I always laugh at the non-Puerto Ricans' first time flying into the island. Because of their faces when the plane full of Boricuas erupts into loud clapping the moment the plane lands in San Juan. That's how Victor and I woke, startled, finding ourselves in quite an intimate sleeping position with his arm around me, my head on his chest and his own head on top of mine. I think I had drooled on his shirt. He didn't notice or pretended not to notice.

"I've never slept an entire flight," Victor said as we stood and he pulled my bag from the overhead and handed it to me.

We fought our way out of the plane, waited for my luggage as Victor called his uncle and let him know we had arrived. Around us, the cacophony of rapid Spanish hit my ears.

I was home.

Involuntarily, I smiled. There was a sense of homecoming after floating in a sea of a place that never belongs to you, you come home to people who look like you, talk like you, and embrace you even if they've just met you.

"I know we wanted to go straight to the hotel but how about a stop at Piñones?" He said as we stood outside waiting for his uncle to arrive. The muggy humidity had instantly hit me.

"You want alcapurrias," I smiled.

"And a cold Medalla," he said.

I understood perfectly fine. This is part of what the diaspora did the moment they arrive to San Juan. You drive straight to Piñones and delight in the fried food and ice-cold Medalla waiting for you. Alcapurrias stuffed with crab meat, bacalaitos, cod fritters the size of your face, fresh coconut cut by a machete, empanadas filled with your choice of beef, crab, shrimp, or cheese! It was a rite of passage as if we had to fill our belly with island food for our insides to recognize where we were.

Victor's Uncle Tony arrived late, and he parked the black jeep in front of us. He got out with a loud excited whoop at seeing Victor, he was short and dark, made even darker by the sun. The mark of his sunglasses was evident on his face. When Uncle Tony turned to me, I just knew he was the creepy uncle when he grasped my hand lecherously.

"Y esta belleza? What's your name, mi amor?"

Victor rolled his eyes and took my hand out of his. "This is Becka, don't even try it."

His uncle looked hilariously offended but apologized. "Ay, I'm sorry, I was being nice!"

Victor gave him a look and his uncle offered him a winning smile. The exchange of keys was made, Uncle Tony piled into a corvette which his office assistant had driven behind him. He winked at me from the driver's side.

"You should come to the house, I'll have beers, we'll dance, have a good time," he said but his eyes were on me despite my scowl.

"I'll let you know," Victor placed himself between his uncle's eyes and me as he drove off. "I'm sorry, he's always been like that. His last girlfriend was nineteen."

"Ew."

We pilled in our luggage and before I knew it, Victor was expertly braving into the psychotic traffic. Weaving in and out lanes, the breeze was in my face and I was hit by a pang of desire. To move back to the island, to let it wrap me within its palms.

"I always want to move here when I come," Victor's black hair danced in the wind and I stared at him. My hair instantly noticed that I had arrived, it curled into a halo of brown, curving itself into its natural state despite the hours spent straightening it.

He'd never lived on the island; he was a mainland baby. Half Puerto Rican. Still, his mother had ensured that he replaced the R with the L like a proper Boricua. It was incredible to me that I knew so much of him, we had not gone through that awkwardness of getting to know one another. He'd orbited my solar system since childhood and now he was the center point, the flaming sun.

People drive like desperate maniacs on the island but Victor did not bat an eye even as I clutched at the door handle, sure that we were going to die in a fiery crash. He thought it was hilarious and told me to relax a few times. Still, I let out a sigh of relief when the tang of salt air hit my nostrils, it was the smell of childhood, of a promise. Good times are ahead. The sea was near. When he took the curve the small roadside spots appeared on the right-hand side, none of were fancy buildings, they were built to hold pots of boiling oil that would fry our food to golden perfection. Jerry Rivera blasted from the speakers and I saw people eating from greasy napkins, trading stories and meandering from establishment to establishment. To the left, the sea crashed into the rocks and sand and you could pick a spot to eat your bacalaito, wash it down with a cold drink and watch the sunset.

We stopped at a small shack kiosk that had a homemade wooden sign that said 'La Cerveza esta fria pero la compañia no.'

"The beer is cold, but the company is not."

I could smell the frying batter hitting the hot oil, I could hear the waves crashing across the street and I was suddenly a small child; Papi buying me an empanada, holding them in my small hand, and their heat seeping into my skin. Blow on it, they're hot, he said. I had watched my parents suddenly start dancing on the dirt floor, he'd twirl her and catch her, they'd laugh and tell old jokes that never got old.

Victor's hand on my back startled my memories and I looked up at him.

"A crab alcapurria and a cod fritter, what do you want?" Victor turned to me.

"Same," I was nearly bouncing. Crab and cod sounded perfect. "Also, two iced Medallas."

The man nodded at us, handed us two cans of Medallas and went to fry our order. Victor smiled at me and we toasted. The beer was so cold small bits of particles had iced and bit our tongue to relieve the heat.

"Oh fuck," Victor murmured, smacking his lips. "Why does beer taste so good here?"

"The salty sea wind," I pointed to the waves.

We walked to a small strip of wood that had been hammered to two poles and served as a makeshift table. It faced the crashing waves, capturing the quintessential island life. We were quiet as we sat on our stools, enjoying our beer and listening to the laughter of the people around us, the smell of frying seafood and the sea.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Victor asked me.

"Claudia said there was some live music in her neighborhood, we can do that," I said.

He nodded, taking a gulp of beer. The man came to us with plates of fried food and Victor ordered two more beers. I grabbed the alcapurria with the tips of my fingers with delight.

"Way better than Burger King," he said.

"Oh, yeah," I nodded.

I had to blow on the fried dough until I could take a small hot bite, inhaling sharply as my mouth was scorched. The savory flavors instantly hit me, the mashed plantains mixed with adobo, peppers, salt, and cilantro. I moaned in delight.

"So good," I said with my mouth full and Victor nodded, he was doing his own breathing chant, attempting to cool down the food despite it already being in his mouth.

The new Medallas was delivered and it soothed our mouths from the burn. The man also brought us a bottle of homemade hot sauce, packed with peppers, garlic, and onions.

"Es picante!" he warned.

I didn't like spice on my food, but Victor poured the sauce all over his food. Then he realized he'd overdone it, he turned red and looked at me in desperation with wet eyes.

"He warned you," I handed him my half-drunk Medalla and he gulped it back like a dying man. I ordered us two more beers and when we finished, we took our beer and meandered to the water. I took off my sandals and Victor slipped out of his sneakers, I felt the water run between my toes, warm with the promise of perpetual summer.

"I really needed this," Victor said, eyes closed and letting the wind ruffle his hair.

As I watched him, I was overcome with a sudden need to shove him. I needed to touch him and because I was an idiot, I shoved him like one shoves a crush in grade school. He stumbled and landed on his ass on the water. I let out a peal of laughter at his face of shock. Saltwater had gotten in his beer and he looked up at me.

"Oh, you're in deep shit," he said.

I turned to run but he was fast and in far better shape than me. I felt when his arm went under my knees and shoulders, lifting me up, carrying me and dumping me in the water despite my cries. The waves crashed over me, I swallowed half the ocean and then he yanked me up by my hair so I could breathe. I was laughing and coughing as I pulled him down and baptized him with me. We tossed and turned under the waves, a dance that could have been many a thing. Then we finally shuffled out of the sea, completely soaked and laid on the large rocks, letting the sun dry us off. The salt made our skin sticky and I realized my dress was ruined. I didn't care, I didn't care at all. There was a moment when we looked at one another and there was silence, only the waves. The words of love landed on my tongue and I might have said them if Victor didn't suddenly stand. I blinked up at him and he offered his hand, lifting me up in one quick motion.

"Let's go," he said but his hand lingered in mine and not even the sound of the ocean could eclipse the sound of the blood rushing to my ears.

When we meandered into the hotel lobby to check into the room we looked like two melting ice cubes. The staff looked down at us, it was a nice place, with fresh carpets, tailored suits, and oceanfront. The room was in Victor's name and a smile from him had the front desk attendant pleasantly offering a lot of suggestions for dinner. We were on the tenth floor, with the view facing the crisp blue ocean, the afternoon sun made the room glow. It was the perfect room for a vacation. One problem; there was only one bed. I glanced at Victor and he let out a sigh.

"I'll be back, let me talk to them."

I watched him leave turned to the bathroom, gasping at the sight of myself in the mirror. My dress was dirty with sand, my mascara ran down my cheeks, my hair had curled with the saltwater and you could clearly see my bra. Lord.

It didn't take Victor long to come back up with a serious face.

"What?"

"There's a wedding party that's taking up most of the rooms, they have no other room available for the next three nights, they said that's a sofa bed. They can switch us once the wedding party leaves. It's three nights, I can take the sofa bed."

I could not believe I was stuck in classic romance book trope hell with a guy I was in love with. I glanced at the King-sized bed in the room and let out a sigh.

"It's three fucking nights, Victor. We'll share, stay on your side and I'll stay in mine."

I yanked my luggage and wheeled it to the bathroom so I could shower and so I could hide my flaming cheeks. I sat in the toilet staring ahead for a while, controlling my breathing. I had to share a bed with Victor. The good thing was that I was a dead sleeper, I woke up in the same position I had gone to bed in, I didn't move. No chances of waking up entangled in each other's arms. That was good. Yet the fact that I would be a leg-stretch away from feeling his skin in the middle of the night rushed heat between my legs.

I needed a shower.

Recommended Year 2000 Playlist (will grow with each chapter)

1. If You're Gone - Matchbox Twenty

2. Absolutely (Story of a Girl) - Nine Days

3. Hanging by a Moment - LifeHouse

4. Yellow - Coldplay

5. Breathe - Faith Hill

6. Smooth - Carlos Santana

7. Country Grammar - Nelly

8. Butterfly - Crazy Town

9. Be with You - Enrique Iglesias

10. It's My Life - Bon Jovi

11. Reloj - Luis Miguel

12. You Sang To Me - Marc Anthony