“Hey, Hunter,” he says, his voice barely audible above the noisy bar. “I don’t want to pressure you. If you’re not into it, please don’t feel obligated to come with me. I’ll be fine on my own.”
Penn’s eyes are a unique color, with a dark ring of indigo surrounding the icy gray-blue at the center. They’re oddly mesmerizing, especially when he’s got them focused on me so intently.
“It’s okay, Penn. I actually want to go,” I say, forcing a smile I can only hope looks sort of genuine. “I haven’t taken a trip in years, and your offer is too good to pass up. Plus, you’re making Serah do her happy dance by helping me use up my vacation days.” I raise my eyebrows at Serah, who gives me a cheery, slightly drunken wave from the other end of the table.
Relief washes over Penn’s face, and he grins at me, his features lighting up and setting off sparks in my lower belly. Okay, fine. In the spirit of total honesty, when I first met Penn, back in our freshman year of college, I thought he was the most beautifulcreature I’d ever seen. If anyone ever forced me at gunpoint to detail all my sexual fantasies, I’d be forced to admit that Penn Thompson used to play a starring role in many of my hottest fantasies. But that was a long time ago, and I haven’t thought about him that way in years. So why, all of a sudden, is my stomach doing somersaults when he flashes that smile at me? It’s not like anything’s changed just because we’re going to be spending more time together. The guy is still a spoiled trust-fund kid. And even if he wasn’t, he’s way, way out of my league.
“Oh my god! Yay!” he exclaims with a giggle that probably shouldn’t be cute but somehow is. “We’re going to have so much fun!”
I take another sip of my beer, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to Penn’s attention on me. My anxiety starts ratcheting up as my mind starts to criticize every social interaction I’ve had tonight. Like clockwork, sweat starts trickling down my back as I try to silence my inner critic.
Thankfully, Penn doesn't notice and moves on to discussing logistics. “I’ll call and change your ticket next week, and I’ll let you know all the details. Sound good?”
“Yeah, that works for me. Thanks, Penn,” I reply, forcing another smile while trying to smother my internal freakout. How the hell are the two of us going to share a tiny little cabin for a whole week? Penn is the epitome of a social butterfly, while I require alone time to recharge. I hope there will be some quiet places on board for me to escape to.
Fuck. I hope I haven’t made a mistake by agreeing to go. I realize I'm not always the most easygoing guy. I don't want to put my friendships with the others at risk if things go sour with Penn. If the two of us can't spend time together, I could lose this group of friends who have become my family. After losing my grandparents a few years ago, they're all I have, so losing them isn't a chance I can take.
Dammit. I’m gonna need to talk to someone about this shit.
Chapter three
Penn
Monday morning, I pull my electric Jaguar SUV into the parking lot of my small office. Sighing, I grab my bag and my Venti Caramel Macchiato and step into the small but welcoming space. Maybe one of these days, I’ll actually be brave enough to tell people about this project that’s been taking up most of my headspace for the last few months. My problem is that I don’t have the best record of following through with stuff, and I don’t want to have to watch my friends struggle to figure out what to say to me when and if this becomes just another entry in my long list of “tried it out but couldn’t make it stick” projects. The thought of my friends believing I’m a failure is a lot worse than the thought of them thinking I’m a shallow party boy. After all, that’s the only side of me they’ve ever really known.
For some reason, though, this project feels different. I keep waiting for it to hit me, but so far, I’m not getting the restless, uncomfortable feeling that means I’m losing interest in something. Instead, the bored, agitated feeling has been replaced by the constant feeling that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Normally, I’m Mr. Optimistic, never doubting myability to pull things off, even though my track record suggests otherwise. But this time, I’m constantly looking at the enormous mountain of stuff I still need to figure out and worrying about never being able to scale it. So far, though, I’ve managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other, with a lot of help from the handsome silver fox who’s sitting at one of the two desks and smiling at me as I let myself in.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Marty-boy,” I say with a cheerful smile. I like teasing him about his Irish accent, which still hangs on even though he’s lived in the States for decades.
Martin Benoit is a miracle worker. If angels on Earth existed, Martin would fit the bill to a T. He’s a gorgeous man. He's probably well into his fifties, short and solidly built, with thick silver-gray hair. Deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth suggest a life full of laughter, but he’s also experienced more than his share of tragedy. He’s always ready with a genuine smile that reaches all the way up to his bright green eyes, and he has a kind, gentle way about him that puts everyone at ease.
“Penn, my boy. How was your weekend, young man? Please tell me you put it to good use.” He hits me with that smile that makes me certain that even though he says he’s permanently single, the man never has a problem finding willing partners to warm his bed.
I discovered Martin last year when I watched a documentary he was featured in about the risks faced by LGBTQ+ kids. That rainy, boring Saturday afternoon turned out to be one that changed my life. Martin was cast out and cut off by his family when he came out as a teenager in Ireland in the ’80s. After spending a few years on the streets of Dublin, he made his way to the US, and shortly after arriving, he met Richard, the man he still calls the love of his life.
Richard’s background was similar to mine: he had a wealthy family and access to resources most people didn’t. After they metand fell in love, they decided to use Richard’s inheritance to help LGBTQ+ kids who were at risk of ending up on the streets the way Martin had.
They opened their first shelter for queer kids in Philadelphia, conquering incredible obstacles to build it. Unfortunately though, Martin’s beloved Richard was lost in the AIDS epidemic, and he passed away only a few years after that. Martin was so heartbroken he couldn’t bear to stay in Philly. He says for a few years, he couldn't do much more than survive, but eventually, he decided the best way to honor the most important person in his life was to continue his legacy. So, Martin started another shelter, this time in Atlanta. After that, things took off, and in the years since Richard’s death, Martin has become kind of a nomad, helping people from many cities all over the US create safe spaces for LGBTQIA+ kids.
I shed buckets of tears while watching his story, and then I couldn’t get it out of my head for weeks. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in a position to do something about this problem, and I couldn’t find any excuse for not at leasttryingto help. Finally, I contacted Martin directly to talk to him about a ridiculous idea. It turns out he was looking to make a move. He said Seattle sounded like a lovely spot, green like Ireland, so he agreed to come and help me start a shelter using money from my trust fund.
We talked a few more times, and before I knew it, the project had a name,The Open Door, and Martin had convinced me to focus on some of the smaller, more rural towns outside of Seattle as the best location instead of being in the city, as I had first imagined. We settled on a small town about forty miles north of Seattle. We found a suitable building, although it needs a lot of work, and Martin’s been helping me figure out stuff like permits and zoning and all kinds of things I had absolutely no idea about. I’m hoping we can start the actual renovations soon. But it stilldoesn't feel quite real to me. I think that's part of why I've been keeping it to myself for all these months.
I shoot him a smile as I place my coffee on my desk and slide my laptop out of my bag. “My weekend was good. I actually found someone to come with me on the cruise I’m taking in a couple of weeks, which makes me happy.”
Martin smiles back at me, taking a sip from his tea. “Is that right? Do tell?”
Since we’ve been spending so much time together lately, Martin knows the story of how I ended up with these cruise tickets I don’t want to waste.
“Have I ever mentioned my friend Hunter?” I ask, turning on my laptop. When Martin shakes his head, I continue. “We met in our first year of university, and we've had the same group of friends for years, but the weird thing is we don’t actually know each other very well, even though we’ve traveled in the same circles for what feels like forever.”
“Why do you think that is?” Martin asks, and I let out a sigh.
“I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I get the feeling he doesn’t like me, though I don’t know why. It’s nothing specific, just this underlying feeling I get when I’m around him. I always feel like he’s judging me and I’m coming up short.”
Martin’s silver brows furrow in confusion. “And you’re sure you want to spend a week with this bloke? Sharing a room and all?”
I chuckle wryly. “Well, unless he’s a total asshole, it will be better than taking this trip on my own. That sounds like a terrible time.” I blow a raspberry in disgust, and Martin snickers. “Who knows, maybe we’ll fall under a magical island spell, and we’ll come back pledging our undying friendship to each other. BFFs forever.”
