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He nodded, eyes wide open as he watched me turn the winch on again. The metal cage lifted above the water line and the trap was empty. Hayes looked from the trap to me and then back again.
“Nothing?” he whispered.
“It happens, baby. Some days I go home empty handed,” I admitted.
Hayes looked like he’d just been named first runner-up in a beauty pageant he’d expected to win. I could tell he wanted to be sad but also wanted to pretend he was supportive of the result. “Do we go home now?” he asked. “I’ll still take one of your chores.”
I scooted forward and leaned closer to him with my lips puckered. He met me halfway and we exchanged a tender kiss. “You are the sweetest person I’ve ever met, baby.”
“Are we broke?” he teased.
“Two days ago I would have said yes, but I’m dating a trust fund guy now, sowe good.” I checked the cat-food bait and after seeing the can full, released the winch’s lock and watched as the trap descended out of view. “We still have seven more traps, so chin up, mister.”
We motored to the next buoy and once again I pulled the trap to the surface, tilting my head in question and awaiting his guess.
“So,” he began, pausing and counting on his fingers. “The lobsters we didn’t catch came over to this one and joined their buddies. Maybe you had the good cat food in this one,” he added, creating an entire back story. “So . . . I am . . . going to go with . . .twelve!” he exclaimed. “An all-time record for mysexy as fuckfisherman.”
“You sure?” I teased.
“Final answer!” he declared. He curled his index finger at me, asking me for another kiss. I leaned in and he laid a big wet kiss on me, sticking his tongue halfway down my throat, his lips mashing mine. “For luck,” he said after pulling away.
I thought of the hundreds of times that I had done this same routine with Jamie. We always had a blast and the banter was boastful and snappy, but we were never this affectionate with one another. Hayes had this ability to make me feel like a wanted man. The ego massage had an exciting effect on me. I felt like a man he was proud of and one he desired. I hated to admit to myself that I loved how masculine he made me feel. The emotions inside of me swelled when he acted like my cheerleader. The feeling was primal, almost cave-man-esque, and I’d never experienced the basic need rooted inside me. He wanted me to be that man and I wasn’t sure if it was my cock or my ego thinking, but I craved the sensation.
“Here we go, stud,” I announced, joining him by lifting my hand and crossing my fingers. The winch came to life and I watched the trap rising from the water. The trap was full of lobsters crawling all over their prison, most were large and mature. Top dollar crustaceans for sure.
I tugged the trap over the middle of the boat and let the winch lower it to the floor between Hayes and me.
He looked at me and broke out in a shit-eating grin. “It was the kiss,” he said.
“Open the cooler please, baby. Time for the count.” Hayes opened the cooler that was half-full of sea water while I opened the trap’s hatch to begin the count. “Can you stretch the rubber bands over their claws if I hold them for you?” I asked.
He looked cautiously at me and then at the lobsters. “Do they bite?” he asked, taking the small bag of rubber bands from me. “They’re bigger than I thought they’d be, Bo.”
“I won’t let them bite you,” I responded. “You band them and I’ll wrestle them into the cooler. How about that?” He nodded and watched as I dug the first one out. “Ouch!” I screamed, yanking my hand out of the metal trap.
Hayes yelped and fell backward. He’d been completely unprepared for my joke and appeared as if he might faint. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” he yelled, kicking at the trap.
I reached back into the trap and pulled a lobster out. “Kidding,” I said, waving a lobster at him. “You never pick one up by the claws,” I warned. I held the lobster closer to him and wiggled it. “Only from behind the head like this,” I demonstrated.
He flinched and jumped back. “I’m never touching one of those things after that,” he announced, pouting and sticking his lower lip out. “You’re mean,” he added.
“Still love me?” I asked.
He was lodged between the bench seat and the ice chest, looking flustered.
“You look so cute right now, baby.”
“Hold that fuckers claw, Meany,” he stated, stretching a red rubber band and waiting for me. “This better be worth it, and by the way, how much do you get for these anyway?” he added, while securing the second claw.
“For this size they’ll fetch twenty-dollars apiece.”
He lifted his face to me and his mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, the large ones bring in twenty and the mediums around fifteen to eighteen. I throw the smaller ones back.” I answered.
He leaned toward the trap and started counting the contents. “Twelve,” he said, gazing at me.
“That was your guess,” I said. “Right on the nose.”
