. . .
When asked if he enjoyed sailing, Heath’s reaction had been, “Sure! Maybe?”
He was hardly a man of the sea. Canoes and kayaks were about the extent of his boating experience. The closest he’d come to an actual sailboat was a little Sunfish he’d tried on the lake in Maine as a kid, and promptly capsized.
Then there was Nate’s boat,The Rose of Ibiza.A majestic sixty feet of polished perfection. Heath’s entire lifetime of earnings cast in fiberglass, with wrapped black sails and more technical doodads than the Batcave. Not since David Bowie’s codpiece inLabyrinthhad an inanimate object made Heath feel so inadequate. It was a damned masterpiece, and that sort of pressure was exactly what hedidn’tneed after making an absolute ass of himself the night before.
All he’d intended to do was hand Evan his food and go to bed, but the man had looked so miserable. He’d clearly been uncomfortable, and what sort of person would Heath be if he’d left him to suffer? A wise person, that was what.
They’d had a nice time kayaking, the three of them. In theend, Isabella won the race, but on a clear technicality. He’d been well in the lead before Evan’s sprint for the finish brought their kayaks entirely too close and caused them both to overturn. She’d cruised past, cackling and jeering, while they’d devolved into a war of words and heavy splashing.
There was nothing wrong with wanting to extend the enjoyment of the afternoon. Especially since they’d spent those couple of hours not once bickering. A true milestone, and Heath should have left well enough alone, but Evan’s bright red shoulders had triggered his sympathy.
His mother’s old-timey remedy never failed. Whenever he’d overdone it in the sun, she’d brew it up, and it always helped him cool down enough to get some sleep. Sleep was exactly what Evan needed, and since they had everything on hand, he was obviously obligated to aid his fellow man.
He could have just given him instructions, but if Evan had the flexibility to reach his own back, he wouldn’t have burned in the first place. The angry stripes zigzagging across his shoulder blades meant he’d need a second set of hands, and Heath’s were conveniently free.
None of this had anything to do with his love of doting on someone. Or his disappointment when Evan hadn’t shown up for dinner. They’d simply gotten to talking again, and it was nice, so he’d stuck around to be of service.
Plus, Evan teasing him was hardly anything new. He’d quickly resigned himself to accepting that he’d been saddled with an unserious person who wouldn’t stop poking a tiger even after it bit him. He’d also reluctantly admitted, if only to himself, that a part of him rather enjoyed it. What he was having trouble with was how different last night’s teasing had felt.
It wasn’t the usual ruffling of a few feathers. Evan’s behavior had felt pointed. Heavy. It was the sort of teasing one did when expecting it to lead to a ruffling of other things. Like bedsheets.
This was absurd, obviously. Evan had nearly married a woman less than a week ago. He was straight, and heat exhaustion and dehydration could easily explain his odd behavior.
Unless he wasn’t straight?
No! No, he wouldn’t be going down that rabbit hole. Evan had felt unwell, and that was that. Heath should have recognized it and acted accordingly, instead of diving headfirst into hopeful fantasy and cracking his skull. He simply needed to work harder and reaffirm his priorities.
“Welcome aboard, mates!” Nate said with a broad smile as their boarding raft bumped against the yacht’s rear platform. He climbed aboard and offered his hand to Olivia, then took the cooler of goodies they’d brought from the resort and assisted Isabella in hopping over.
They’d made it look so simple that when Evan stood, Heath attempted to follow, only to discover aquatic ballet wasn’t his forte.
“One person at a time, Heath,” Evan said as the small vessel bucked and bobbed.
Struggling to find footing, Heath grabbed onto Evan’s shoulder, recalling too late that his fingers were digging into a freshly scorched limb. The responding shout served as an excellent reminder, but his haste to remove the hand sent them both windmilling backwards.
Heath landed on his backside with a squelching bounce, and Evan toppled into his lap a second later. The ladies chuckled as Nate unleashed one of his hearty guffaws, and Heath died a little inside. What had he done in a past life to deserve such torment?
Evan was solid. Heavy. And warm. God, so warm. Even though he wore a sun shirt to cover his burn, the heat of his skin against Heath’s bare legs and torso was divine.
“One. At. A. Time.”
Amusement colored Evan’s scolding. Heath closed his eyesand savored the soothing massage of that voice vibrating through the ribs sandwiched between his thighs. It brought to mind lazy mornings lying in bed chatting. Curled together, absorbing the relaxed timbre of tone and inflection as gentle fingertips traced patterns on bare skin.
He pushed the image out with a sigh, and the spell fizzled. Reminiscing about things that hadn’t and wouldn’t happen was not how he’d be successful in keeping the promises he’d made to himself.
“Fine,” he huffed, gesturing toward the platform. “Go on, then.”
Evan rolled forward into a squat, and the view sucked the rest of the breath from Heath’s lungs. That ass was art, and the legs weren’t anything to sneeze at, either. They flexed with the steady rhythm of the waves beneath the raft as Evan grabbed the platform railing and planted his foot onto the wood. The other, he hooked onto the side of the raft to hold it steady as he offered out a hand.
“Alright, landlubber. Your turn.”
“Landlubber?”
“Yar.”
“Please tell me you’re not planning to talk pirate all day.”
