Water and Fire - A Short Story

Part 13

Aidan caught me staring. “Have you never seen a man with hair on his chest before?” he asked, testily.

I didn’t know what to say. “Not the colour of fire, no,” I said finally.

He relented. “Back home in Ireland, it’s supposed to be good luck to rub a man’s red hair, like a leprechaun.” He saw my confusion. “A sort of mythical creature.” He took a step closer to me, still shirtless. “Go on.”

I was reluctant to touch the man at all, let alone his strange chest hair, but the hope of better luck for the future got the better of me. Besides, I felt I might offend him if I spurned his offer.

I stretched a hand out, lightly stroking the wiry orange hair trailing down Aidan’s stomach. He pulled away, doubling over. I drew my hand back.

“That tickles,” he apologised. His expression turned to a broad smile. “Now, your turn.”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant. “But I don’t have any chest hair and it wouldn’t be red, even if I did.”

I decided his smile was more of a smirk, as he continued. “No chest hair? You expect me to believe that? You must have some insulation, not to have frozen solid in the wind out on the boat today.”

I shook my head. “None. Even if I did, it would be too fair to bring you any luck.”

I looked away and refilled our whiskey glasses so I didn’t have to look at him. I gulped the contents of mine down as quickly as I could.

“Go on.” Aidan’s eyes held a challenge. He turned his back to me and picked up the poker, shifting the logs in the fire to burn better.

The man was a doctor. How many chests had he seen in the course of his profession? What was one more? I shrugged and pulled my t-shirt off. My frozen fingers had been too cold to fasten a bra earlier in the day, so my chest was now as bare as his.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” Aidan’s eyes were as round as two puffed-up blowfish.

The poker clattered to the hearth.