AFTER A rousing morning of seashell collecting along the long stretch of Makalawena Beach, Aaron wants nothing more than to stand in an air-conditioned room and do nothing. He’s from California. He went to school in Texas. He thought he knew hot. Those places have nothing on the blistering heat that’s trying to sear his skin off. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get the smell of sunblock out of his nose.
But Jackson is seemingly impervious to the heat, and he has plans that don’t include air-conditioning.
“Come on,” says Jackson, tangling their fingers together before Aaron can escape into the cool depths of their condo. “I put something together.”
“Does this something involve cabana boys feeding us grapes while fanning us?”
Jackson side-eyes him. “Is this your backward way of asking me to role-play with you? I can’t say that’s ever been a particular fantasy of mine. It’s like the pizza guy. Bit overdone. I don’t get the appeal.”
Aaron blinks. That was not where he was going with it. But he is curious now. “Don’t get the appeal of the pizza guy or don’t get the appeal of role-play?”
“The pizza guy.” Jackson shrugs. “Why would I want to have sex with my pizza guy? I think that would be awkward. And what if it’s bad? Then I have to find a new place to order pizza from. It’s lacking in realism. How many people do you know who have slept with the guy delivering their food?”
“None,” admits Aaron. “But I don’t think it’s supposed to be realistic. You are way overthinking this.” He has no clue how they ended up here. Not one. “Where are we going?” At the moment they’re walking down the beach, and while Aaron enjoys the time with Jackson, he’s been walking on a beach for hours already today. He’s kind of over it.
“The dock,” says Jackson. “You really don’t like surprises, do you?”
“I’d like this one more if you gave me a piggyback ride.”
Jackson actually stops walking to look him up and down. Like he’s considering it. “I don’t think I could carry you very far,” he says after a minute. “Probably hurt my back.”
“I didn’t really expect you to.”
“Oh.” They start walking again.
Aaron wonders if it’s possible for the temperature to have increased. Is Hawaii floating up toward the sun? He needs to distract himself from the god-awful heat. “I thought you didn’t like hand-holding?” he asks, deciding to assuage more of his curiosity. This will at least be helpful information for the remaining week they have. The reminder he only has a week left, less than that really, makes his chest feel tight and his stomach dip. He doesn’t want to think about it. Wants to pretend this bubble of loveliness isn’t going to burst so soon.
Jackson’s gaze darts to him and quickly away. His fingers flex against Aaron’s. “I don’t,” he admits. “I mean, not all the time. Sometimes it’s nice. But not always. Like this it’s fine. ’Cause we’re not trying to walk around people or things, so we’re not constantly having to let go. It’s not complicating things. I mean, I’ll probably let go in a minute ’cause my hand is starting to get hot. But some people run cold, so they like to keep holding hands.” He purses his lips. “And sometimes their rings pinch my hand.”
“That makes sense,” says Aaron, and it does. Those are all thoughts he had at one point or another, and he’s normally voiced them when they occur.
Jackson looks far more relieved than he should. “I’m glad you think so.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Jackson lets go of his hand, sliding his down his board shorts. “Some people think that makes you cold. Like you’re not willing to show people you’re with them? Or that you don’t like them enough. I’ve never really got that, because I don’t think they correlate, but I’ve heard it often enough I think it might just be a me thing.”
Aaron had a suspicion. “It’s not just a you thing. Everyone is different. There are plenty of people who don’t hold hands constantly. There are even plenty of people who love someone else very much but don’t like PDA. It’s a personal preference.” He hesitates. He wants to ask about the last ex. The one who put Jackson over the edge. But that’s something Jackson shouldn’t feel pressured to talk about. Something he should offer up on his own.
Their arrival at the dock puts an end to any other questions he could ask, and Aaron’s eyes widen when he sees what’s on the deck of the boat they’re walking toward. “Seriously?” he asks, staring at the colorful fabric on the elegant speedboat.
Jackson grins. “I told you I’d take you parasailing.”
“I’d honestly forgotten about that,” he admits. He ducks his head to peck a quick kiss to Jackson’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” laughs Jackson, teasing him. “I might be indulging your worst-ever idea.”
No, thinks Aaron, the worst idea he ever had was to accept this job. It’s also possibly his best. He hopes his answering smile doesn’t look too fake. “Well, let’s go find out, shall we?” He’s much more amenable to flying through the air when the drop is short and cushioned by water. He’s sure it’ll be fun. A very needed distraction, if nothing else.
The man who owns the boat—or kid, really (Aaron has a hard time believing he could be older than twenty)—greets them as they step onto the softly swaying vessel. “Hey,” he says, holding his hand out. “Jackson and Aaron, right?”
“That’s us,” says Jackson, shaking his hand. “You’re Griffin? Toby said you’re the best on the island.”
Griffin’s grin is huge. He’s got a lot of teeth. Like a shark. “That’s me. You guys done this before?”
Neither of them have, so Griffin walks them through the basic safety guidelines and instructions. All in all, it seems very simple. There’s not much for them to do other than to strap themselves in.
They sit on the back of the speedboat as Griffin gets the motor going. Aaron leans a little over the side, conscious of the hand Jackson has grasping his shirt. “What’re you doing?” he finally asks, once his stomach has got over the initial “what the fuck” of being tossed about by the waves, and he thinks he can open his mouth without the contents of said stomach making a break for it.
“In case he tilts the boat and you start to fall.”
Aaron pats his knee, smiles. “I’m thinking that’s just going to drag you down with me.” Especially if Griffin is still moving this fast.
Jackson shrugs. “Then when I laugh, it’ll be as much at me as you.”
It’s such an odd statement, but somehow so sweet. Aaron turns from his view of the ocean passing by them. He flicks a glance at Griffin, but the man is concentrating on what he’s doing and not them. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.
Jackson smiles, dimple flashing and teeth making an appearance. “Of course,” he says.
His lips are still curled when Aaron kisses him, and he can’t help but smile against Jackson’s. It makes him laugh into his mouth, giggling more than kissing. Jackson doesn’t seem to mind, if his answering laughter is any indication.
Jackson rubs their noses together. “I’ve never laughed while kissing anyone before,” he says thoughtfully. “I’m normally too busy thinking.”
Aaron buries his head against Jackson’s shoulder, rolling his forehead against the jut of bone. Jackson’s words make his stomach clench. “Thinking?”
Jackson’s shoulder moves beneath his head. “You know, like, should I be more responsive? Should I tell them they’re using too much tongue? Should I use more tongue? When are we going to stop kissing and get to the next part? Is there going to be a next part? Sometimes my neck starts to crick, and that’s kind of distracting.”
“Do you think about that when we kiss?” Because he’s certainly not thinking at all—except for maybe about how much he’s enjoying himself—when they do. And if Jackson is, well, they’ve got a problem.
He shakes his head, hands pushing at Aaron so he’ll sit up. Aaron thinks this is a weird moment for Jackson to decide to be the stickler for eye contact. “No,” he says, expression dead serious. “I don’t think when we kiss. Well, I mean, I do a little. Normally about how it’s making me feel? I like it. A lot.” His nose wrinkles. “And sometimes my neck does start to hurt, and I’ll spare a second to think about how I can switch positions without having to stop.” He smiles. “But I don’t want to stop. And I’m not worried about if I’m doing anything wrong, if that’s what you want to know.”
“It is.” Aaron grabs Jackson’s hand and squeezes. He tries to ignore all the feelings bubbling up inside him. Now isn’t the time to be analyzing or dealing with them. “But from now on, let me know when you need to change it up. Everyone gets neck cricks.”
Jackson frowns. “Then why does no one mention them?”
“Is this the first time you’ve ever mentioned them?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s your answer,” says Aaron. “You’re not the only one nervous about speaking up.”
WHEN PUT like that, it seems like such an obvious thing. Jackson is gobsmacked. How could he have missed it? How could it have never occurred to him? He doesn’t know what to say, stuck on wondering how many times something could have gone better if he just spoke up. Or if his partner at the time spoke up. It’s a relief that Aaron doesn’t appear to expect an answer, because Jackson isn’t capable of giving one.
He’s too busy replaying the most memorable, uncomfortable occasions of his relationships. The times where the sex wasn’t great, but the other person was enjoying it so he figured it was just an off day on his part. The times where he didn’t want to sleep cuddled close to someone because he was hot and their hair was getting in his mouth and tickling his face. The times where he wanted alone time but didn’t know how to say “I need you to not talk to me for an hour.”
And it isn’t till he’s strapping himself into the parasail contraption that the other part of their conversation smacks him in the face.
He doesn’t think when Aaron kisses him. His brain isn’t trying to race ahead. He’s not wondering if he needs to do more or less, or if the kiss is going to end sometime that year. He’s not worrying about making noises or seeming too needy—or not needy enough. His mind is blessedly quiet.
What does that mean?
Unfortunately the parasail releases right then, and all thought flees his mind as his body is yanked back and up. In the space of what feels like a heartbeat, he’s soaring, the ocean racing by underneath his dangling feet. For a moment he feels like his stomach got left behind on the boat. In another, he’s laughing and whooping, kicking his legs as they trail the speedboat.
He looks to Aaron, seeing a similar look of enjoyment on his face. Aaron’s hands are holding tight to the ropes leading to the sail, but he’s leaning back, clearly having a good time. He reminds Jackson of the grown-ups he’ll see on the swings at parks sometimes, sneaking in moments to act like a carefree kid again.
He has to look away, lest he blurt out something that would definitely not be a thing ever said in a fling. He looks below him, gaze catching on the slice of gray that rips right through one of the incoming waves. It feels like his heart stops for a beat as he strains his eyes to better see the faint shape in the water. If it’s a shark swimming beneath them, he might actually have a heart attack at the tender age of twenty-seven.
Several more sleek forms join the first one, and Jackson lets loose a breath of relief. Dolphins. He can deal with those. Fear is quickly replaced by amazement as he watches one leap from the water, and he hears Aaron’s delighted exclamation.
His eyes are streaming from the wind; his hair is being blown back. He feels like he’s in one of those machines that makes all the skin on your face ripple back and look weird. A glance at Aaron shows him that’s not the case. He can’t help but smirk at the way Aaron’s dark hair is sticking up, though. It looks like he went to town with a blow-dryer.
They’re up there for a while, with a beautiful view of the island and the beach, and of the ocean that stretches into the distance, before Griffin starts to head closer to the shore. He told them this would signal the end of the session. Once the waters are shallower, he’ll kill the boat and they’ll float down to the water.
Jackson has his suspicions about whether they’ll be floating or plummeting. He’s going to hold his breath either way. Just to be safe.
The closer they get to land, the slower Griffin goes. Gradually the parasail sinks lower. When the boat goes still, it’s like they’re suspended in midair for a brief second. And then they’re falling. There’s a little bit of a jerk, from what wind there is even without them being in movement, but not near enough to keep up two grown men.
Small drop or not, his breath flees his body at the impact, and it takes all of his self-control to wait till he’s above water to gasp in air. Aaron does the same beside him, once windswept hair now plastered to his head like a swim cap. His eyes are closed tight, water dripping down the long slope of his nose.
“Good idea or no?” he asks when he can stop coughing.
Aaron reaches a hand out to blindly pat at him. He spits out salt water. “Fantastic idea,” he says. “He’s not going to haul us back like this, is he?”
Griffin leans over the back of the boat, tugging on the ropes to slowly pull them back in. “Would you like me to?”
Aaron shakes his head. “Not particularly.”
“I do waterskiing sessions.”
Aaron starts to smile, and Jackson starts to warn him, but the wave smacks them both at the same time, and he gets a mouthful of ocean for his trouble. It’s far from the last wave to give them difficulty.
They’re both out of breath by the time they get back onto the boat. “I’m going to pass,” says Aaron, voice rough. “On the waterskiing. I’m not up for moving again today.”
Jackson completely agrees. When the boat docks, rather than walking down the beach to get back to their condos, he hires one of the many bikers offering rides in little carts. A cab would probably be better for air-conditioning, but he really doesn’t want to wait for one to show up.
Aaron falls asleep during the ride, his head hitting Jackson’s shoulder hard enough that Jackson doesn’t know how it didn’t wake him up. He’s probably going to have a bruise on his shoulder. He doesn’t disrupt his sleep till they’re at the hotel and he absolutely has to.
“I can pull him around the island if you don’t want to wake him,” offers their driver.
Jackson laughs quietly. “And how much would that cost me?”
Their driver’s grin is quick and his expression amused.
Aaron manages to make it to their room and the bed without any aid. But the second he’s close enough to the bed to do it, he collapses.
“You really should shower.”
Aaron flicks him off. He doesn’t even lift his hand off the bed to do it. Just folds his fingers against the bedspread.
Jackson crawls on the bed next to him, tired himself and feeling sticky from a long day of being out. But if he naps now, maybe he can shower with Aaron later. He must say his thoughts aloud again, because Aaron hums and says, “Good idea. Sleep now.”
He really needs to work on that whole brain-to-mouth thing. He curls his back to Aaron, soaking in the faintest bit of warmth on that side and enjoys the air on his front. He’ll start when he gets up. After the shower sex, of course. He has priorities.