Chapter 13
Salay
Silence?
Yeah, I don’t hate it.
But only when it’s my choice.
Not when I’ve been told to be quiet.
Not when I need noise.
Not when I’m craving sound.
And I am.
Sound I can’t actually fucking get to at the moment, might I add.
See, the ocean is always talking.
And I live to listen.
To it.
The birds above.
The creatures below.
Even the boards carving through the waves make an incredible symphony.
Now, listening to surfers, divers, and even oceanographers – including the chemical ones – is less fun but still entertaining.
Much like pressing my ear to a conch shell to hear the waves.
Or listening to the adorable, underappreciated animal lover across from me ramble about computer shit I understand less about than paleoceanography.
At least that comes with easy-to-follow visual aids.
I’m not currently craving silence, so disregarding esquire’s orders for muteness is even easier than learning to paddle board was.
“How long have you been into computer shit?” I inquire prior to plopping my chin on the edge of the pool, allowing the remainder of my body to enjoy the cool water.
“Uh…” a couple rounds of clacking are wedged into his response, “since…I can remember.”
“So…you were just born with a computer in your hand?”
“Like you were born with fins instead of feet.”
“Perfect 10 comparison.” The corners of my lips helplessly kick upward at seeing him do the same. “Who taught you how to do the typey, clicker, spyware thing?”
Small chuckles precede him glancing upwards. “Hacking?”
Proudly nodding over my lack of terminology gets him laughing more.
And a bit louder.
The combination is even more irresistible than spending the day on a party wave with three hot Hawaiian surfers that can’t wait to bang you in the middle of the ocean.
Rather than answer, Zero takes his turn to prod around, “Who taught you how to swim?”
“Mother nature.”
Amusement remains during his mirthful headshaking.
“And my mom.” I briefly drop below the surface to cool down the portion of me that was beginning to dry.
“I was three. No floaties. No donut. No goggles. Just me, the ocean, and my mom.” Memories of her wade to the front of my mind where they’re welcomed, which is a rarity.
“Dad lost his shit on the shore. Swore his head was gonna explode or little birds were gonna fly around it like in the cartoons, but he never came into the water. He never took that moment from us. He trusted her, and I honestly think his not interfering – despite the mouthful of water he watched me chug down – did more for me than if he had gone rogue and tried to ‘save’ me.”
Huh.
I don’t think I’ve ever told that story to anyone.
Fuck, I rarely talk about my past with anyone.
It’s more important to stay present.
Especially considering what I do for a living.
How I live my life.
Keeping memories – especially Mom’s – have always been my own version of buried treasure.
Never to be found.
Damn sure never to be salvaged.
How did he get me answer so easily?
Not even think twice about handing him the coordinates and the code.
What kinda fucking spell am I under?
How do I break it?
“The librarians,” is announced just above a whisper as though he fears getting the people in trouble.
Bewilderment bursts onto my face but not out of my mouth.
“My school librarian was actually married to the head, city, public librarian.”
“No shit?”
“100,” he warmly replies and clicks a few more things on his keyboard.
“I was six. And my school librarian, Mrs. Caterham, recognized the signs of abuse – super common in foster care – and arranged for me to stay after school in the library for ‘tutoring’. Once it was time to close up at school, she would then walk me over to the public library, where her husband would keep an eye on me until it was time to take me home.”
“Your foster family never noticed?”
“Not as long as I was home by headcount.”
Pain pounds unforgivingly in the center of my chest.
“They’d let me read whatever. I was always drawn to books about animals. The jungle. The rainforest. The mountains.”
“Very Steve Irwin esque.”
“Perfect 10 compliment.” He winks. “I’d spend some time reading and then they would shift my attention to learning comp shit that I would later learn wasn’t meant for me to actually ever learn.
They’d feed me dinner. Make sure I had plenty of snacks to tide me over ‘til the next day. Send me home with new socks. Underwear. A shark shaped toothbrush. ” It’s his turn to become wistful over the memories.
“They were good people. The best people I’ve ever known.
The only ones who ever really gave a fuck about me – besides Garcia. ”
“What happened to them?”
“They disappeared,” he answers without missing a beat. “Erased from existence as if they were nothing more than a psychotic break, I didn’t know I had suffered.”
“Did you ever go searching for them?”
“Digitally? Of course.” Cockiness curls his lips into a grin. “Turns out they had deep ties to a top-secret government program, organized a rebellion using their unique positions, got labeled as committing treason, and met a very gruesome death staged as a robbery.”
There’s no stopping my head from angling itself slightly to the side on a dropped jaw.
“They were really good fucking people.” His focus returns to the device in his lap. “They didn’t deserve to die like they did.”
“They were basically your parents.”
“Yeah.”
“Ripped away from you.”
He nods yet opts out of speaking.
“Do you know what happened to your biological ones or why you went into foster care?”
“They didn’t want me.”
The urge to demand more details is thankfully soothed by being offered them.
“Birth mother was fifteen. She could not keep a baby out of wedlock. Sperm deliverer was eighteen. High school quarterback. Had a full ride scholarship. Didn’t wanna throw it all away.
” He shrugs his indifference but harshly pounds his fingers across the keys.
“So, he threw me away instead. Literally.” More clacking.
“According to my sealed paperwork – that I helped myself to unsealing – I was found in a trash bag.”
An uncomfortable lull beaches our conversation preventing me from diving deeper.
Swimming more aggressively in waters he’s clearly not ready to share.
Guess that makes us even now.
Guess a topic change should occur.
“Hey, what do you know about kangaroos?”
Zero immediately pauses his actions, redirects his gaze in my direction, and quirks a curious eyebrow. “Why?”
“Garcia brought them up earlier, so now I wanna know what you know about them, Mr. Wildlife.”
“He was just usin’ an idiom.”
“Not sure the attorney at law can spell idiom.”
His light chortles are barely swallowed.
“But I don’t wanna talk about him.” Our eyes stay locked on one another. “I wanna keep talking about you.”
Surprise noticeably shoots through his stare.
“I like talking about you.”
Additional shock makes itself seen.
“I like learning about you.”
Awe threatens to takeover.
“I like learning what you know.”
“About…kangaroos?”
“To start.” Pushing myself away from the edge of the pool is followed by me wiggling a finger for him to join me. “And if you’re good a boy…” a salacious bite of my bottom lip is taken, “I’ll let you finish.”
The fact that he doesn’t hesitate at all to abandon his laptop is flattering.
And expected.
And the total opposite of his best friend who is beyond obsessed with doing what he has decided is the right thing despite what anyone else might think.
Or say.
Or feel.
Like a bull shark no one needs to be swimming near.
“Programs running,” Zero announces upon the removal of his shirt. “I can let it do its thing,” he swiftly shifts to the discarding of his shorts, “while I do you.”
“Not worried about who might be listening to us fuck?”
“Nope.” Another unbothered shrug is delivered seconds before his bottoms hit the ground. “Let ‘em.”
Something tells me casual screwing isn’t exactly new to him.
Nor is being heard.
However, I can’t ignore the idea that he doesn’t want what we have to be that fleeting…or that he’s not the only one who wants more than we’ve agreed to deliver.
I wade my way to the middle of the pool, giving the younger man currently in my life, plenty of room to jump in.
Which he does.
Cannonball style with a shit eating grin.
His innocent laughter not only ignites mine, it convinces the damn thing to grow in volume and intensity the moment he makes an attempt to grab me.
“Kangaroos can swim.” He lunges towards my figure a second time prompting me to push backwards towards the shallow end to avoid being captured.
“Like this.” All attempts to get me into his arms are briefly paused to present a doggy paddle motion.
“And then they use their tails,” Zero wiggles his ass as though he has one, “to help propel them and steer.”
“You look like a windup toy.”
“I prefer being a fuck toy.” The admission successfully stuns me enough to become caught by the wrist. “Especially for a slutty little princess…”
One yank is all it takes to have his mouth smashing against mine.
The forceful action is cute and clumsy and difficult to resist – not that I’m trying.
Our lips spread apart in tandem, yet his tongue impatiently sprints to find mine.
To faintly brush it.
Tease.
Tempt it into following for more while his hands hungrily skim along my wet curves until they can gawkishly grab my ass.
Hoist me up.
Press me against his hardening cock that my clit insists we greet by grinding against it.
Zero greedily groans louder and lets lash after lash after lash do the reprimanding his words can’t.
Tangling my arms around his neck grants my fingers access to gently claw at the nape of his neck.
The edge of his hairline and scalp.
Jawline.
Eagerness to have more and feel more is what leads to me being blindsided when my head is yanked backwards by a fistful of my hair.
Captured by another set of familiar lips.