John Avery - Black Cobra

“Excuse me,” Brandy said, tapping him on the shoulder.

The young man started and turned toward her. The stitching on his cap read, Tortuga Golden Original Rum Cake .

“Would you like to get married?” she asked.

This caught the young man like a well-placed right hook, and he was struck mute.

Brandy looked back at Jason, as if to say, Take that, you bastard. If you won’t give me what I want, I’ll find someone who will, damn it!

After two years living together, Jason was no longer surprised by Brandy’s antics, but this childishly random marriage proposal irritated him. He gave her a look that left no doubt as to his displeasure.

“Just kidding,” she said, giving him a wry smile.

The young man felt foolish and returned to his burger.

Brandy leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder again. “I’m Brandy Fine,” she said, offering him her hand. “And you are?”

The young man coughed and took a sip of water then looked back at Brandy. She was beautiful, in an exotic kind of way, with long, flowing red hair, and a great little body, and he didn’t mind that she was probably ten or fifteen years older than he. However, she was obviously with someone, and for that reason she made him feel very uncomfortable.

“Uh — I’m Aaron Quinn,” he replied, returning her handshake. Her skin felt warm and soft to the touch, and he was certain her lips would as well.

Brandy saw that Aaron had a scar running down the left side of his face but it only added to his rugged, yet youthful charm. “This is Jason Beckham,” she said, cocking her head toward him.

The two men looked vaguely familiar to each other, but neither could pin down the reason, so they shook hands and let it go.

“Why don’t you join us, Aaron?” Brandy said.

Aaron hesitated — he was content being alone, and all he really wanted to do was finish his burger.

Brandy patted the red-vinyl seat cushion next to her. “Come on. It’s silly to make you talk over your shoulder.”

Aaron glanced at Jason, thinking, Are you down with where this is going? Surprisingly, Jason showed no hostility toward him.

Aaron gathered up his lunch, and when he stood and came over to join them, Brandy’s eyes went wide. He wore nothing but the cap, board shorts, and sandals, and at 5’10”, 165 pounds, tanned, and ripped, Aaron looked amazing.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she restrained herself and scooted over to make room for him. He slid in next to her, and she felt a little dizzy. Her impromptu marriage proposal was sounding better by the second.

Jason saw her drooling and broke the spell. “We’ve ordered a pitcher of beer,” he said to Aaron. “You want a glass?”

“Sounds good,” Aaron replied. He preferred whiskey over beer, but he thought it would be rude to turn down Jason’s offer.

Jason flagged down their server and asked for another glass, and when the beer and appetizers came, the three sat and enjoyed the food and the warm breezes coming off the Caribbean Sea.

“You look familiar, Aaron,” Jason said, still trying to put a place with the face. “Do you live here in the Caymans?”

“I do,” Aaron replied. “Up on Cayman Brac, on the beach near Earl’s Reef Dive Shop. I’m a SCUBA instructor there. How about you guys? You from around here?”

“We’re originally from the States,” Jason said. “But for the last two years we’ve been living here on Grand Cayman aboard our boat.” He pointed out a large yacht moored in the marina just west of the restaurant. “There on the end, with the black windows and maroon canvases.”

Aaron followed Jason’s gaze to the biggest yacht in the marina. “The Cayman Jewel ?” he asked, surprised. She was more impressive than Aaron had expected — considering the casual appearance of its owners.

“That’s her,” Jason said.

“I don’t remember seeing her here in Grand Cayman before.”

Jason had to think fast. He hadn’t had a chance to explain his new acquisition to anyone yet. “We just got her,” he said at last.

“She certainly is beautiful,” Aaron said. He pointed to a small sailboat rammed up on the beach near the restaurant. “That’s my transpo, there.”

Brandy could see the tiny craft leaning over on the sand. “You sailed all the way from Cayman Brac in that? That’s like seventy or eighty miles. You must be one hell of a sailor.”

Aaron blushed. It was true: After two years in the Caymans he’d become an expert sailor, but no one had ever pointed it out before. “I’m from the States, as well,” he said, changing the subject.

“Why did you leave?” Brandy asked.

“Two years ago I was in a bad accident, and I was basically homeless,” Aaron explained. “I didn’t tell the hospital that, of course. I was only thirteen at the time and they would never have let me go.”

You’re only fifteen? Brandy thought, having done the math. She wasn’t sure if that would change things for her or not, and decided it didn’t.

“Where are your parents?” she asked.

“My parents are dead,” Aaron said quickly, not wanting to go there. “I was living in a shelter down at the harbor near where this old fish cannery had been, and I ran into this wealthy retired couple who mentioned they were planning to sail their private yacht from Connecticut down to the Cayman Islands.

“It was pretty obvious that I was a homeless orphan, and why they didn’t call Child Protective Services on me I’ll never know. But I thank God they didn’t, because instead they took pity on me and told me they could use an extra hand on the trip. I told them I had no sailing experience, but they didn’t care. Long story short, my first hot meal and shower in months were in New Haven Harbor, aboard their yacht, and after smuggling me out of the country in a life-vest compartment we sailed down to the Caymans and I fell in love with the place and never left.”

“I know the feeling,” Jason mused.

“So I guess I’ve been here two years myself,” Aaron calculated.

“You mentioned you were a diving instructor,” Brandy said. “That sounds fascinating.”

“Yeah, unlike back in the States, here in the Caymans you don’t have to be fully certified to dive,” Aaron said. “I can teach a beginner in under an hour — with the exception of wreck diving, that is. You have to be wreck certified to enter the interior of a wreck. No one wants to see an untrained tourist get stuck deep under water inside a sunken ship, in the dark, with no air, and no apparent way out.”

Brandy stared at him, picturing herself in that predicament. “That would be awful!”

“And fatal,” Jason added, grimly. He didn’t want Brandy to get any ideas about taking SCUBA lessons.

“Diving is magical,” Aaron said, returning to the lighter side. “It’s one reason why people from around the world travel here to the Caymans.”

“I’ve heard it’s like flying,” Brandy said with a sexy lilt in her voice.

“A submarine gives you a similar feeling,” Jason said. “Except for the fact that you’re packed inside a pressurized hull with a hundred other men, of course.”

“You’ve been on a sub?” Aaron asked.

“You could say that,” Jason replied smugly. “I’m a former submariner, a lieutenant commander with United States Navy.”

“No kidding,” Aaron said.

“I was stationed at Naval Base Point Loma, in San Diego, piloting nuclear submarines capable of sailing under the poles and staying down for months. I spent more time submerged than I did on dry land.”

Aaron paused at the mention of San Diego. Before his father died, he had often overheard his parents talking about vacationing there together as a family. But he knew that that was never going to happen, so he returned his thoughts to the subject of submarines.