Fuckme.
All the humor in my body dried up and blew away.Poof.Gone. In its place—and the place of every other emotion I could summon—was desire. Stick-to-your-ribs, prickle-the-back-of-your-neck, hot-and-sweaty-all-over, headboard-bangingdesire.
Cole stood there, his legs braced and his chest bare, and wrung the ocean from his shirt while I watched. In all honesty, I was gaping. It was rude and gratuitous, and I had a schedule to keep, but I couldn't stopmyself.
He was blond and golden in a way that reminded me of Zack Morris,Endless Summermovies, and The Beach Boys. Freckles dotted his shoulders. There was a thick patch of hair on his chest, and a fuzzy trail running between his washboard abs. His shorts were dripping wet and plastered to his legs, and my chest swelled at the giddy hope he'd take those offtoo.
"Any chance you have an extra shirt lying around?" Cole asked, meeting my gaze. "I realize that I've demanded quite of a bit of your hospitality, what with requiring another rescue on top of everything else, but I'd be extremelyappreciative."
I blinked at him. Twice. Gulped, and then cleared my throat. "What?" Iasked.
Cole swept his hand down his torso. "My shirt is wet," he said, careful to enunciate each syllable. "Do you have one I couldborrow?"
A growl unfurled in my throat. "What about your shorts? Those are wet,too."
He glanced down, shrugging. "An astute observation, Owen. But I didn't figure you'd have an entire wardrobe on board," hereplied.
My previous deckhand, the college kid, didn't talk much. He knew the routine and did his job with limited commentary, and we both enjoyed that approach. He had his big-ass headphones and a steady stream of whatever the kids were listening to these days, and I had the waves, the wind, the radio. It worked for us. It worked forme.
But now I had Cole, and he came with an endless supply of questions—he wanted to know every little thing about lobsters, fishing, boats, oceans, tides, and Maine—and chatter. All these quips and smartass comments flew at me like a swarm of greenheads in July, and I couldn't keep up because I was busy imagining the taste of hisskin.
And praying that he was gay. Hell, I'd be happy with bisexual. I'd scrub the memories of all those pretty young bi boys I'd met in Bar Harbor and Kennebunkport over the years. The ones who sucked cock like they'd declared it their major. The ones who preferred to sneak around because their parents wouldn't understand, or so they claimed. The ones who always went back to Yale or Penn, and their girlfriends, come September. The ones who returned summers later for their posh, picturesque weddings. The ones who taught me to stick with one-night stands and no last names because my heart was too tender for anythingreal.
Yeah, I'd forget all the promises I'd mademyself.
When I didn't respond, Cole continued. "No sweat. I'm SPF'd. I can go without a shirt," he said, clapping his handstogether.
I finally found my words, and they were harsh and low. "We have a schedule to keep," I said. "And we could do with less drama,McClish."
He held his hands out and quirked his brows up as if to sayWho, me?He was cute when he wasn't busy wielding a shotgun or indulging his quarter-life crisis. He was charming in a half-smiling, eye-twinkling, chatty-Chad way. If I didn't keep my jaw clenched and my words to myself, there was no telling what wouldhappen.
No, that wasn't true. Inaccurate. Erroneous. Completelyfalse.
I knew what would happen. I'd laugh. Smile. Maybe even blush. I'd bend to Cole's light like a tulip to the sun, and for a few blessed moments, everything would beperfect.
But it wouldn't last. None of this would last, and it didn't matter that I had no idea whatthiswas.
Cole crossed the deck and collected the hook-headed pole used to grab hold of the trap lines. He turned, the warm sunlight celebrating every line and curve on his chest, and a noise slipped from my lips. I couldn't hear much over the pulse pounding in my head but it sounded likeOhhh-mmm-ahhh.
"I'll grab this one," he called. He leaned over the edge of the boat, his taut body stretching as he yanked the buoy closer. It was a thing of beauty, and it would have been a glorious moment if Cole wasn't seconds away from taking another dip in the ocean. He still didn't understand how to keep himself balanced against the weight ofwater.
I raced to his side but it was already too late. He lost his leverage and pitched overboard trying to regainit.
"Fuck me," I muttered under mybreath.
Cole swam to the surface and shook the water from his hair. "I don't know what happened there," hesaid.
He looked up at me with bright eyes as if he was unaware that he'd upended my life in the short days since his arrival. As if he could take a header into the water—twice—without me wanting to spank and then swaddle him. As if he didn't know I'd spent the past two nights squeezing my eyes shut and forcing my brain to focus on anyone but him while bringing myself to silent, unsatisfying orgasms. As if I could survive this newfound companionship without coming apart at theseams.
"I don't know how any of this happened," I said through asigh.
6
Arc of Visibility
n. The portion of the horizon over which a lighted aid to navigation is visible fromseaward.
Cole
