Page 79 of The Falcon and the Foe

He pressed his lips together. “We can do that. Sure.”

“What?”

“Either position will get you to the other side, but wouldn’t it be cooler to come in doing a Superman pose? Sitting is the safe position, but you strike me as someone who’s up for living on the edge.”

“Are you trying to sell me on doing the Superman?”

“You’re going to be fine.” He dropped his stoner accent for a second, full earnestness coming through. Even Zipline Bro was rooting for me.

I’d had sex today for the first time in years. I could do anything.

“What’s it going to be?”

“Superman.”

I inched forward on the platform, hands hugging the tree. Zipline Bro hooked me up to the zipline pulley. Lots of clicking and clacking, and then I was officially on the zipline. It pulled at my harness, tugging me upward. My toes could barely touch the platform.

The radio crackled to life with the go-ahead.

“You got this, Dude.”

I leapt.

The sense of plummeting to my death only lasted for a second. Then, pure exhilaration took over. I was flying. Fucking flying. Wind hitting my face, toes skimming the tallest branches, an innate calm filling my chest.

I laughed, guffawed, so impossibly giddy with adrenaline. The platform came into view with another Zipline Bro waiting to catch me.

I careened onto the landing strip. As soon as my feet touched the wood planks, the sensation ended. But those images were imprinted onto my brain, and I hoped at age eighty, I could still recall them and recall this feeling.

I stumbled over to Russ.

“How was it? You did the Super—”

I kissed him quiet.

* * *

We completedthree more ziplines after the initial one. By the fourth, it was old hat—just another day. Whenever we weren’t getting hooked in or sailing through the air, Russ and I were holding hands or finding new ways to touch each other—in a G-rated, sweet fashion. It was the magic of the woods all over again.

Russ’s hair was flat and in a bowl cut style from the helmet. I mussed it up to give it volume, admiring his crooked smile.

“They’re going to throw us out for too much PDA,” Russ said.

“For spilling gay all over the forest?”

“You’re too much,” Russ said with a deep chortle in his throat.

En route to the parking lot, we passed other tourists and employees ambling about in the main area where other activities were being led: hiking trails, canoeing, kayaking, ATV off-roading. It was a perfect day for adventure.

A tourist holding a kayak over his head made eye contact with me. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He wore a lifevest and was about my age but still in fantastic shape. Only the start of lines in his face gave away his age.

“Do you want to grab a late lunch? I’m hungry.” Russ fiddled with his keys in his hand.

The kayaker approached, his strong body a testament to daily workouts. “Cal, right?”

He shot me a lusty smile that triggered an uncomfortable, awkward memory from long ago. One of many that involved alcohol and mistakes.

“Cal, right?” He asked again, pointing at me this time.

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