“Yes, sir,” the attendance winces.
Probably because Moby’s tone of voice is the kind usually reserved for death threats. I squeeze my boyfriend’s hand and smile up at him, coaxing a lopsided grin from his handsome face, and the attendant breathes a sigh of relief. Twenty minutes later, we are standing at the edge of the water beside a row of jet skis.
“Wait here,” instructs the resort employee. “I will ask my colleagues to assist me in pushing the jet ski into the water—”
“No need,” Moby says, stooping down to grip the back of the machine, dragging it toward the water like it weighs five pounds. Tossing it out among the whitewash. “Come, little human,” he calls over his hefty shoulder.
Feeling free and giddy, I ignore the twinges in my leg and jog to join Moby. He plucks me up by the waist and deposits me on the smooth, warm leather seat, before throwing his leg over the back and climbing on behind me. The machine sinks ominously into the water, and I get nervous that we’ll have to forgo our ride, but somehow the thing stays afloat.
I turn the key and press the ignition button, explaining to Moby how the controls work, in addition to our earlier tutorial from the staff.
“Should I drive for a while, then you can take over, if you want?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Yes,” he says, securing me to his chest with an arm of steel. His expression is deadly serious. “I will watch for threats.”
“There probably won’t be any. My accident was an unusual occurrence.”
He massages my leg with his free hand. “Still.”
For the hundredth time in an hour, I feel this sweeping sense of belonging and joy, and it causes me to blurt his name. “Moby?”
“Yes?”
“You make me very happy.”
His heart thumps heavily against my back, a telltale reaction. With a gruff clearing of his throat, he squeezes me tighter and lays a hard, prolonged kiss on the crown of my head. “Youaremy happiness, Darla.”
My pulse is racing as we leave the shore, galloping over waves until we’re away from the immediate resort area. My fear takes hold when we pass another group of guests on the backs of their own jet skis, but Moby murmurs assurances into my hair, and the tension uncoils again in my middle once we’re isolated again on the water. “Right about here is where I had my accident,” I confide in Moby. “There was blood…everywhere. I was so worried a shark would come eat me, before help arrived.”
A violent shiver passes through him, shaking the both of us.
“Sharks,” he sighs. “What a bunch of assholes.”
I twist around with piqued interest. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” He sounds quite sage. “Always needing to be the center of attention. Their behavior is exhausting. We get it, you have sharp teeth. We’re all impressed. Now, fuck off.”
My throat hurts from trying to hold in my laughter. “What about dolphins?”
He shakes his head. “Meddlers. Always up in everyone else’s business.”
“Wow. Are there any sea creatures that youlike?”
“I guess I don’t mind the turtles.”
“Aww.” As we’re sitting stationary on the lapping blue water, the ocean is so vast around us, and how lucky am I to have Moby’s first-hand perspective. “If you were to stay on land,permanently…” I trail off with a small frown when his muscles leap. “Would you miss the ocean?”
Moby thinks for a moment. “I suppose I would miss the familiar things. My family. The muffled quiet, the life cycles that are as old as time. The embrace of the various currents.” I hear him swallow hard. “But if I returned to the ocean, my despair over being without you, Darla, would turn everything stale and dark. I would just sink down to the bottom and hope hell swallowed me.”
“Then you should stay,” I whisper, the backs of my eyes burning.
He seems like he has more to say, but in the end, he simply kisses the part of my hair, holding me so close, I can barely breathe. Moby is not one to hold back, leading me to wonder if there is something he isn’t telling me about his curse. Maybe if we go somewhere quiet and secluded, I can coax it out of him.
“There is a pretty cove in this direction,” I say, steering us south. “The water is the most incredible shade of blue.”
“Show me.”
I’ll never forget the next hour I spend driving the jet ski down the coastline, my back plastered to Moby’s broad chest. Especially because it marks the first time I hear him laugh. When I get a little more confident in my driving abilities, I take a hard right and make donuts on the water, prompting a deep chuckle in my ear, and my entire network of nerve endings flutters in response, my tummy flipping with bliss. Moby takes over the driving eventually and I point in the direction of where I want to go.
