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“In a second, but Priscila—”
“Tomorrow, Hugo. I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“You’d better. I’m giving the phone to your friend now.”
“Where are you?” a second voice asks me seconds later.
“I’m at Alex’s place.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not, but don’t tell the others, please.”
“I won’t, but at some point you’ll have to tell me what the fuck happened.”
“Tomorrow, I promise,” I say. And I will. Right now though, I just want to disconnect from everything, forget the mess that my head is, even if it’s only for a few hours. “Okay, Jaime, I have to go.”
“Pris,” he says before I can end the call. I know what that Pris means, it’s code for I love you and everything’s going to be okay.
“I know.”
I hang up and set the phone down on the wooden floor. I pull my knees up again and begin to move slowly on the rocking chair.
“You’ve always liked this corner,” Alex says, watching me.
“It was my corner.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“Maybe later.”
Alex is still leaning against the porch railing, his arms crossed. He hasn’t moved since he got there. He’s been listening to the whole conversation in silence, and that’s how I want this to continue—in silence, without him asking me any more questions about Adrián and about what’s happened.
I stretch out my legs, resting them on the railing; ankles crossed, I settle against the back of the rocking chair and close my eyes. I listen to the murmur of the sea, the whistling of the breeze, Dark’s happy barking, and the chirping of the crickets living in the garden.
Alex lifts my legs gently and puts my feet on the ground. Then he spreads open my knees and sits between them, back to me, resting his head on my chest and his body on mine. If I move a little further back, the rocking chair is big enough for the two of us. I take my arms off the armrests and wrap them around his waist, and we rock in a pleasant sway for a while, in silence, until he begins to caress my thighs with his fingertips. Then, the chair’s motion stops. So does my heart.
While he explores my legs at his leisure, I dig my fingers into his hair, caressing his scalp, giving him a brief massage and enjoying the sensation. It’s the first time we’ve touched with this kind of affection, with this patience, without crossing hurtful words.
When one of his hands sneaks under my—his—T-shirt and reaches down my underwear, our breaths hitch. Now we can hear each other breathing, feel each other breathing. My hands go down, from his hair to his chest, caressing his pecs, but they’re short-lived there because Alex stands up, turns to face me and launches himself at my lips for a kiss.
Alex’s kisses have always been special. They’ve always made me feel a thousand emotions. I used to think it was because he really knew how to kiss. But now I think it’s just us. That our lips are made to kiss each other, to express what we’re unable to with words. That’s how it’s been all our lives. That’s how we’ve always communicated. Kissing.
Alex pulls me up and peels off my shirt, leaving me completely naked from the waist up. He kisses me again, imprisoning my breasts as I begin to pull his swimsuit down his legs and remove the rest of his clothes. He stands to get rid of his swimsuit completely and I get up with him. I gently push him down again, making him sit in the rocking chair.
I take off my boxers under his watchful eye and straddle his lap. As I’m about to insert his sex, he stops me. “Condom.”
“I’m on the pill.”
“No. No, I...”
“I’m on the pill, Alex,” I repeat, looking directly into his eyes. I need him to trust me, if only on this.
He accepts with a nod and enters me in a single thrust. I start to move, up and down, restlessly. I grab his hair and pull on him until I hear his moans in my ear. I need them, those moans. I need proof I’m not the only one feeling this. I kiss his lips and slow our movements and we make love until we climax—at the same time once again—moaning our satisfaction in unison.
