“Where are you staying?” he asks, putting ahand on my lower back as we shuffle toward the exit ramp that leads to the large dock, already crowded with people, tourists, and vendors alike. There are a few people in teal polo shirts wearing big smiles and Mardi Gras-style beads around their necks,Palm Islandscrawled on their shirts.
“At the hotel.” According to the brochure, there are three options: the Palms Hotel, one of the very ritzy beach house rentals, or a small campsite on the north end of the island.
“Me too.” Flynn smiles, his hand still lingering on the small of my back. Is he just so happy to see me that he doesn’t realize how touchy-feely he’s being, or is there a deeper meaning behind it?
Just because it turns out heisgay doesn’t mean he’s interested in me or that he ever was. He’s probably excited to rekindle our friendship. An ache of longing ricochets through my body. I want that. I truly do.
Don’t get me wrong, if he tells me he wants to fuck, I’ll bend over so fast I’ll get lightheaded, but damn have I missed my best friend. I lean into his touch, indulging in the warm feeling of his hand while I have the chance.
When my feet hit the dock, I spend a second taking in the view. Beaches extend from both sides of the bustling hub, which is not as crowded as I expected, considering the weather. In the distance, there’s a pair of small mountains, green with trees.The salty scent of the ocean and the fresh scent of palm trees fills the air. All types of men churn around us: different ages, races, and styles. It’s like a gay buffet, but I’m a lot less interested in the wide variety of dick on offer than I was five minutes ago.
There is a shuttle bus idling just off the dock, and a heavily tattooed gruff-looking man wearing one of the teal polos leans against the side, waving people over.
“Does this go to the hotel?”
“Sure does,” the man offers with a hint of a southern drawl. “They call me Devil.” He gives me the friendliest smile I’ve ever seen and jerks his head toward the open bus doors. “Get on. We’ll go once she’s full.”
“Great, thanks.”
Flynn stores our bags in the overhead compartment, and we slide into the first open seats. The leather is hot and sticky with the humidity, clinging to my thighs and burning. I do a little shuffle to pull my shorts down enough to protect my skin. The short shorts seemed like a hot idea when I put them on this morning, but I wasn’t accounting for this.
Flynn drops his eyes to my legs, lowering his sunglasses and giving me a shameless once-over. Okay, so maybe heislooking for more than friendship…this week anyway. I can’t blame him. Fuck knows the whole point of coming to a place like this is to have so much sex you can’t walk right by the end of the week, and I fully intend to. Ideally with Flynn if I have any say in the matter.
I glance out the window to see the guy I met on the ferry, Boston, strolling past the open bus window. A surfer-looking dude with brown hair and a relaxed swagger approaches him wearing a cocky smirk that borders on taunting. Surfer dude slows his gait, and Boston does the same, a sour expression on his face.
“How’s Lyric?” Surfer asks.
Boston’s frown deepens and he narrows his eyes at the man like he’s trying to work out what he means. You can almost see the second it clicks. He bares his teeth and growls. “Oh, fuck you, you fucking asshole.”
Boston gives Surfer a hard shove in the shoulder before moving past him, shaking his head as he walks away.
Surfer watches him go, his smirk slipping after a second. “Fuck,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair, leaving it wild and unkempt. “Way to go, Trick, you goddamn genius.” His gaze lingers after Boston a few more seconds before he strides off in the opposite direction.
The bus slowly fills with people, loud chatter taking over the space as people begin their matingrituals with attractive seatmates and potential vacation flings. The air is thick with sweat, cologne, and pheromones. I’m not sure if it’s that or the fact that Flynn’s bare thigh is pressed against mine in the tight space, but my cock hardens uncomfortably against the constricting fabric of my shorts.
Flynn has an arm over the back of the seat to keep himself steady as the bus bumps along the uneven road to the hotel. His bicep is thick and the tuft of dark hair sticking out from his armpit is hotter than it has any right to be. I’ve spent years with an image of the teenage version of him in my mind, but young me wouldn’t have had the first clue what to do with adult Flynn. He’s the stuff of fantasies, my perfect bear of a dream man brought to life and plopped down in the seat next to me.
His bottom lip is pierced with a silver hoop that he absently tongues as the bus rolls along. My cock aches as my brain conjures images of that tongue working over my shaft instead, tonguing my balls and lapping at the stream of precum he coaxes from my slit.
“What do you do…you know, for work?” I blurt, hoping to distract my dick from the present situation.
He grins. “Personal trainer.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” I shamelessly ogle his muscles. He flexes his bicep and grins, clearly not minding my drooling over him.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I’m a photographer.”
His smile widens. “I fucking knew you would be.”
I huff a laugh as my stomach flutters. Flynn bought me my first professional camera. After watching me take pictures with a disposable for years and hearing me complain about the shitty quality, he got a part-time job as soon as he turned fifteen and saved up every one of his paychecks for a year.
When I opened the present from him on my sixteenth birthday, I thought it had to mean he was as in love with me as I was with him. Hence the embarrassing attempted kiss a few months later.
After he left, I almost got rid of the camera. I’d actually put it in a box and set it out by the curb, but my mom found it in time and brought it back inside. She told me I’d regret it in a few weeks, months, or years, and if I gave myself time to heal, I’d be happy to still have the camera once my heart was whole. She was right. Within a few months, I was able to pull it out of the box, and I realized I felt closer to him when I was using it. Even if my best friend was gone, every picture I took felt like he was cheering me on and pushing me to chase the dream I had told him about when we were ten years old, camping in a tent in his backyard.
He’s still looking at me with happiness and affection as I yank myself back from memory lane.
