19. Aaron

19

AARON

No doubt, this experience is incredible. Too bad Rocco isn’t here to share it. Maybe he’d finally understand why this town has become special to me. Not that turtles don’t hatch on other beaches. I know there’s more to it than that.

I consider calling him before thinking better of it. Not only would I wake him out of a dead sleep, but it might ruin this moment with Jack, who’s opened up to me in a way he hasn’t before.

It feels as surreal as seeing the turtles hatching. And getting to watch Jack in action again, how he gets low in the sand to point and shoot, capturing the babies as they stumble to the water, is fascinating. His attention to detail shows how much he cares about the art form. Even if he thinks he doesn’t—or at least not enough to do it full-time.

There are only a few stragglers now, but I find myself mesmerized by the newborns’ instinct to head toward the foamy waves and dive right in. No one taught them how to walk, let alone swim, but they’re compelled to do it regardless.

I watch as a tiny one hobbles along the sand, figuring out his destiny. “I don’t think I can leave them.”

“The turtles?” Jack asks, his eyes fixed on the tide.

My cheeks heat. “Yeah, don’t make fun of me.”

“Definitely not.” Our gazes clash. “I feel the same.”

“Oh, thank God.” My stomach flushes with warmth. “Can we sit here and make sure every last one gets where it needs to go?”

“Of course. Besides, maybe our presence is disrupting the predators.”

Osprey have been combing the surface of the water, but we don’t mention what they’re searching for. I know it’s the natural way of things, but I’m glad I can’t see how many they might’ve already gotten.

When we haven’t seen another turtle for quite some time, I lie back on the blanket, and Jack does as well. The moon is bright in the cloudless sky. I yawn, feeling tired but not wanting the night to end. “Tell me about growing up here.”

“Just a normal childhood, really. Except for the being-gay part.”

My eyes drift closed to the lull of his voice. I like hearing him talk, and he doesn’t do it nearly enough, I can tell. He’s very selective with his words as well as his trust, and I’m grateful he’s chosen me to spend time with.

“Tell me about your first crush.”

“Well, fuck, haven’t thought about that in a long time.” He snickers. “My gym teacher in the eighth grade.”

“Let me guess…he was totally hypermasculine,” I say around a yawn.

“Of course.” He nudges my arm. “And you?”

“I was a late bloomer. It wasn’t until high school that I figured out I liked guys. For me, it was a kid in shop class.” And damn, when the realization hit, it was like I’d been struck by lightning.

“Did he feel the same?”

“He did, thankfully.” So many furtive glances and make-out sessions after school. “It was a full awakening. I figured out what I like after a ton of practice.”

“Is that where you got that scar? From all that practice?” he teases as my fingertip skims my brow bone.

I smirk. “I wish. Flying debris from Dad’s workshop. Wore my goggles religiously after that.”

“Glad it didn’t take your eye out, kid.”

“Aw, thank you.” When I turn to him, his gaze is filled with amusement. This might be my perfect opening. “What happened with the guy who broke your heart?”

He stiffens briefly, and just when I think he won’t answer, he does. “His name was Theo. He was a trucker who delivered supplies to the station. He loved being on the road, practically lived like a nomad. Eventually settled in a rental unit in Aqua Vista for a couple of years, but he always had wanderlust. Thought we could make it work after he relocated to Sacramento, but it became difficult, to say the least. It was destined to fail, quite honestly. Our communication sucked.”

“I’m sorry.” And now it made sense why he would never entertain the idea of an outsider being interested in more with him. Not that I could be, living elsewhere.

“Don’t be.” He shifts a shoulder. “That’s life.”

“True. Suppose we all learn from those experiences. What was your lesson?”

“It wasn’t a good one,” he mutters.

“It’s why you don’t trust easily.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “Maybe.”

I reach out to stroke his forearm, and he shivers. When our eyes meet, I angle my head to kiss his shoulder, then trail my lips up his throat to his ear. “I like the way you smell.”

He groans. “Don’t wear any cologne, so not really sure what’s enticing you, but it’s nice to hear.”

“Maybe it’s just Jack. He’s enticing all on his own.” Sand and sea salt and an undercurrent of motor oil.

He gathers my face in his hands and stares into my eyes as if looking for any teasing or dishonesty. When he slants his head and brushes his lips across mine, I can barely take the gentleness—it’s bound to ruin me for other guys.

Maybe it’s better to stick to hot and hard sex, where my brain shuts off, but I can’t find it in me to stop. I melt into the softness of his lips and the heat of his mouth as he deepens the kiss. The pace is slower than in times past, his mouth and tongue setting the tempo and capturing my undivided attention. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I’ll give him that. Just a little bit of tongue, enough to drive me to the brink. Enough to make me want more. Want everything.

We kiss like that under the moon and stars, with an ocean full of baby turtles learning to swim. My lips feel tender, but I don’t want to break the connection, and it seems neither does he because after drawing away briefly to catch his breath, his forehead rests against mine. My eyes shut as we breathe the same air, and before I can count the seconds, the lapping waves lull me to sleep.