Page 4 of Reel Love

“Pretty sure you can’t achieve ugly,” Kai chimes in. “Did you want to? Because if you were going for ugly, this …” He gestures to his own upper lip and stares at mine. “… is a move in the right direction, for sure.”

“Yeah. I’m just trying to fend off some of the more exuberant advances.”

“Poor thing,” Ben teases. “Can’t keep the women at bay.”

Kai adds. “This could backfire. You might end up with a woman who’s got a thing for the ’stache. I can’t pull one off so I never could try the change you’re going for.”

“He can’t pull one off either,” Ben says, pointing at me and confirming my hopes. “You look creepy. Untrustworthy. I wouldn’t let you dog sit, let alone care for my child with the look you’re sporting.”

“All from facial hair?”

“It’s a look. One I don’t think you should entertain.” Ben nods and glances at Kai for confirmation. “It’s very,you should see my collection of doll heads. Or …I mastered every level in Zelda on my couch—alone.”

I smile. “Great.”

Ben looks confused.

As odd as it sounds, I am actually trying to tone down my attractiveness. I’m hoping the facial hair serves as a deterrent to the onslaught of flirty passengers I’ve had lately. I sound arrogant, even without saying it out loud. But I’m tired of women coming on to me based on my looks alone.

The mustache is an experiment. And, like any experiment, it may need modification over time. Handlebars? Ham hock sideburns? I could try a Dali where the ends are twisted and pointed skyward like symmetrically poised hairy chopsticks. That style wouldn’t hold up underwater on my regular dives, though. We’ll see. For now, Ben and Kai’s responses are data in the column I was hoping for. But the real test will be the single females who accompany me on marine cruises today.

I pass by the mirror outside the dressing room. My eyes do a double take. Yeah. This mustache is horrific. It looks like a yeti lobster loaned me his claw to perch over my lip, only I dyed it black.

“Maybe add a beard,” Ben suggests.

“Nah. I’m good. I think adding a beard may trigger a primal response in some women. That’s the exact opposite effect of what I’m going for.”

“A primal response, huh?” Ben laughs. “That’s something I usually aimed for when I was single. Why avoid it?”

“You could always actually date,” Kai suggests.

“Date one of the tourists who wants a fun fling with the local marine biologist without even knowing anything about me except that she likes what I look like?”

“It works for peacocks,” Kai says.

Sometimes I wonder if he puts in the effort of Googling scientific facts just so he can converse with me on my terms. I wouldn’t put it past him. Kai’s the kind of guy who wants everyone around him to be safe and happy—and he enjoys playing a role in providing each of us what we need most.

“Male peacocks are irresponsible and hedonistic.” I edify Kai with factual evidence. “Peacocks don’t mate for life, and they leave the peahen to raise the young on her own while they traipse out to strut their colors in front of female after female. They’re good problem solvers, but when it comes to romance, they’ve got nothing. That’s not me.”

“Not a peacock. Noted.” Kai nods.

Ben barks out a laugh. “Man, the conversations we end up having with you, Stevens.”

My ten o’clock group arrives—a flock of women scheduled to take one of my two-hour tours of the harbor. They’re here on a girlfriends’ four-day weekend, according to the woman who reached out to make the reservation. Along with massages and poolside lounging at the resort, they want to tour the waters surrounding Marbella.

This isn’t the evening champagne cruise or the glass-bottom tour which are both more recreational. I hope they know what they’re in for. I glance at the hands of each of the women. Manicures. Well, here goes nothing.

“Hi, ladies.” I greet the whole group of eight women. “I’m Stevens. I’ll be your guide for our marine exploration tour today. And this is Ben. He’ll be my first mate. If each of you would sign a waiver and grab a life vest from the pile outside the back door, we’ll get going.”

Once the women have completed all the preliminary prep, we lead them to the dock at the harbor where I moor my two boats. One is my private sailboat—a blue water pocket cruiser, theSea Ya. And the other is a decent-sized trawler for smaller outings of twenty passengers or fewer. When I have to take a larger group on an educational tour, I’m cleared to use one of the monohulls or motorized catamarans owned by the resort.

“How far out in the ocean will we be going?” one of the passengers asks me on our way down the dock towardCatching Wishes.

“We’ll mostly be touring along the shoreline. We’ll anchor in a few spots along the way. And we’ll go a few miles out to drag a net when we’re around the north side of the island. That’s when we’ll pull some sea life up onto the boat.”

She stares up at me. Then she blurts, “You’re not what I had expected when I pictured a marine biologist.”

I wonder if she even listened to my cursory overview of the tour itinerary.

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