I also got my hands on that backup SIM card you made a month or two ago after the whole Kerpowski debacle happened. Once you sync back up with your cloud storage, you probably won’t have lost a thing.
Mwah!
Nadja
PS: let’s negotiate that 5% raise when you’re back home
If Nadja were there, and male, and about ten years younger, Damien might have kissed her. He slotted the SIM card into the phone, plugged it into the wall, and booted it up. While he waited for the OS to load, his mind began to wander, and the sudden spike of pleasure he’d felt upon discovering the replacement phone faded.
This afternoon had been the first time in years that Damien hadn’t obsessively worried over work. The Single Dad chat and the Family Newsletter he shared with his dads and his siblings had kept him sane and given him momentary reprieve, but coming to Fiji had freed his soul.
Did he really need to take time out of his vacation to answer emails? Right now, somewhere on this very island, his friends were making memories, and Matthew, shy and lost, was—
The screen loaded. Damien snapped out of his thoughts and synced his email. The number of unread messages in his inbox climbed one by one, but the same fire he always felt when faced with a challenge now burned cold.
Work didn’t matter. Not like it did back in New York. There were too many things going on here that he’d rather be doing, too many people that he’d rather see, and one unforgettable person who he wanted to know better.
Matthew.
What kind of boy would he be?
Would the ocean call to him? Would he be happy to laze on the beach with nothing but a speedo clinging to the plump curves of his ass while he soaked in the sunlight? Damien imagined sitting next to him beneath the shade of an umbrella, an ice-cold drink in his hand and time on his side. What would it be like to do that? To sit by as Matthew lifted his head and gifted Damien with a shy, innocent smile that begged for Damien’s protection.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Damien put his phone aside and wilted onto the nest of sheets and pillows that was his bed. An erection tented the front of his pants. He palmed it and closed his eyes, losing himself in guilty fantasies of the dirty things Gwynn’s son might do to him if given the chance.
Work could wait for a little longer. An hour or two wouldn’t kill anyone. The dumpster fires in his inbox would still be burning when he decided to get to them. Right now, his time was better spent elsewhere. Fantasies of another life awaited, and Damien wouldn’t let them pass him by. It had been such a long time since a boy had inspired him to dream.
9
Damien
The next day, on the eve of xV’s wedding, Damien wrapped up his latest round of mischief and headed for the beach. The Single Dads had agreed to meet there at sunset for a bonfire. By the time Damien had secured his bure and made it to the end of the dock, the sun was low on the horizon, and the sky was stained with pinks and reds. Far overhead, stars sparkled.
It would be a beautiful night for revenge.
While on his way across the beach, Damien spotted Harley. He was bent over what appeared to be a large pit, and was still dressed in his long black swim trunks with the white Hawaiian flower design from earlier in the day, only now he’d paired it with an open button-down shirt. As Damien strolled over, Harley scooped sand from the bottom of the pit into his hand and chucked it into a heap at his side.
The other Single Dads were yet to be seen.
“Gettin’ down and dirty in Fiji… literally.” Damien squatted next to the pit, observing Harley’s hard work. It was almost two feet across and at least a foot deep. To reinforce the structure, Harley had lined its domed walls with stones. “It’s probably too late, but do you want some help?”
“Nope, but thanks.”
“What about a shovel?”
Harley looked up from his digging and squinted at Damien skeptically. Apparently, “shovel” was a foreign word to Californians. Who knew?
“Or a spade.” Damien plunked down beside him, careful not to kick any sand into the pit as he did. “A spoon? I’m sure we could get you one of those. I’ll personally forgo soup if it means you don’t have to burrow into the beach like a goddamn turtle looking to lay its eggs.”
“What’s wrong with using my hands?”
“There are nightmares living on the beach.” Damien pointed across the way at a large spiral shell he had reason to suspect was possessed by a crustaceous demon. “I’ve seen them with my own eyes. If monsters like that live on the sand, I can only imagine what horrors liveinit.”
Harley brushed his hands on the sides of his shorts and gave Damien his full attention. “What are you talking about? Seashells aren’t anything to be afraid of.”
