And, um, like I said, if you want me to help your son get started skateboarding—safely—you know where to find me.”

  Zafir nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Chapter 4

  Zafir

  A few days after my late-night drink with Brennan, it was business as usual at Red Hot Bluewater. And since it was Friday afternoon, I was knee-deep in a new shipment of bondage accessories. The typical grind—sorting and counting them so they could be displayed in the shop. So exciting.

  Violet leaned into the stockroom. “Honey, you’ve got someone asking for you.”

  “I do?” Oh, please don’t let it be that creepy lady asking about stain removal again. “Who?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, then back at me, and shrugged. “Some kid with a skateboard.”

  In a heartbeat, I was on my way to the door, but stumbled when my foot caught on a pile of bondage harnesses.

  Violet smirked. “Someone you know, I take it?”

  “Um . . .”

  She laughed, patting my arm, and gently shoved me toward the sales floor. “Get out there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I hurried past her, and sure enough, Brennan was standing there in the shop, eyeing a rack of sounding equipment.

  As I came out of the back, he turned and smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Sorry to pester you, but—” He held up a catalog with a skateboarder on the cover. “I thought you might want to have a look at this. See what kind of safety gear I can get for your son if he still wants to skate.”

  “Oh. Awesome.” I took the catalog from him and thumbed through it. “Not that I have any clue what most of this is for.”

  Brennan smiled. “Trust me—a lot of it will make sense when you really look at it. Don’t worry about the custom boards or anything like that, but look at the safety gear and basic boards.”

  I nodded. “Cool. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He chewed his lip, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet. “I, um, don’t have to be back at the shop tonight. Do you have a dinner break or anything soon?”

  My heart sped up. It was early yet, a good hour before I usually took my break, but . . .

  I glanced past him at Violet. She grinned as she nodded and waved toward the door.

  You’re the best, V.

  Smiling, I faced him again. “Yeah. Just let me clock out really fast.” I stepped into the back and put the catalog on the desk where I wouldn’t forget it. Then I clocked out and rejoined Brennan in the front.

  “See you in a bit, Violet,” I called over my shoulder.

  “Have fun, sweetheart.”

  I glanced back at her, and she smirked before returning her attention to the shelf she was stocking. Fortunately, Brennan didn’t seem to notice her teasing tone, or at least didn’t feel the need to question why my boss was ribbing me about going somewhere with a guy.

  As we stepped outside, I said, “I don’t have a ton of time, but there’s a deli around the corner that’s really good.”

  “Leo’s Deli?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sweet. I love that place.”

  We walked a few doors down and into the deli, which was deserted. There, Brennan ordered a turkey and Swiss sandwich, and I went for a salad.

  As we sat down at a table by the window, he glanced at my meal. “You a vegetarian?”

  I shook my head. “No, no. But I do try to keep halal.”

  “Keep . . . what?”

  “Halal.” I tore the salad dressing packet and started smothering the salad in balsamic vinaigrette. “Basically means we can only eat meat from animals that were slaughtered a certain way.”

  “Oh. Is that kind of like kosher?”

  I laughed softly. “Not really, but . . .” I shrugged. “Close enough, I guess.”

  “Sorry.” His face colored. “I don’t know any of the rules about Muslims. I don’t know anything about Muslims. So, if I sound like an idiot—”

  “Relax.” I smiled. “You’re not patting me down or giving me the side-eye, so you’re fine.”

  “Do you really get that a lot?”

  “Not a lot, but it happens. Airports suck, and whenever something goes to hell in the Middle East, everyone either wants my opinion or my apology.”

  “Wow. That must be fun.”

  “It can be. Once in a while.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” I laughed. “There was this one time I was out with my sister, and some guy started ranting and raving about how he didn’t serve in Iraq so people like me could steal all the jobs in his country.” I rolled my eyes. “We told him like six times we were from Lebanon and not Iraq. Finally my sister pointed at me and said if the guy really wanted a job, I could probably hook him up with a dildo-selling gig.”

  Brennan choked on his drink. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “He left us alone after that.”

  “Smart.” He coughed a few times, took another drink, and cleared his throat once more. “I usually get stopped at the airport, but that’s what I get for carrying a bunch of gear and tools through security.”

  “Gear and tools?”

  He nodded. “I fly to competitions sometimes, and I’ve been paranoid ever since a buddy of mine had a bunch of stuff stolen from his checked bag. Including a custom board.”

  “Can you even get that stuff through security?”

  “We have a pretty comprehensive list of what we can and can’t take through.” He shook his head. “Makes packing before a trip kind of a pain, but it keeps me from spending the whole flight wondering if anyone helped themselves to stuff I need at the competition.”

  “I totally get that.” I skewered a piece of lettuce and a tomato. “I wonder if I could get anything like that past TSA.”

  Brennan snorted. “Good luck. I compete against this one dude out of New Mexico. He’s originally from India, I think, and it’s become a running joke. Whenever we see him, we have to ask him about getting searched.” He met my gaze, and cringed a little. “I mean, I know it’s racist as fuck that they do that, but—”

  “Trust me, I get it. There are some guys at my mosque who travel for business all the time. It’s aggravating, and they’ve all missed flights because of it.” I shrugged. “But sometimes you have to laugh, or else you’ll drive yourself insane.”

  “That applies to most things, don’t you think?”

  “It does. Very much so.” I paused. “So when is your next competition?”

  “Coming up pretty soon, actually. I’ll be gone next Friday until Monday.”

  I smiled. “Fingers crossed for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’d say ‘break a leg’ but I have a feeling—”

  Bren
nan burst out laughing. “Yeah. No. That’s not what you want to have happen at a skating competition. We all get hurt enough, thank you very much.”

  I nearly choked. “What?”

  He put up his hands and shook his head. “Don’t freak out. Your kid isn’t going to be skating at this level anytime soon.”

  “Still . . .”

  “The thing is, when you’re trying to get into the X Games like I am, falling means . . . falling. Hard.” He picked up his drink. “At Tariq’s level, you occasionally land on your ass, dust yourself off, and keep going. So, don’t let what I do make you worry too much about him.”

  “You’re assuming he won’t want to get to your level.”

  The corners of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin. “Well, if he takes a few minor spills and still wants to do it, then he must be serious.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Brennan’s smile was gentle, his tone reassuring. “I mean it—I’ll make sure he learns to do it safely. Scout’s honor.”

  As queasy as I was over the whole idea, I couldn’t help taking that offered reassurance. “I appreciate it. Just don’t break him. Okay?”

  Chapter 5

  Brennan

  On my way to the skate park the next day, I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have to be at work for another couple of hours. If I swung into Red Hot Bluewater, I could say hi to Zafir, and still make it to the park to do some skating before I had to clock in.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t think it was too weird. After all, yesterday he’d thought it was so weird and awkward, he’d felt compelled to spend his lunch break with me. And besides, he might have some questions about the catalog I’d given him. Couldn’t hurt to swing in and make sure I hadn’t confused him beyond repair.

  Only one way to find out. With my board tucked under my arm, I pulled open the black-papered glass door and stepped into the sex shop.

  The place was empty except for the older lady behind the counter. No customers and no Zafir. But he’d been in the back room yesterday, so maybe he was just out of sight.

  As I walked up to her, she looked at me over her glasses. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, um . . . is Zafir around?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, honey. He’s off today. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, that’s fine.” Why was I so disappointed? “I’ll just shoot him a text. Thanks.”

  She smiled and went back to what she’d been doing.

  I headed back out, and after the door had shut behind me, I sighed. Well, apparently I’d have more time to skate today after all. So I headed up the street.

  First things first, I’d swing by the shop to pick up my helmet. I was admittedly a slacker about wearing it when I was just out skating, but if I was going to work on some jumps on the half-pipe, I needed a brain bucket. Not that I’d learned that the hard way or anything.

  When I got to the shop, I put my board under my arm, pulled open the door, and—

  Stopped dead.

  Blinking in disbelief, I said, “Zafir?”

  At the counter, he turned around, eyes wide. Then he smiled. “Oh hey.”

  “I . . . didn’t expect . . .”

  “I just brought my son in.” He gestured over his shoulder. “One of your coworkers was showing me a few things to get him started.” He smirked. “Guess now that I’ve brought him in here, I have to follow through, right?”

  “Well, I’m not gonna say no . . .”

  “Of course you’re not.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m still not sure about all this, though. I know you said he’s going to start out slow and easy, but I could do without him doing . . .” Zafir gestured at some of the posters above the cash register, which showed several of the guys from the shop performing extreme tricks at competitions. “Kind of asking for a broken arm, isn’t it?”

  “Nah.” I pointed at one of the posters. “And it took me fifteen years to be able to do a flip like that.”

  “You can do—” He squinted a bit. “Wait, is that you?”

  I grinned. “That’s me.”

  “Wow.” He whistled. “That is impressive.”

  “Thanks. And like I said—you don’t have to worry about him doing that kind of thing for a while.”

  His eyes widened, and he looked up at the poster again. “Not for a while. Define ‘a while.’”

  “Years. Trust me, there’s a lot of skating between learning how to stand on a board and . . .” I gestured at the poster again.

  “Hmm.” He gazed at it for a moment. Then he turned toward the other end of the store and called out, “Hey, Tariq!”

  A kid turned around from looking at a display of skating magazines, and trotted over to us. “Yeah?”

  “This is my friend Brennan. Brennan, my son, Tariq.”

  Yeah, that was definitely his kid. Tariq’s skin was a tad lighter, but he had the same dark eyes and jet-black hair. He was in that same gangly stage as my ten-year-old nephew—all knees and elbows, and even though he wasn’t very tall yet, he had feet that hinted he’d be towering over his dad in a few years. If Zafir was anything like my sister, he was tearing his hair out over buying new shoes every other day.

  “So, Brennan’s a skater.” Zafir hesitated, looking just a little bit tentative and a little bit queasy. Then he swallowed as he gestured at me. “He said he could give you some lessons if you really want to give this—”

  “Yeah!” Tariq jumped on the balls of his feet. “Really? Can I?”

  Zafir took in a deep breath through his nose. Slowly, he nodded. “You can give it a try, yes.”

  “Awesome!”

  I grinned at the kid’s enthusiasm. “Fair warning, though—scheduling a lesson might take a little while. We both have retail schedules. I’ve got a competition in Portland next week, and one in Reno the week after, so I’ll be in and out of town a little bit.”

  Tariq’s eyes bugged out. “You compete? At skateboarding?”

  I smiled. “Yeah. Trying to go pro.”

  “Whoa!” He looked up at his dad. “That’s so cool!”

  Zafir laughed. “Yeah, it is pretty cool.”

  “Have you ever been to the X Games?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been to them, but didn’t quite qualify to compete.”

  “Whoa.” Tariq’s eyes got even bigger. “Can I come watch one of your competitions?”

  “Tariq,” Zafir said.

  “It’s okay.” I turned to Zafir. “You guys are more than welcome to come. There aren’t any on the Peninsula, but we sometimes have them over in Seattle or Tacoma.”

  “Please, Dad?”

  Zafir looked at me, eyebrows up as if to ask You sure about this?

  I nodded.

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Maybe if there’s one nearby.”

  “Cool!”

  “I’ll let you guys know,” I said. “I know it’s a bit of a drive.”

  “I’m sure we can swing it.” Zafir gazed at his son for a moment, then asked me, “So, it really wouldn’t be too much to ask for you to give him some lessons? Just, uh, something to get him started?”

  “No problem!” I smiled. “I’d be happy to.”

  His lips pulled tight. “I can’t afford to pay much. I’m really—”

  “Dude.” I put up my hands and shook my head. “Don’t sweat it. I like working with kids and new skaters. And besides, after everything you’ve done for me lately? We’ll call it even.”

  Zafir’s forehead creased. “Really?”

  “Sure.” I smiled. “Once our schedules line up, just bring him by the park.” I gestured up the road toward the skate park. “I can hook him up with some used gear and stuff too, the first few times. So you’re not coughing up money for something he won’t keep doing.”

  “Thanks. I . . . I really appreciate it.” He turned to Tariq. “We should probably get going. You ready?”

  The kid nodded. “Okay.”

  “Feel free to email me if you
’ve got any questions.” I paused, realizing how similar that sounded to our parting words the first time we met. “About, you know . . .” I gestured at the boards hanging on the wall behind me. “Anything.”

  Zafir smiled. “I will. We’ll definitely be in touch. Again.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  And I was. I really, really was.

  Chapter 6

  Zafir

  Getting Tariq, Brennan, and me in the same place at the same time so my son could have skate lessons turned out to be insanely complicated. Tariq was patient, though. Whenever I reminded him that I hadn’t forgotten, he just nodded and smiled and said, “I know, Dad. It’s okay.”

  Eventually. We would all make our schedules work eventually.

  In the meantime, I saw quite a bit of Brennan. Every chance we had, we each made excuses to “happen” by the other’s shop. After a week or so, it had become a routine part of the day. Brennan came by during his lunch or dinner breaks, and we’d either eat in the back room or go to one of the restaurants nearby. I swung by the skate shop on the way to work, and sometimes on my way from one job to the other. If he was working the closing shift while I was delivering pizzas, he and his coworkers would order, and they’d specifically request me as the driver.

  If I was off, I’d come by the skate shop. At first, it was to ask more questions about giving Tariq lessons, but that didn’t last. Half the time, we didn’t even mention skating.

  When he came into Red Hot, he sometimes had new questions about asexuality, but those were fewer and further between. Instead, we just talked about whatever.

  I hadn’t realized how much our visits had become part of my day until he was gone. The competition in Portland took him out of town for a few days, and the one in Reno wasn’t far behind. I was surprised by how much I missed him. We texted almost constantly, but it just wasn’t the same.