The Night the Waves Were Electric

by A. J. Lucas

  But I wasn’t a slut-shamer. I really wasn’t. I’d had my own fair share of hookups. Hell, I’d even hooked up with guys back-to-back, with not even twelve hours between them, and I would have been upset if either of them had anything negative to say about me because of it.

  God, though, did I have some negative things to say about myself. Everything I’d been holding back all day came rushing into my mind. Jason. The dream. My parents’ worried texts from the night before. College. Calling a cab to the airport in the middle of the night and not telling my roommates where I was going. Finding the spare key under the cactus by the front door, even though I’d told Mom many times that she needed to figure something else out because someone was going to wind up breaking in.

  How could I have thought Felix might help fix all of that?

  I stood up and started to put everything in my tote, surprised to find myself blinking back tears.

  “Foster,” Felix said, standing up as well. “Can I talk to you?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, shaking the sand off my towel and crumpling it into my bag. “I really should get home anyway. Thank you for the hamburger, Harrison, it was really great to meet you.”

  “I’m sorry, Felix,” Harrison said, sounding confused. “I didn’t know there was something else happening here.”

  Felix said, “It’s my fault. I should have said something, Foster.” And then, “Please don’t go.”

  I took a quick look around our space for anything that might have fallen out of my bag. Seeing nothing, I turned to Felix and said, “It’s really fine. Listen, I’ve had a great day, thank you. You didn’t have to when you saw me crying this morning, but I appreciate you hanging out with me. It’s been great.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I turned and started to cross the beach in the direction of my parents’ house. Behind me, the sun was starting to set out over the ocean, lighting up the sky in violent shades of orange and pink. Normally, I would have stopped to snap some photos for Instagram, but right now I just wanted to get home, break into my parents’ liquor cabinet, take too many shots of something amber-colored, and crawl into bed.

  Maybe I would dream about Jason again tonight.

  That would be nice.

  6 - FELIX

  I coulda hit him.

  I felt trapped between the two of them, between Harrison spluttering an apology down in the sand and Foster’s receding electric-blue tank-top winding its way through the beachgoers who were there to watch the sunset. The day had been so fantastic, so full of possibility and the genuine joy of a developing new connection, and then, suddenly, it was all slipping through my fingers, washing away like a child’s sandcastle built too close to the water line.

  “I didn’t know you liked him!” Harrison said for what was probably the seventh time in 45 seconds.

  “Dude, shut the fuck up,” I said, gathering everything as quickly as I could and shoving it into my knapsack. My wetsuit was still soaked through, so I asked Harrison to unzip my back. I peeled it down to my waist, my nipples hardening at the ocean breeze, which was suddenly cool now that the sun was going down.

  If I ran, I could still catch up.

  “I don’t even understand what just happened,” Harrison said.

  I sighed. It wasn’t his fault, really; it was mine.

  “Listen, I’ll text you later, okay?” I said. Without waiting for an answer, I swung my knapsack over my back and took off after Foster.

  I’d done it a million times, and in fact owed my well-defined calf muscles to it, but I fucking hated running on sand. Something about the way it shifted below me while refusing to really give made me angry, and as my feet pounded into the ground, I felt almost like I was running through a dream, one of those disorienting ones where physics seemed to stop making sense.

  For a second I lost track of him, but then a straight thirtysomething couple saw me coming and stepped apart, revealing that he was closer than I realized; as I dashed between them, I nodded my thanks.

  “Foster!” I called out. He didn’t stop, so I tried again. “Hey, Foster. Stop!”

  This time, he heard me. I could tell he did, because he picked up the pace.

  I swore under my breath and ran faster, until finally he was within arm’s reach. I clapped a hand on his shoulder and spun him around, and I recoiled. It wasn’t him, was in fact someone I hadn’t noticed was wearing sweats instead of Foster’s yellow swim trunks. The guy looked shocked as I let go and staggered back.

  “Dude, what the fuck?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” I said, and then my entire body jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I whirled around and Foster stood there, looking bemused.

  “Hi there,” he said, echoing my words back to me for the second time that day.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “You ran right past me.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  He waited.

  “…Listen, can we talk?” I said. There was a bench along the path that was somehow empty despite the sunset-watching crowd, and once again I had the sense that someone up above was looking out for me, was trying to help make this work.

  Foster looked like he was struggling for a second, and then he said, “Sure.”

  We sat and stared out over the beach at the setting sun. I didn’t know how to start for a moment, and it was clear he wasn’t going to open the conversation. Shouldn’t have to.

  Finally, I decided to just go for the truth.

  “Listen,” I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the fact that I hooked up with someone last night. It just didn’t come up.”

  “That’s totally fine,” Foster said, and I braced myself for a sarcastic reply before I realized he was being genuine. “That’s not… You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “I know I don’t,” I said, “But I want to give you one anyway. I’m… a horny idiot sometimes. I am. I like sex, and I like lots of sex. I had a rough day yesterday and decided to blow off some steam by, well, blowing some men.” He didn’t laugh. Valid. Not my best. “Not men. Man. One man. But either way.”

  He shifted in his seat, searching my face for a sign that I was holding something back.

  “But today… with you…” I continued. “Something feels different here. When I saw you crying at the coffee shop this morning…” He stiffened, and I put a hand on his knee reassuringly. My heart swelled when he didn’t push me away. “And you still don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with, by the way. But when I saw you, I just wanted to get to know you, to be near you, to do what I could to turn your mood around. It doesn’t hurt that you’re really fucking hot, of course.”

  He smirked, but it fell almost immediately. “Thanks,” he said, out of what seemed to be habit.

  “Getting to know you today… hearing the way you talk about Venice, and about the music you like, about the games you and Cassie used to play on the beach when you were kids… I really like you, Foster. I don’t want this to be over already.”

  “Me neither,” he said, staring at his feet, kicking at the sand.

  I gave his knees a squeeze. “Harrison’s an idiot. I’ve never met someone with less tact in my life.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes as the vibrant colors in the sky deepened and stretched out around us. I wasn’t sure where this was going; if it was really about to end forever, then at least I would have this, here, now, watching the sun set with him.

  I became aware that he was staring at me. He seemed to have made up his mind about something.

  “Felix,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry too. I feel really childish for running off. It’s not my business whatsoever what you did before we locked eyes this morning in the coffee shop.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “I think I would have been disappointed too if you told me I wasn’t the first one to kiss you today.”

  He f
linched. “You were the first one to kiss me in a while.”

  That surprised me. I had assumed that a college guy as good-looking as he was, was getting laid regularly. Especially back in New York; they loved a “Cali” guy out east.

  “Oh,” I said, because what else was there.

  After a few more minutes of silence, the sun slipping closer and closer to the horizon line, he spoke again.

  “I know how you can make it up to me.”

  7 - FOSTER

  “I know how you can make it up to me,” I said.

  I still felt hurt by what I’d learned about the way Felix had spent the morning before we’d met, but I couldn’t ignore how heartfelt his apology had seemed. If he was lying to me at this point, pretending to fake a connection to get laid, the guy was truly a sociopath.

  And there was only one way to find out, only one way to take this day through to the conclusion I so desperately wanted it to have, to prevent me from wondering about what-if for the rest of my life. I was done worrying about what-ifs. I’d had enough of that for the last few months.

  He was staring at me expectantly, those startling eyes reflecting some of the pink in the sky.

  “…come home with me,” I said.

  His eyes widened, and he nodded. For someone so quick to a joke, he was speechless. I was proud of that. His hand sought mine, and as we locked fingers, I felt myself start to press against the inside of my swim trunks. Just like I used to with Jason.

  I stood up and led him over to the path, and we walked together, hand in hand, toward the beach house. We didn’t speak the entire way back, both imagining what we were about to do together once we got there, not wanting to put anything into words that might shatter the electricity, the magnetism, that was crackling between us.

  The beach house loomed large over the path, almost entirely made up of glass on the wall that faced the ocean. Looking up at it now, I could clearly see the curtains I had closed just that morning while sporting some morning wood; the people down here had most definitely been able to see me naked. Oh, well.

  I led Felix around the side of the house to the front door, which I unlocked. A blast of cool air rushed out; apparently I’d forgotten to turn off the air conditioning when I’d left that morning. Oops.

  When we were inside, I slung my tote bag onto the hallway table and dropped my keys in the bowl under the mirror. While I did so, I caught a glimpse of Felix’s reflection. With his wetsuit pulled halfway down his torso, the fur on his chest still glistening, he looked impossibly handsome, like a god that had risen out of the ocean just for me.

  I turned around and kissed him, quickly, briefly, just enough to leave him wanting more, and then locked the front door.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Some water would be great.”

  “Follow me!” I said. The tension was almost unbearable now, but I acted like I didn’t feel it, opting instead to be a friendly host, like he was a high school classmate coming over to work on homework.

  The kitchen was through the first door on the left. I took two glasses from the cabinet above the sink and filled them from the dispenser built into the freezer door. When I handed one to Felix, he drank deeply, downing the whole thing in one gulp, and then refilled it himself.

  “Thirsty,” I said.

  He smirked. “You have no idea.” He had a way of talking sometimes, a slight rasp in his voice, that made it seem like everything was a come-on.

  “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until just now,” I said, drinking from my own glass.

  “A day of laying out in the sun will do that to you,” he answered, finishing his second glass of water. I realized I was feeling a bit lightheaded, but whether that was from dehydration or horniness, I wasn’t sure. Felix looked around the kitchen, taking in the marble countertops, gauzy curtains blocking out the beach-side windows, shiny appliances, and leather-backed breakfast bar stools. “This is a nice place,” he said. “Most of my furniture comes from IKEA.”

  “Eh,” I said, mildly embarrassed. “It’s nothing special. IKEA furniture works too.”

  “It’s functional,” he agreed.

  We stood there for a moment, watching each other, neither of us wanting to be the one to make the first move.

  I noticed he was starting to shiver. “Are you cold?” I asked. He nodded.

  I set my glass in the sink, and Felix followed my lead. “In that case,” I said, “My room is upstairs, if you want to get out of that wetsuit…”

  “I do,” he said without hesitation.

  As I walked out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the stairs, I remembered that morning, how conscious I had been of the fact that his eyes had likely been watching my ass as he followed behind me, hoping he had liked what he’d seen. Now, I knew he liked it, and I knew what we were heading upstairs to do. I still added a bit of a swish in my step again, giving him a little show, a little preview of what was about to be his.

  The room I’d been sleeping in used to be my childhood bedroom, but a few years ago, when I’d first gone to college, my parents had turned it into a guest room, thinking about renting it out online. They never had, so it felt on some level like they’d just tried to erase any sense that a human being had once lived there, had grown up there, as soon as they could.

  The benefit, though, was that the room looked like it came right out of a home design magazine. (Because, I supposed, it had). The hardwood floors were pristine, and the queen-sized bed along the far wall was covered in luscious, thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets. I was grateful I’d made the bed that morning before I’d left.

  On the wall above the bed hung a large cityscape photograph of Venice, Italy — my parents’ decorator had a sense of humor, I guess. The curtains were lit up a creamsicle orange, diffusing the light from the sunset, casting the room in a glow that felt intimate and warm.

  “Wow,” he breathed. Then the wicked grin was back. “Isn’t this romantic.”

  I closed the door behind me out of habit, even though I was the only one staying at the house, and turned to Felix. Before I could kiss him again, he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck just like he had that afternoon and pulled me into himself.

  His lips tasted salty still, like I was kissing the ocean itself. I liked it, liked how much he lived for the sea. I’d grown up around guys like him my entire life; surfers were everywhere along the Southern California coast. For the most part, I’d watched them from afar, appreciating how carefree they were, how lithe and athletic, imagining what it must be like to be them, to be with them. Today was the first time I’d kissed one, though, and it was exactly as satisfying as I had always hoped, the hardness of his body contrasting wonderfully with the softness of his lips.

  While we kissed, our tongues flicking together, exploring, he peeled off the rest of his wetsuit, pulling it down over his groin and exposing the tangle of hair that sat above his penis, and then off one leg and then the other. He tossed the whole thing in the corner and stood in front of me, sizing me up and down just as I was looking at him. His body glistened with droplets of water, and I leaned in and kissed him again, running my hand down his torso and over his ass, enjoying how slick he was.

  He lifted my tank top up over my head and lobbed it in the corner with his wetsuit. He gripped my chest, and for a second I was feeling self-conscious about the fact that I hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in almost two months, but I noticed his cock had started to harden. He rubbed his finger overtop of one of my nipples, which stiffened involuntarily, from the air-conditioned coolness of the room as well as his touch.

  “You like that, don’t you,” he said, and the line was so porn-y I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked taken aback for a second at my reaction, and then he too started to laugh, that open-mouthed laugh I loved — “love?” Did I just think the word “love” already, after, what, eight hours together?

  All the tension had evaporated, so we sat on the e
dge of the bed together.

  “I like this,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder. I felt his arm slide around my torso, holding me close to his side. I liked that he was just a little taller than me, the perfect height for me to kiss without craning my neck, but tall enough that I felt safe in his presence.

  “Me too,” he said, nuzzling me. I felt his beard bristle my upturned cheek, and I liked that, too, liked feeling his masculine jaw rubbing over my face. How had I lucked into this?

  When we kissed again, this time it was more tender, less hungry. He pulled me backwards onto the bed, setting my head down on the stack of pillows, and then he crept down between my legs. He pulled my swim trunks off; they went in the corner with the rest of our clothes, sent sailing through the air in a perfect arc.

  I reached down and began to play with myself, but Felix grabbed my wrist like he had in the ocean, only this time it was to lead my hand away. He held my wrist down with one hand while he began to stroke me with the other, and then he bent down and took me into his mouth. I groaned involuntarily; it felt incredible, the warm wetness of his mouth opening every nerve ending down there, feeling like my entire being was winnowed down to just the sensation between my legs.

  Felix slid his mouth up and down, using his hand to grip the base of my dick and stroke me at the same time. My hips bucked up into his mouth, and he made a choking noise; for a second I was worried it was too much, but he didn’t move his head away, just held it down as deep as he could, taking my entire length into his mouth.

  “Fuck,” I breathed. “You’re good.”

  He took his head off my cock long enough to say, “I’m glad you’re giving me so much to work with,” and then he went back to what he’d been doing.

  I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes, lost in the waves of pleasure that rolled up my body. I liked the feeling of having one of my hands held down by him while he worked me over with his mouth; I’d never been tied down in bed, but I suddenly, intuitively understood the attraction for the first time. He had complete control and could do whatever he wanted to me.