Moondogs - Alexander Yates [9]
Benicio watched the enormous shadows of his feet as he took slow steps through the sunny lot. “I’ll think about it,” he said. The line went silent and he wondered if the connection had dropped.
“Hey,” his father finally said, “hey. That’s wonderful Benny.”
“I just said I would think about it. It’s kind of short notice for a big trip.”
“I know. I know. But you’re welcome here. I’d love to have you. And you know … they have some good diving. I mean, some world-famous diving.”
“I know that.”
“It’s been awhile, but I could dust off my old fins. We could do a dive trip or two, just like we used to.” His father’s voice went rigid and Benicio’s back did the same thing.
“Just like old times,” he said.
“No.” It wasn’t just the reception; his father’s voice was also cracking. “No, I promise. Nothing like old times.”
“That’s good,” Benicio said.
• • •
HE AND ALICE GOT BACK TO HIS APARTMENT a little before six. They unloaded his gear and laid it out carefully over the bed. He went into the kitchen and started on dinner, while she lingered in the bedroom, ostensibly to change for the gym—by gym she meant the elliptical and incomplete set of free weights in the communal basement. But he could hear her futzing around with his gear as he started prep; laying out fish to defrost, rinsing and quartering baby potatoes, setting salted water to boil. And when he turned away from the stove he saw her standing in the kitchen doorway. She wore nothing on top but his buoyancy control vest. The straps covered her breasts but left a line of bare flesh that ran from her collarbones to her abdomen, broken only by the small frayed buckle. She stood there, one hand gripping the doorframe, the other toying with the direct feed hose of the vest.
“Jesus.” Benicio dried his hands on his shirt. Though an incomplete surprise, this was pleasant.
“I don’t think I’m wearing this right,” Alice said. She tried to twist the direct feed so it would reach her mouth. “What part am I supposed to breathe out of?”
“You don’t breathe out of anything.” He stepped toward her. “There’s a whole other piece for breathing.”
His telephone erupted into loud, insistent chirping and Alice gave him her cutest, coyest look. He took the phone out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside the sliced potatoes. It rang for what felt like a minute before finally dying down to silence. Benicio moved toward Alice and she took a step back as though she were about to run. He grabbed her before she could and they stumbled back into the bedroom. Alice tried to get out of the buoyancy control vest but the buckle was caught so she just loosened it and opened the straps wide. Together they collapsed atop the hard tubes of his regulator and the rubbery foam of his full-length wetsuit.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I can’t believe how much I love you.”
“Bite me,” Alice said, unbuckling his belt with her left hand. “You’re too good for that Hallmark crap.”
“No,” he said, “I’m not.” He pushed aside the coarse fabric of the vest and went right for her nipple, just as he’d been scolded not to, giving it a too-hard pinch between thumb and forefinger. “That’s all I’ve got. That’s me being honest.”
“It’s not funny,” she said as she got his pants open and moved her hands inside.
“The worst part is, I mean it. I—”
She kissed him deep, to shut him up. “You’re foul,” she said. “You’re rotten.”
THIS WAS A GAME THEY PLAYED OFTEN, and the rules of it were simple—though Benicio wasn’t really sure he could describe them. Surprise had a lot to do with it, along with the shock of mock aggression like cold water in the shower. Obscenities were important, as was obvious lying. It was a way of counteracting the creeping suspicion that they were too young to be living this way. It started after graduation, when their friends scattered to jobs, internships and parents’ basements, and the two of them were left alone together. Not yet in their mid-twenties and they’d backed into what felt like a domestic, almost middle-aged life. They used the game to balance things. To lighten