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“I think so. Damn, you're good at this.”
She laughed and eased off me, both of us trying to slow our heart rates.
“Hang on.” I stood on weakened legs, took care of the condom, and returned to Jo. She had slipped into the sheets and, like a string pulled me, I followed her under. She curled into my side and massaged my right pec, where my tattoo was.
“What’s the tattoo?” she asked.
“A hawk.”
“Why a hawk? Good eyesight to see all those ones and zeros?”
“Huh, that’s a thought. No, it’s my animal.”
“Um, what?”
Remembering that Jo didn’t grow up here, I explained. “In fourth grade, during Washington state history, we learned about the Indigenous peoples of this area. We talked about some of the legends and stories, and we had this project to choose an animal we thought we were most like, then write a story to explain why. We all had the project, me, Finn, and even our little sister, Tess. As we got older, we sometimes picked unflattering animals for each other. When Finn was eighteen, we dared each other to get tattoos of our animals. Mine’s a hawk.”
“Because?”
“It’s a badass bird, and I liked the artist’s drawings.”
“And that’s it?” She eyed me. “I don’t buy it. What else?”
In my post-orgasmic bliss, I opened up. “Hawks regularly migrate to the islands every year. Here they’re hunters, soaring and dipping over the farm, and then in the fall, they fly away to nest. Off to somewhere new, where they change into something else. A lot of times growing up, I wanted to fly away from Perry Harbor and change into someone new. Not because it was bad, but because I wasn’t cut out to be a farmer in a small town. I wanted more, … and I guess I found it.”
“How many people have you told that full story to?”
Not many. Certainly not many girls and definitely not recently. I usually told them only the badass bird part, and no one ever asked anything else about it until Jo.
“Lately?” I asked. “Only you.” She curled in closer.
“So, was that the recurring dream, the one about me riding you?”
“Mostly yes. In the dream, you said ‘yes, Lucas, yes,’ and I lost it every time for a week like a damn teenager. When you said it for real the first time, I almost came from muscle memory alone.”
She giggled. Damn that giggle.
We lay there, caressing and talking. It was easy. I didn’t want to hurry out and shower. I wanted to stay with the feel of her on my skin and the smell of her in my nose. My stomach growled.
“You need food,” she said. “What groceries did you have delivered? Anything in the kitchen I can feed you with?” she asked.
“Let’s go out. I love when you cook, but we can do that tomorrow. Let’s go out. Somewhere dark. I want to touch you.”
“You can do that here,” she said.
“I don’t want you to think about cooking. I want you to think about me.”
She closed her eyes on a sigh. “Mm, okay. You want the shower first?”
“Nope. I’m hungry now, and I want to take my time when I get you in the shower later.” I leaned closer and inhaled deeply. “Plus, I love the way you smell right now.”
The walkin the fresh night air was energizing. Or it was the woman next to me huddling close, the hoods on our jackets pulled up in deference to the rain. She was so alive and real. She mesmerized me as the lights reflected off the wet streets and into her eyes when she looked up. People walked by us on the sidewalk, and I wondered how they could pass her and not stop to tell her she was glowing. I reveled in the idea that I had something to do with that glow.
I took her to a little Thai place tucked to the side halfway down a long concrete staircase between First and Western Avenue. It was small, and the dark walls and red accents created an intimate vibe. I asked for a booth in the back and slid into the same side with Jo as she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re not a same-side-of-the-booth girl?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
