Chapter 1 #3
Immediately, I can tell the dominant players from the lay-in-waiters.
The difference between a lion and a snake.
But there’s one guy I’m not sure about. Sometimes he’s a lion, sometimes a snake, but in between all that, in the moments where he’s catching his breath, he’s something I can’t place.
I think his team is winning, but in these brief moments, he looks so uncertain, so lost, so… hollow.
During one of these spells, his hands grip his knees, his bare chest heaves, and his damp ringlet curls hang limply around his face. He lifts his head, and his eyes find my lens. They find me, and my heart skips with panic at the very moment my finger snaps the shot.
I lower the camera and clear my throat, looking away from the match and feeling totally caught.
By the time I muster the courage to glance back at the match, it’s resumed without a hitch, and that tall, hollow dude has switched into lion mode.
His form isn’t great, but the way he runs his opponents down reminds me of my time playing for the Sac State Hornets.
Just to be on the safe side, I tuck my camera back into my satchel case and wander a dozen paces away to make that call to Mom.
“Connor? Connor, can you hear me?” Mom answers the phone like she’s trapped in a well.
“Yeah, Mom, I hear you.”
“What’s that in the background? Are you okay?”
“It’s just the ocean. I’m at the beach.” I stick a finger in my opposite ear to focus on Mom’s voice while she grills me about San Diego, even though I’ve hardly been here a day. Dad pops in and out of the call, too, like I’m on speakerphone.
They haven’t sounded this worried about me since I got that apartment with Levi and Raisel last year.
It was only four miles from home, but it was the first time I’d spread my wings wide enough to leave the nest. That move hadn’t prepared me for this one at all.
Now, it’s like there’s a whole galaxy between my family and me.
“What if this was a mistake, Mom?” I ask, my anxiety driving the conversation now. “The house is weird. Thalia’s dad doesn’t like me. Her brother… Maybe it’s too soon to live with Thalia full-time.”
“Too soon?” Dad’s voice chimes in. “You’ve been together two years, bud. If you don’t hate each other by now, y’all are as good as soulmates.”
Soulmates? Maybe we are. If things always fall into place, that’s a sign you’re on the right path, right? But tell that to the quiver in my gut that’s kept me on the verge of sickness ever since yesterday.
Mom butts back in to remind me, “You didn’t move down there to be Thalia’s live-in boyfriend. You’re there for school, and you should focus on that first and foremost. If you’re not comfortable in Thalia’s father’s house, you have other options. We’ll even help you with rent if you need it.”
An apartment in San Diego is a lot more than the room I rented in Sac.
I can’t ask Mom and Dad to take on that expense when it was my idea to move here.
Yeah, I’m here for school, but I only chose UCSD for Thalia.
I owe it to Mom and Dad’s retirement savings to stick this living situation out more than a day.
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m just venting. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize! You know you can talk to us about anything, Connor.”
Dad interjects. “You’re just homesick. Give yourself time to acclimate, and if you really need us, we’ll come right down and get you. No questions asked.”
The absurdity of the offer reminds me how lame I’m being. I’m not stranded on a deserted island or buried alive in a box six feet under. I’m on a beautiful beach in a beautiful city. A guy like me could do a hell of a lot worse.
Get it together, Connor.
“Yo, stalker!” A deep tone and blustering words catch my ear.
I whip my head over my shoulder to see that leggy dude from the pickup match marching my way with a small gym bag slung over his shoulder and bouncing against his hip.
“Uh…” My mouth dries as Mom and Dad bicker in my ear. “I gotta go. I’m, uh, about to start driving. Call you later.”
I hang up as Mom declares her undying love for me, and I shove both hands into my pockets. “You talking to me?”
A smirk dimples one cheek as the guy halts a yard from me. “Does it look like I’m talking to you?”
Up close, he’s even taller. He’s got half a foot on me, easy, and his height elongates his leanness to make him almost skinny. It makes me think he’s young, but when he sticks his hands on his hips, his arms and chest flex enough to show real muscle.
I quit studying his body and look at his eyes in time for them to flit toward my camera bag.
“You were taking my picture,” he says.
“I wasn’t—” I stop myself mid-lie, because it’s pretty damn obvious I was taking his picture. “I’m a photographer. I was taking pictures of a lot of people. Not just you.”
“Don’t make me jealous now.”
“What?”
Brown eyes lift to capture my uneasy gaze, and they stay on me long enough for the tip of his tongue to glide from one corner of his lips to the other. “Can I see?”
“Um…” Politeness has me tugging on the zipper of my camera bag, but my natural suspicion of strangers has me hesitant to hand over something precious.
“Dude, don’t worry. I’m not gonna smash your camera for taking pics of me. I just wanna see.”
“Alright.” I turn the thing on and display my album on the viewscreen. The first photo is the most recent, and it’s a damningly zoomed-in portrait of the man in front of me and his hollow expression that seems to say so much.
Those tacos tumble uncomfortably in my stomach as I hand the camera over and tell him which button will take him through the album. He doesn’t click any buttons, though. Just stares at himself on the screen as a bead of sweat crawls down his nose.
His smirk looks villainous, and I fear he might actually smash my camera. But he hands it back without fuss and says, “Straight-ahead shots don’t do my jawline any favors, but it’s pretty good. If you ever make prints, I want one.”
“For sure,” I promise, though I have no intention of following through.
As I tuck my camera back into its case, the man says, “It’d look better in black and white.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m, uh—” his large palm strokes his bare chest, drifting down across his flat stomach, “a little pink.”
My eyes follow his hand. There’s too much intention in his movements for me not to notice. He’s right. He is a little pink, but it’s not from the sun. It’s all exertion and adrenaline. Exactly what I’d want to showcase in that photo. That and his eyes, which I force myself to return to.
“So,” he says as his own gaze roams my body, “you wanna take a walk? There’s an alcove just beyond that cliff that’s pretty secluded.”
“Huh?” I smile through my confusion and even check over my shoulder to see where the beach narrows and bends. “Why would we take a walk?”
When I look back at him, he’s licking his lips again. Briefly, I wonder how salty they must be. “Why do you think?”
An incredulous chuckle ripples through me. “Are you hitting on me?”
“Ah.” His smirk widens into an amused smile. “Don’t play dumb with me, stalker. You’re the one with my face in your digital spank bank.”
I laugh, feeling heat on my face that isn’t sun or exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I have a girlfriend.”
“So?”
“Soooo, I’m straight.”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
Jeez, who is this guy?
Maybe I’m giving mixed signals. I did take the picture, and I’m currently grinning like a fiend and blushing like a star-struck fanboy, but it’s only because this is the first time in my life a dude has hit on me.
Is this a normal thing in San Diego? Shirtless men “taking walks” together on the beach?
If so, I’ll have to seriously reconsider coming here unattended.
Sobering my tone to something less giddy, I try to let him down easy. “Sorry, I’m flattered. Honestly. But I’m good.”
Pressing the tip of his tongue to his top teeth, he lifts his chin to watch me from the bottoms of his eyes.
Studying me. As odd as it feels to stand under his scrutiny, I guess I deserve it, since I've already studied him to my heart’s content.
Even so, this guy seems like the type to have a lot of layers worth exploring.
The most obvious layer being: is he gay?
“Okay,” he finally concedes, squaring his jaw and relaxing his arms at his sides. “Well, I’m here a lot, in case you change your mind.”
Not gonna happen, but I let him have the last word before watching him walk off toward the parking strip.
My instinct is to text Thalia and tell her I can cross ‘mistaken for gay’ off my bingo card. Then again, it didn’t seem like that dude cared if I was gay or not. Does he make a habit of propositioning straight men? How often does he reel one in? I have so many questions.
But I don’t text Thalia. I’m not sure why, since there’s no way she’d be jealous of a man.
She’d laugh, rib me about it, and tell all our friends who would mock me mercilessly.
Maybe I just don’t want this moment opened up to all that shit.
It wouldn’t feel right, partly because I truly am flattered.
Maybe I’m more flattered than I should be, but what can I say?
Whether from a man or woman, who wouldn’t appreciate being wanted?