Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

surf the rest of my life. Dad had called me an irresponsible fuck-up. Maybe he was right.
    I said nothing about that, and Tomás continued after a bit, taking my silence as an invitation. Which, in a way, it was. He'd piqued my interest.
    "I do have money. My family made investments at my birth, and control was recently turned over to me. I've been sitting on it, moving it around, making it grow. But now, I'm thinking to start a foundation." He peered at me. "An ocean foundation. Understand? To give grants for research and education. Mitigation."
    "I get it. It sounds...God. It sounds heroic."
    Tomás snorted. Not in humor. "Only if it does any good."
    Waves lapped at the shore, calm, rhythmic, soothing. The sun dropped low behind us, turning the day golden. I slapped at a sand fly.
    "I've set up an advisory board. I need a team of lawyers. You know law, yes?"
    "No." I shook my head violently. "I won't—"
    "To help me find them, Erik." He'd touched my hand. Shut me up. "I wouldn't ask you to go back to something you hated. But maybe you could advise me in whom I should hire."
    "Maybe," I conceded. But still, I didn't like this. Didn't like what this request implied. The air seemed to thin.
    "I think maybe I could live here," Tomás said. "Find a home, run things by satellite. I always wanted to learn gardening. You like it here, no?"
    Getting thinner and thinner. Did he still not understand?—I couldn't be the man he wanted. "Yeah. Sure. I'm here, right?" I popped up from the blanket. "I'm going for a swim."
    Classic avoidance, I know. I felt his eyes track me as I dashed for the water.
    He joined me and—good man—let the conversation go. Not long and we were acting like stupid boys again, until the groping started, and then the kissing, and then humping and sucking until we both got off and let the warm salt water carry the semen away.
    Post swim, post dinner, post happy orgasm—I dragged myself to the blanket and lay down. Comfortably drowsy, more than content to let the pressures slip away.
    I woke after dark. Alone. Sat up, a little disoriented, but got over that quickly. Not the first time I've slept on the beach. Not by far.
    "We should go back." Tomás appeared to my right.
    His hair was damp, his skin speckled with moisture. He looked tired—stretched thin, and I thought he probably should have napped with me.
    I curled my neck to my chest, stretching out a kink. "Yeah, sure."
    I offered to drive, and he took me up on it. His skin was flushed and dry—and here I'd thought I was the one susceptible to sunburn. He dozed a little in the passenger seat, but fitfully. Stared out the window some. Frowning, mostly.
    We arrived at the resort around midnight. I left the car idling and got out. He came around the side, kissed me, and said, "Buenos noches, bello." Then he slipped behind the driver's seat and took off.
    Maybe he'd heard me this time.
    ****
    Chulo's went batshit crazy Saturday night. Hell, I don't know why, something in the water—besides an amoeba, I mean. Just, the place was packed and it was raucous and it was horny. Lots of tourístas from up and down the coast, converging on our little place. Guess we'd made a name for ourselves.
    Alex. Oh, Alex. A soldier boy, guerrero. Camouflage cling and combat boots—torn open at the chest, black zipper down his ass. A rape invitation if I'd never seen one. He had a black iron bar punched through one nipple and smudges of soot and grease paint brightened his eyes. Turned every eye in the place, and he grinned, mixing drinks and playing coy, knowing damn well the attention he got.
    Turned it on me at some point. I was safe, maybe, dunno—all I know for sure is the catcalls got louder when he rubbed up against me, putting on the show. He was in rare form tonight.
    It escalated. What happened next I can't put entirely on Alex. I know I was still a bit freaked from the other night—feeling strangled, feeling spooked. Tomás had come around on Thursday again, but I'd seen him coming and got gone. Fucked-up, I know. Cowardly.
    But tonight I was wired. Needing to reestablish my sense of place, maybe. I told you I don't drink, so I was sober as a church-mouse in a dry county, but I swear—sometimes, just being in a room full of drunks can loosen me up, make me do stupid shit for attention. That's how I explain it. Maybe you can do better.
    I stripped my shirt. Not remarkable. Got that loose at least once a week. But when Alex started licking up my body, I