The Night the Waves Were Electric Read online

  Copyright © 2020 A.J. Lucas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover photo by Jacub Gomez via Pexels

  Contact the author on Twitter and Instagram: @AJLucasWrites

  For him, wherever he is.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Synopsis

  1 - FOSTER

  2 - FELIX

  3 - FOSTER

  4 - FELIX

  5 - FOSTER

  6 - FELIX

  7 - FOSTER

  8 - FELIX

  9 - FOSTER

  About The Author

  Books In This Series

  Synopsis

  Foster is a college kid who’s outrunning his problems by crashing at his parents’ beachfront house, filling his days with iced coffee and sunbathing so he doesn’t have to think about what went wrong back in New York.

  Felix is a carefree surfer who loves to spend his days chasing the waves right outside Foster’s front door, and his nights chasing handsome men from bed to bed. He’s quick with a joke and quick to go after what he wants.

  But one day, when Felix meets Foster, he finds himself feeling not just dominant but protective. As they spend a lust-filled day together on the sands of Venice Beach, what will happen as day turns into night?

  And... what’s happening out in the water?

  © A.J. Lucas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover photo by Jacub Gomez via Pexels

  Contact the author on Twitter and Instagram:

  @AJLucasWrites

  For him, wherever he is.

  1 - FOSTER

  The first thing I noticed was the smell of his cologne. I’d always found it intoxicating, but here, now, in this dark room, it was overpowering. Dangerous. Thrilling.

  The next thing I felt were his hands on my shoulders. They were as strong and manly as I remembered, as I’d noticed the first time we held hands in public. I remembered the electric thrill that went through me the minute we’d touched, how I’d been unable to stop my groin from stirring. How I’d liked that.

  Then I heard his voice. “I’m here,” he said, and though I wanted to reply, to turn around and see his face again for the first time in months, I found myself unable to. He breathed, “I’ve missed you.”

  His hands moved down my back. Strong. Commanding. I felt his breath on my neck, felt the flutter of his eyelashes on my cheek. As his hands reached my ass, squeezing gently, I felt my cock straining against my boxer briefs. He always had that effect on me. We could be in the middle of a crowd, people pressing in on all sides, but then I’d feel his hands, and, well, Houston, we have liftoff. He loved doing it to me when I was wearing shorts or sweats, leaving me hunched over awkwardly so the entire world wouldn’t know I was hard. He’d always laugh, that hoarse, throaty laugh, and then he’d pull me in for a kiss, pressing our bodies together so he could feel my stiffness against his leg.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I said finally. I reached back and grabbed his hand, pulling it up to my mouth, where I kissed his finger and then took it between my lips.

  “Why haven’t you come to see me, Foster?” he asked, and a cold sweat broke out all over my body.

  Something was wrong.

  This shouldn’t be happening.

  We couldn’t be doing this right now.

  Because we’d…

  He’d…

  My eyes opened against my will. For a second, I could still smell his cologne, and I tried to hold on to that, but then the memory was gone.

  From the way I’d been sleeping on my side, I was now staring at the big sliding glass doors that led onto the balcony. Beyond, I could see a stretch of sand, and beyond that, the waves crashing on the beach. I’d forgotten to draw the curtains last night, apparently, and the sunlight reflecting off the ocean was streaming directly into my face.

  I sighed and stood up to close the drapes, realizing right away that there was another lingering effect of the dream — I was still rock hard. I sleep naked most of the time, especially here at the Venice house; I like the feeling of the ocean breeze on my naked body. For a second I was afraid someone down on the beach might be able to see me and my hard-on as I closed the curtains. For a second I liked the idea.

  When the curtains were closed, I laid back down in bed. I grabbed my phone from the wireless charging pad on my endtable, planning to find a video that might help me relieve myself. Instead, my stomach churned and my cock wilted immediately.

  I had eleven missed texts from Mom and three from Dad. The ones from Mom said things like, “Foster, where are you?” And, “Can you please answer me?” And, “We’re worried about you, honey.” And then they became less coherent as the timestamp got later and later and as I’m sure she got drunker and drunker. “you @ Venice hose?” and “its oh k if you r we hour just worried.”

  The ones from Dad were far less comforting.

  “Foster, this is unacceptable. Do you know how worried your mother is?” And then, “If you’re at the Venice house, you need to call me immediately.” And then, “I’m not afraid to call the police.”

  I shut my phone off and lay my head back on the pillow, rubbing my temples. I didn’t need that right now. I was being hard enough on myself lately; I couldn’t face their anger too.

  An hour later I was ready to hit the beach. I’d made myself an unsatisfying breakfast of eggs and toast — the only two things I had bought a few days earlier when I’d arrived at the house — and then taken a shower to try to wash the previous night’s unsettling dream away. In the shower, I half-heartedly tried to jerk off, but couldn’t really get hard, which was fine, I guess.

  I packed a tote bag I found in the pantry with a towel, a water bottle, sunscreen, a paperback horror novel I’d found in Mom and Dad’s room, and a backup phone charger. Nothing worse than relaxing on the beach and worrying about your phone battery percentage.

  Before I left the house, I stopped in front of the mirror in the hallway. I was wearing a tight electric-blue tank top and short, yellow swim trunks. Designer sunglasses rested atop my head, nestled in my curly, sandy-colored hair. It was tousled up top and trimmed tight along the sides, just the way I liked it; I’d gotten it cut last week, just before everything had come apart. There was a dusting of stubble on my cheeks, which normally I’d shave off, but I hadn’t been feeling up for it that morning. It didn’t look as bad as I thought it would have; it made me look a little older, a little rougher around the edges, a little more mysterious.

  Mystery sounded good right now.

  The tank was tighter than it had been last summer; I’d definitely packed on a few pounds in the last couple of months. I still looked good enough, though, I thought; luckily, when you start off your spiral in great, gym-toned shape, you can let yourself go a bit and still look okay. At least my arms still looked good.

  I flicked the sunglasses down over my face, picked up the keys from the bowl on the table below the mirror, and walked out the front door, making sure to lock it behind me. That
was the last thing I needed… Mom and Dad finding out that not only had I been crashing at the beach house, but that I’d left it unlocked and gotten the entire place ransacked…

  It was still relatively early, but Venice was coming to life around me as I headed toward the boardwalk seeking coffee. Laughing families chased dogs and frisbees into the sand; women in sun hats fought the breeze to lay their towels out in the sun; a group of bikini-clad sorority girls giggled over a pack of nearby strapping young men sporting board shorts and washboard abs. I was grateful for my sunglasses so I could stare without getting caught.

  I even thought I saw an actor I recognized from one of those medical soaps my mother liked, motoring past me on a rideshare scooter, but by the time I turned around to see if it was actually him, he was too far down the path for me to be able to recognize the back of his head. I made a mental note to tell her I’d seen him anyway, and then I remembered the texts from the night before. I put in my headphones and turned on some Lana Del Rey to drown out the thought of my parents.

  Venice never really went to sleep, come to think of it; once the tourists left the beaches after sunset, the locals came out to play. And there were actually plenty of locals out and about now, especially of the homeless variety. There are a number of homeless encampments along the beach, but I never minded; I didn’t begrudge them the fantastic view of the ocean. If you’ve gotta be homeless, I thought as I walked around a leathery, tanned man stretched out on the sidewalk, there are worse places than this. I knew how lucky I was that my parents were successful enough film producers to be able to afford one of the beachfront houses by the canals; I didn’t mind sharing the neighborhood. My father, though… Different story.

  As the path wound through Muscle Beach and I found myself surrounded by broad chests, thick calves, and the scent of suntan lotion, I pretended to scroll through my phone while actually checking out the guys around me, hoping to meet someone’s eye checking me out in return. I loved the uniquely-gay dance of cruising, of looking at a guy in just the right way that tells him: I see you. I’m like you. And I like what I see. There were a couple of gay guys playing volleyball, but they weren’t my type. They were too muscular, all circuit-party types. I liked working out, sure, but it wasn’t my entire personality, and it wasn’t what I looked for in a guy.

  And besides, none of them were looking at me anyway. Which is, of course, the biggest turn-off of all.

  “Hey, Foster!” called Cassie, the barista behind the counter. I was still a few people back in line, but I smiled and returned her wave. The people in front of me turned around, probably to see if I was someone famous; realizing I was a nobody, they all faced front again.

  Cassie and I had grown up together; she and her family lived in one of the houses down by the canals, a little farther into town than the beach. Her mother was a moderately-successful character actress, and her father had ridden the dot-com bubble until just before it popped, so even though they weren’t as well-off as we were, they were doing okay. When we were young, we used to play on the beach together every single day during the summers. Our parents became friends, too, and they used to joke that we’d get married someday.

  Of course, that was never going to happen. When I came out in high school, Cassie was the first person I told. She took a few hours to be upset about the fact that we were never going to be together, and then she called me and said she was sneaking me into one of the gay bars in West Hollywood and that I did not have a say in the matter. It was the first time I’d gotten drunk, and while I did dance with a few guys who were definitely too old for me and who would have been inappropriate to hook up with, Cassie was there to whisk me away into an Uber before anything bad happened. I would forever be grateful for that.

  When I got up to the counter, Cassie already had my order ready. I’m a simple guy who just drinks iced coffee, black. She took a few extra minutes putting the lid on and finding me a straw, though, so we could talk.

  “I didn’t know you were back in town!” she said. “Why didn’t you text?”

  “I just got back late last night,” I lied. “Kind of a last-minute thing!”

  “Are your parents here too?”

  “Not yet,” I lied again, “but they should be here later in the week.” I hated lying to Cassie — she was usually the one person I would tell absolutely anything and everything — but I didn’t feel like telling her the truth about why I was back in Venice just yet. I wasn’t ready. “Hey, I like the new hair!”

  She grinned and shook her head, her long box braids cascading over her shoulder. “It took fucking forever,” she laughed.

  “Well, it was worth it!” I said.

  “Thanks. I got it done just for your approval, you know.” I knew she was joking, but I felt my face flush anyway. She held out my coffee, but just before I could take it, she pulled back a little. “Hey, I haven’t seen you since… for the last couple of months, y’know,” she said. I felt my stomach tighten. “I was really sorry to hear about what happened.”

  “Thank you,” I tried to say, but my words caught in my throat. I coughed, tried again, and managed a, “Thanks.”

  I crumpled up a $10 and put it in her tip jar. She tried to protest, but I waved her off. She was working here because her parents had decided she needed to earn money for herself instead of giving her an allowance anymore; I felt a little guilty that I was still living off my parents’ money, so if I could help her out, I wanted to.

  I was about to take my coffee and go sit out on the beach with it, but it was already pushing 90 outside, and the air conditioning inside the coffee shop felt great. I decided to have a seat at one of the only open stools along the bar and drink it there, instead, savoring the cool air before I went outside to lay in the sun. The bar was along the window, too, meaning I could people-watch.

  After removing the paperback from the tote bag, I hung it on a hook under the bar and sat on the stool. I was about to crack open the book when I thought that maybe I should let some of my college friends know I was still alive.

  I took my phone out of my pocket, carefully framed the book, the iced coffee, and the crowd of beachgoers outside the window, and snapped a photo. A few more clicks, a caption consisting of the sun emoji and the coffee emoji, and it was uploaded to Instagram.

  Before I could close the app, I couldn’t help but see the first update on my feed. I felt my heart skip a beat, and then my pulse began to race. It was someone’s #tbt photo from last year, from when I’d invited a bunch of friends out to the beach house for spring break. The picture showed the six of us guys posed goofily in front of the house, cases of beer hoisted over our heads, everyone shirtless. My eyes went right to myself first. My head was shaved at the time, just the way he liked it; I was ten pounds lighter and my chest was more defined, but otherwise, I looked pretty much the same.

  I tried to stay focused on myself instead of looking at the person I knew had been standing next to me. I stared at my own sun-reddened, grinning face until my eyes started to swim with tears, and then before I could help it, my eyes slid to the person at my side in the photo, the person with his arm around my shoulders.

  And there he was.

  The face I hadn’t been able to see in my dream that morning.

  Jason.

  Beautiful, wonderful, dead Jason.

  I shut my phone off and slid it into the tote bag. When I raised my eyes, vision still blurry, I gasped; someone was standing on the other side of the window, staring in at me. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes and blinked to clear my vision.

  My breath caught in my throat. The man who swam into view was gorgeous. The first thing I noticed was that he had the lithe, unmistakeable body of a surfer, and his bare chest was covered with a furry rug of hair that perfectly accentuated his pecs. I noticed his beard next, perfectly-groomed and yet rugged-looking, and then his smile: inviting, friendly, somehow supportive instead of pitying. And then I met his eyes: sparkling blue. Just like Jason’s. And I saw
the way he was looking at me. I see you, those eyes seemed to say, and I’m like you. And I like what I see.

  2 - FELIX

  I had forgotten that I had left my regular Saturday alarm set for 7am so I could get out and catch the early break, but when it went off, my head was pounding. Too much tequila the night before. Fuck, I thought. Can’t surf like this. I’ll drown.

  After turning off the alarm, I rolled over to go back to sleep and was surprised to see someone in bed with me. He was broad and burly, which was unusual for me, but seeing him it was obvious why I’d made an exception the night before. He was sleeping naked and the sheets had slipped off him when I rolled over, so I got a great view of his hairy chest, rising and falling with every deep breath. My eyes followed the trail leading down to the tangle of hair at his groin. Even soft, his cock was impressive. His jaw jutted upwards and I had to resist a sudden urge to lean over and rub my cheek against his beard.

  Not bad, Felix, I thought as last night’s memories came slowly trickling back. I remembered being out… checking the apps… coming home and polishing off the rest of a bottle of tequila by myself… I remembered him knocking at the door… I remembered being surprised at how wide and strong his shoulders were, and I remembered the feel of his tongue against my tongue, and then against my dick. Fuck, he’d given me some great head. I rolled my tongue around my mouth and decided I’d probably returned the favor.

  Well, now I was disappointed the alarm hadn’t woken him up so we could go for round two.

  I nuzzled up close to him, feeling the firmness of his arms, running my fingers over the fuzz that covered them. He didn’t stir. I frowned.

  I coughed. Nothing. I coughed louder.

  Finally, his eyes fluttered open, and he turned to look at me. His eyes widened, and I smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring and seductive. I probably landed somewhere closer to “creep.”