He scans the board and shares a significant look with Mike before clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders. “Great. Junie and I will take the South. Pay attention to your air consumption, communicate with your buddy, and head back to the surface if you need help with anything. The water is only three to five meters and visibility looks good. Let Captain Banyu know if there’s any trouble.”
The man gives a thumbs up from his Captain’s chair where he’s digging into a container of rice and fried egg. His son, the Boat Boy, minds the anchor.
“Got it.” I nod as anticipation churns in my belly. I didn’t expect to be paired with Steven. I guess as the newbie, he’s probably expected to babysit me. We slip into our gear and one by one the groups step out or flip backward into the water.
I hold back, suddenly nervous, until Steven and I are the last on the boat. He approaches me steadily, tank on his back, fins and mask in one hand.
“Show me how we check, buddy.” His low voice makes my nipples harden and I’m grateful for the neoprene suit. I urge my body to calm down. He probably doesn’t want to be stuck with me today.
So I decide to prove him wrong—to show him that I won’t be dead weight. I run us through the buddy check quickly and confidently. He’s been a great teacher and I feel safe inspecting the equipment because of him, whatever else is going on between us.
“Great job. After you.” He waves me onto the ledge, letting me hold his hand for balance. The swooping sensation in my belly hasn’t fully subsided before I’m stepping over the edge and plunging into the warm sea.
That first look under the ocean’s surface is exhilarating every time. The water is clear and shallow with sands stretching out for miles, dotted with rocks, corals, and grass. Tiny bubbles tickle me through my wetsuit as I bob back to the surface.
Steven plunges into the water next to me, getting my attention before making the signal to descend. He adjusts my weight belt and the amount of air in my BCD until I’m comfortably floating about four feet off the ground and making small movements with my fins so as not to disturb the silty bottom.
He flashes the Okay sign and I send him one back. He points to his eyes, then to me, then presses the index fingers of both hands together and pushes them out. He’s reminding me to stay together, within eyesight. I flash him the Okay sign again and we start our search.
It doesn’t take long to find plastic water bottles, candy wrappers, and random bits of metal. Steven holds the knife and the mesh bag so I swim up to him every few minutes to deposit my loot. It’s sad to realize how much trash ends up in our oceans, but it’s exhilarating to use my new scuba skills to make a small difference.
Time flies by. Admittedly, I forget to check my dive computer and my air levels until Steven prompts me, but we’ve already spent over 30 minutes underwater and we need to head back to the boat.
As I’m climbing up the ladder back to somewhat solid ground, my stomach gives an empty kind of groan—a gnawing hunger I’ve only felt after breathing dry, compressed air.
“That was great,” Steven says, following me up. “For a new diver, that was seriously impressive, Junie. You’re a natural under the water.”
Holy praise kink, Batman. The flirt in me wants to swoon and tease him for offering such a direct compliment, but it means more to me than I care to reveal.
“I’m sure you would’ve gotten much more without me.” I shrug, aiming for humble. I have no idea how the other teams fared, but our bag is stuffed pretty full.
“We’ll have to see how they do,” he says evenly, but I detect a subtle hint of pride.
Within 15 minutes, the other two teams return to the boat and pass up their collections. Thomas found a cracked iPad and is barely suppressing a smug smile, but I don’t think either of their bags are heavier than ours, even though they carried two per team. A small flame of hope ignites in my chest.
We chat over crackers and sliced fruits while the boat rocks gently in the waves, trolling for a new spot. Captain Banyu plays the radio, a mix of familiar hits and local songs. I load up on dragonfruit, papaya, and pineapple. The fruits are so sweet and juicy here, it’s like trying them all for the first time.
Thomas is stretched out on the bench, slicing something round and purple with his knife. When he splits it open, the inside looks like cloves of garlic.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Mangosteen, want to try?” He hands me one of the sticky white wedges. “It’s sort of like lychee.”
I pop the segment into my mouth and moan as flavor bursts on my tongue. It’s sweet and tart, like strawberries, peaches, and all my favorite fruits combined.
“Holy fuck, that’s divine.” I suck the juice off my fingers.
“You really like to eat, huh?” I whip my head around to find Steven watching me.
“Of course. Is that a problem?” I snap. Fuck him for trying to body shame me. Just because he’s not attracted to me doesn’t mean he gets to be a dick.
“Not at all,” he says, biting back a smile. Something softens in me at the sight. “I love to eat.”
“Wow, so you do enjoy some things.” I roll my eyes and move further down the boat to start switching my tanks.
We work well as a team. Underwater, he doesn’t make me so nervous. Maybe because I can’t hear the lilt of his accent, or because we’re both covered in thick wetsuits and bulky gear.
It’s hard to miss the subtext that he’s just another fish in the sea. His opinion of me doesn’t matter at all. So why do I want to hear him say “Good girl” —I mean— “Good job” again so badly?
