“Damn it, I wish I had my binoculars,” Jason says.
We’re close enough that I can see the bird perfectly well and it’s just sitting there on its branch like it’s not bothered by two middle-aged humans staring at it. Jason digs his phone out of his pocket and taps at it, glancing between the phone and the bird.
“What are you doing?”
“Adding it as an incidental sighting in eBird,” he says. “If it lives here on the grounds, I’ll probably see it again when I’m actually birding but I might as well put it in now, since it’s a life bird.”
“Planning to do much birding while you’re here?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Absolutely. Costa Rica is a major birding destination. There are over eight hundred species here. I want to see as many as I can.“
He looks so excited, it kind of hurts my heart. I look from him to the bird, still hanging out on its branch like it’s posing just for us.
“Well, I hope they’re all as pretty as this one.” Jason aims his phone at the bird and snaps some photos of it. Amazingly, the bird stays still and lets him. He steps quietly forward and to either side to get different shots. Finally, the bird gives a series of hollow clucking sounds, spreads its wings, and lifts off to fly deeper into the trees. Jason stares after it for a moment, then shakes his head like he’s returning to the present. “Guess we should go to dinner.”
“Want to shower first?” I’m resolutely not thinking about Jason, naked and wet, water cascading over his head, down his shoulders and chest, trickling along his abs to… “Not together, of course.”
His head swings around to me and I curse my mouth that always yaps before my brain catches up. Of course we wouldn’t be showering together. Not tonight, not ever. Not even that night. Jason was so appalled by what we’d done that he disappeared into the bathroom and I crept out of his house, still sticky with come and sweat under the funeral suit I’d hastily redressed in.
“Obviously, not together, I don’t even know why I said that.” And now I’m babbling. Jesus, Hendricks, shut your fucking stupid mouth. He doesn’t need to know how often I’ve replayed that night in my mind. Over and over, wondering whether I should have said something afterwards. Immediately afterwards or any time in the last fifteen years.
I shade my eyes with my hand and look off in the direction the motmot flew. Better than looking Jason in the eye.
“Um, yeah,” he says. “A shower before dinner is probably a good idea.”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the shower yet. Wouldn’t fit both of us anyway.” I’m trying to recover here. Make it into a joke. Not a fantasy that I’ve jerked off to more times than I’ll ever admit.
Jason makes a noncommittal mmph sound in his throat and I am left to stew in my embarrassment the rest of the walk back to our casita.
Eight
Jason
The shower has plenty of room to fit both of us. Victor lets me go first, says he wants to watch the last bit of sunset from the balcony. I wash myself quickly and only briefly luxuriate under the huge rainfall shower head with closed eyes, imagining Victor’s hard, wet body wrapped around my own.
Surely he didn’t mean anything by that comment. He can’t possibly have anything but regret for that one night, that one mistake we made.
I finish in the bathroom as quickly as possible and pull on a pair of khaki pants and a linen shirt, then vacate the bedroom.
He’s leaning on the balcony railing, looking out over the rainforest valley. The sun has disappeared behind the tree line and twilight has descended. His back is to me and his arms braced on the railing. Every part of him I can see is muscle—triceps, calves, the long line of his back. His skin is a golden light brown, with a faint dusting of hair on his legs. His feet are bare and I’m mesmerized by his shapely ankles.
Good Lord, why am I staring at his ankles, of all things?
He must hear me approaching, since he turns around and smiles that smile at me. Christ. He's smiling at me like I've already said yes to something I haven't been asked.
“Um…shower’s free,” I say lamely. Obviously, if I’m not in it, the shower must be free.
“Great,” he says. “I showered earlier, but I want to change for dinner. I’ll be two shakes.”
I wait until he’s safely behind the closed bedroom door before taking his place on the balcony. I do not need a repeat of seeing Victor half-naked today. It’s only another couple of minutes before Victor appears in the living area, in navy blue pants and a pale blue guayabera that sets off his skin and light brown hair.
“Shall we?”
I follow him out the front door, where we slide our feet into shoes, and walk down the torch-lit path to the restaurant. All around us, the rainforest is loud—howler monkeys in the distance, birds settling in for the night, the constant rustle of leaves.
The restaurant is another large, open-air bamboo structure. My flight delays seem long ago now and my jet lag has lifted, or maybe I'm just distracted enough not to feel it. It’s exactly what Kelsey and Adrienne wanted for their destination wedding week.
“There they are,” Victor says, pointing at the rest of the wedding party seated at two large tables between the bar and the path to the pool. One table is filled with a group of people—Kelsey’s college friends and some friends of Adrienne’s, I presume. The hostess leads us to the other table, where Kelsey immediately stands to greet us. “Dad,” she says. “I didn’t get a hug earlier.”
