Chapter 10
Ocean
With stars shimmering overhead and the reflection of the full moon glowing on the surface of the water, Ocean sprawled, belly stuffed from supper, in one of the wooden deck chairs on Pope’s deck. The view was spectacular; the company, even better.
Roan had dragged his chair over beside Ocean’s, lining it up so it was like they had one big chair to share. A bonfire crackled in the firepit as Danger let out a belch that echoed down the deserted beach.
“You didn’t intend for us to move anytime soon, did you?” Danger remarked.
Danger had already loosened his belt halfway through supper. Now, he popped the button on his fly, groaning as he sprawled in his chair.
“That was the best steak ever,” Ocean moaned, still feeling extremely stuffed and bloated himself as he sparked a joint.
“Glad you approve,” Pope replied. “That rub hasn’t failed me yet. My grandfather put it together. Got pissed as hell when my old man tweaked it with a hint of cayenne, but I like my meat with a bit of spice, so I’ve always followed suit, much to my grandfather’s continued disappointment.”
“He’s still alive?” Roan asked.
“And as crotchety as a hurricane,” Pope explained. “Doesn’t get around so well anymore, so he sits on the porch cursing out the neighbors and threatening to beat people with his cane.”
“Sounds like Dalton.”
“Because they’re cut from the same cloth,” Pope replied, chuckling.
“You know what you should do, since you’ve created a captive audience,” Danger said. “Break out your guitar and entertain us.”
“You play guitar?” Roan asked, a stream of smoke curling around his head as he passed the joint back to Ocean.
“You name a classic rock song and chances are, Pope can play it,” Danger replied. “Though the best part is thinking up the most obscure ones and playing Stump Pope.”
“How often do you lose?” Ocean asked.
Danger groaned and let his head fall back against one of the cushions covering the wooden lounge chair. “All the damned time.”
“Challenge accepted then,” Ocean said, wiggling so he was sitting up straighter instead of sprawled so low it was tempting to fall asleep.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you guys planned this,” Pope declared, narrowing his eyes at Danger as he stood and headed for the sliding glass doors that led to the den.
“Yes!” Danger declared, clapping his hands and cackling. “Guys, you are in for a treat.”
“Is he really that good?” Roan asked.
Danger rolled, groaning and letting out a smaller burp, then sniffed, and finally noticed what they were up to when Ocean passed the joint back to Roan after taking a couple of tokes.
“Better,” Danger replied. “Hey, let me get in on the rotation.”
Roan held the joint out to him, but there was too much distance between their chairs, so Danger rolled out of his and stood so he could drag the chair closer.
“Next time I’m skipping that second baked potato,” he grumbled, grunting as he positioned it beside Roan’s, trapping him between them.
“They were so good though,” Ocean moaned, rubbing his stomach. “If I could have eaten two of them, I’d have done it too.”
“Trust me, you’d be paying for it now, the same as I am,” Danger groaned. “When he breaks out dessert and drinks later, which he will, I might have to wave the white flag and concede.”
“Dessert,” Roan moaned. “I love desserts, but I don’t think I can eat another bite, even when the munchies hit.”
“Gonna die eventually,” Ocean said. “I’d rather it be at the hands of a lavish dessert than be eaten by a shark.”
“Gotta admire the logic,” Danger declared as Pope emerged, gleaming brown and tan acoustic guitar in hand, to park himself on one of the lounge chairs.
“So, what am I kicking things off with?” Pope asked as he made a few adjustments to the way it was tuned.
“All the Way from Memphis,” Ocean blurted.
“Good one!” Danger said.
“He knows it, doesn’t he?” Ocean asked.
“Oh yeah,” Pope said before launching into the song.
Ocean drew in a lungful of smoke and passed the joint, shocked when, instead of smoking it, Roan passed it to Danger and started to sing along.
Holy shit.
Roan drew his feet up until they were tucked against his ass, arms wrapped around his knees, singing like he was fucking performing in front of a stadium full of people and yeah, Ocean would have happily forked over his hard-won money to listen to him too, ‘cause the fucker had pipes.
Danger sat up fully, staring at Roan with wide eyes, joint forgotten until Ocean reached for it, then took a quick drag and reached past Roan to pass it to him.
Pope’s expression was an equal mix of shocked and impressed as he continued playing, their voices complementing one another’s.
When Roan hit a high note without wobbling, then drew it out over the course of several beats, Ocean felt goosebumps crop up along his arms and shivered as they sang the final words.
“Why the fuck were you trying to spin around the pole when you should have been up on that stage singing in the dungeon the other night,” Pope said as the final chords lingered in the air.
“I-I didn’t know that was an option,” Roan admitted. “Aside from the drag queens when they did their lip-synch routines, everyone else who got up there danced.”
“Stop trying to be like other people,” Pope admonished. “The rest of the Jokers will respect you being genuine over anything else.”
“Yes, sir,” Roan muttered, squirming some, not that he could wiggle much the way Ocean was pressed up against his side.
“Who’s got the next song?” Pope asked.
“Making it Easy,” Roan said.
Pope stroked his chin, and for a split-second Ocean thought Roan had stumped him on his very first try, then Pope nodded.
“The Raspberries. Nice choice. I haven’t played that in a while,” Pope said and started strumming.
Like he had before, Roan sang the song with him, while Danger and Ocean smoked Ocean’s joint down to the roach, then lit one of Danger’s.
“We used to sit around the beach like this,” Ocean said when the song was finished. “My buddy, Shannon, had this old ukulele he’d break out. Half the time it was missing a string and out of tune, but we’d sing some silly ass songs and listen to the waves.”
“What kinds of silly songs?” Roan asked.
“You know, just, funny shit, like Mahna Mahna from the Muppets and that Time Warp song,” Ocean replied. “And Puff the Magic Dragon, stuff like that.”
“Wait,” Pope said. “Your buddy was playing The Time Warp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show on the ukulele?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t half bad either, or maybe it was and we were too crossfaded to notice,” Ocean replied.
“I love that song!” Roan declared, which was enough to prompt Pope to play it.
Since they all knew the words, at least to the chorus, Ocean and Danger added their mostly out-of-tune voices to the mix. Different group of people, same relaxed, lazy vibe. The smoke left Ocean’s muscles lax and his mind blissfully hazy.
“Should you even be smoking with a competition coming up?” Danger asked as Ocean relit the joint at the end of the song.
“Therapeutic exemption,” Ocean replied before drawing in another lungful of smoke.
Eyes already heavy-lidded, they closed completely as he held the smoke in and drifted with the rhythm of the waves before letting it out.
“How’d you manage that?” Pope asked.
“Severe enough ADHD, especially the hyperactive part,” Ocean explained.
“They tried a bunch of meds when I was a kid that either turned me into a zombie or left me bouncing between anxious and pissed off. I was getting into more trouble on them than off, so Mom took me off. When I started smoking up with my friends, I realized that for the first time, I could focus, like completely hone in on something and follow along. As soon as I was legally able to apply for a medical marijuana card, I got one, which made it easier to get the exemption when I turned pro.”
“I can’t picture you hyper,” Roan said, gaze roving Ocean’s face before trailing lower. “Nope. Can’t see it.”
“Me either,” Pope said. “Makes me wonder just how much you smoke.”
“Enough to keep me from being hyper,” Ocean replied, taking another toke before Roan plucked the joint from between his fingers.
“It’s puff-puff pass, not three puffs, a pause, and three more,” Roan replied.
“In his defense, you were too busy singing to smoke, though I’ve got to echo what everyone’s already said,” Danger added. “You’ve got this whole Zen vibe going on that makes it impossible to imagine you hyped up and bouncing off the walls.”
“Good. It isn’t a pretty sight. Whose got the next song?”
“Danger, if he thinks he can come up with something he hasn’t asked me to play before,” Pope said.
“A life of Illusion,” Danger said after several moments of silent reflection.
“Smart going with Joe Walsh since you’ve stumped me with him before,” Pope replied. “Bad song choice though.”
“Damnit!” Danger grumbled as Pope began to play it.
It went on like that for what felt like a blissfully long while as the moon grew higher but no less brilliant on the water’s surface.
For a moment, he was tempted to do cartwheels in the surf just to see if he could lure any of the others down to the water’s edge to be silly with him, but it was way too comfy, sprawled with his head against Roan’s thigh, occasionally feeling his fingers carding through his hair.
“Anyone up for dessert?” Pope asked when he’d finished playing Spaceball Ricochet, which Ocean had never even heard of. “It’s strawberry shortcake.”
“Hell yeah,” Ocean said, finding enough energy to sit up. “If I wind up getting harpooned tomorrow, it’ll be a good death.”
“Harpooned?” Roan asked. “Is that slang for getting slammed by a wave or something?”
“More like what might happen if I’m mistaken for a whale,” Ocean admitted. “But I’m gonna pig out anyway.”
A giggle slipped out of Roan, who slapped a hand over his mouth and sat laughing behind it.
“Bring on the strawberry decadence,” Danger said. “But don’t be surprised if I sleep on your deck tonight.”
“You’ll do no such thing when there are beds inside,” Pope warned.