I tug my discarded shirt down off the back of the couch and show it to him.
“Yeah, well,” he huffs. “It’s supposed to be hot all weekend, you’re not going to want to take your shirt off at all?”
I shrug. “I can deal,” I sign to him one-handed, since the other is still pinned beneath him.
“Bummer,” he sighs, finally peeling himself away from me. “You have such a nice chest to look at. As far as defined pecs go, those are de-fuckin’-fined.”
I huff out a silent chuckle. “Tossing around heavy lobster traps all day hasn't hurt yours either,” I note.
He looks down at them, flexing them in an alternation. I watch them bounce under his thick thatch of dark hair. He catches me practically drooling and offers me a shy grin. “Surely you don’t mean these moobs.”
“These”—I reach up, palming one in each of my hands and give them a good squeeze—"are not moobs. Trust me. While both are very nice, there’s a distinct difference between breasts and pectorals.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it, since I’m not omni like you are,” he snarks.
I let my thumb and index finger give one of his nipples a playful little roll, feeling it pebble in the pads of my fingertips. Then I ask him, “Yours would look good with a little jewelry, don’t you think?”
He blinks at me. “We talked about going to get ours pierced together,” he reminds me. “But that was back before… well, you know.”
“Is that why you never ended up getting them done?”
After a moment of thought, he nods. “Yeah, it was something that was going to be ours. After our falling out, I couldn’t bring myself to go do them by myself. It seemed pointless.”
“If there’s going to be an us again, would you still want to go do it?”
He sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth. “You really want there to be anusus? Like a relationship? You weren’t just saying that so that we could, you know, just have sex or whatever?”
I roll my eyes and nudge him back so I can sit up. “I don’t know how I can explain this to you any better, it was never just about the sex when me and you were together before. It was great, sure. I mean, hell yeah, it was awesome, but that wasn’t all for me. I even loved the times when all we did was just hang out together: watching movies, going disc golfing, and dragging your whining ass up a mountain before you’d finally relent and admit that the view was totally worth it.”
Marcus smirks. “Wedidcram a lot of fun into six short months. How I ever managed it, all while going back home and being there for my wife and special-needs infant son, I’ll never know. There never seems to be enough hours in the day anymore.”
“That’s why I think it’ll be better once we get things out in the open,” I agree. “We won’t have to dodge and hide anymore. It’ll eliminate one giant speed-bump so we can work on tackling the rest. But I want you to to be a part of it too.”
“Well, if we’re going to do this, we had better finish getting packed rather than, um, getting distracted,” Marcus sighs. “Stay put, I’ll get us something to get cleaned up with.”
I shake my head. “You stay put. I’ve got it.”
“But I—” he starts to protest, sitting up.
I give him a light shove backwards. “Be a good boy and stay,” I press. “For once in your life, let someone give you the aftercare you deserve.”
He narrows his eyes at me.
I chuckle. “That expression is about as threatening as a toothless chihuahua. Chill out.” And on that, I pad into the washroom.
Chapter Thirteen
Marcus and I are still setting up our tent when Brody emerges from his own and goes shooting past us in an excited rush. He’s got his swim-trunks on, heading towards the river that our group campsite is situated on the banks of, with an inflatable swim tube that nearly dwarfs him in size tucked up under his arm pit. Cameron chuckles, trailing behind him, clad in similar gear, also with an inner-tube.
“Uh-uh, Brody!” I call out, and he stops in his tracks, which can only mean one thing: he can hear me. “Cochlear stays up here.”
Brody’s eyes widen in annoyance. “But Mum, what if I put the aqua guard on it?”
“ButBrody,” Marcus interjects, his tone laced with sarcasm, “what if you don’t have enough in your allowance to pay for a replacement in the event your processor gets swept downstream?”
Our son rolls his eyes and stomps back over, thrusting his processor at me. “Thank you,” I sign to him.
Brody huffs, but Cameron stops him. “Don’t be mad. My dad does the same thing to me with my hearing aids,” he signs. “See?” Cam shows Brody his bare ears. “Ours are both just for decoration now,” Cameron adds, teasing playfully.
