With careful movements, every muscle tense, I move to the next step, already feeling my abdomen burning.
He, on the other line, is doing a sort of plié, sliding his foot across the wet wood.
“Let’s go, Adam!” Martha’s booming voice carries over the sound of the water lapping at the line of boxes, followed by a sharp whistle.
Another step, another crate. Halfway across, my abs are screaming, but at least I have a slight advantage. I’d chance a look back to see if Jackie is still watching, but I really want to show this pompous prick he’s got nothing on me.
William’s right behind me.
When I glance sideways, he smirks. Then plants his foot, hard, on the edge of his crate.
The impact sends a low wave rolling beneath my line.
“Let’s make things more interesting,” he grits out, crouching lower, crates above his head.
I steady my stance, but it’s becoming more difficult as the lobster shifts, agitated.
“That’s what people who are about to lose usually say,” I shoot back, stepping toward the next crate. The platform is so close I can almost reach it.
That’s when I hear the slap of his foot again.
Then another.
Multiple ripples crash against my crates, and the empty cage flies out of my hands.
The stuffy motherfucker.
He looks ready to do it again, so I make a split-second decision. I shove off hard with both feet. The water underneath rebounds me like a trampoline.
The murmurs and hollers of the crowd rise and fall in unsynchronized waves.
“What are you—” He throws his arms out, his traps flying as he loses balance.
With a last push, both lines become too unstable, and William goes tumbling into the water with a splash—but not before grabbing the hem of my shirt.
My crates roll from under me, but I’m ready. I slide into the chilly water smoothly, lobster trap held high, the cold stealing my breath. I surface, lungs burning, and swim one-handed to the platform, hauling myself up the slippery metal stairs.
William’s head bobs above the water behind me. I give him the two-finger salute and ring the bell fixed on a piling.
Chest heaving, muscles on fire, but with a secure lobster under my arm, I squint into the distance to catch a glimpse of Jackie. But by now the crowd is larger, excited to see two grown men taking a plunge into the freezing water.
A dingy motorboat curves round the gulf and stops next to William, two men hoisting him out of the water. When I climb down to the bench beside him, we’re both shivering. At least I have my victory to keep me warm.
Jackie’s waiting at the dock, Blanca in tow, watching us closely. Her eyes travel from William’s strained smile to my scraped knuckles. I hadn’t even noticed.
She says nothing, but her pinched expression speaks volumes.
OK, it might have been a juvenile competition. And we got a little carried away, but it’s pay-up time.
Martha hands me a towel with a huge smile on her face.
“Call your pilot,” I say to William, drying my hair, “Warm up the jet.”
“Oh, come on,” he sneers. “It was obviously a joke.”
So that’s how it’s going to be.
“Gentleman’s honor, my ass,” I mutter under my breath, bending to retrieve my sneakers.
