Chapter 3 #2
The plank of treated driftwood hanging above the door declared the house “The Sailor’s Solitude.” Pretentious, maybe, but it would be accurate, at least as long as Jake lived there. He pulled into the driveway as he took in the building.
Much like other houses in the neighborhood, the wooden siding was pale gray with white trim. There were only two tiny windows at this end, but there were more waiting on the sea-facing side, Jake was sure.
He dragged his large suitcase and backpack out of the backseat, and stopped for a moment to consider the trunk, which was stuffed full of his Christmas decorations.
He’d thinned out his old clothes from the apartment, but he couldn’t bring himself to purge the holiday decor, so the back was packed with boxes and bags stuffed with ornaments.
Jake’s chest tightened as anxiety spiked within him. He would deal with the decorations later.
Coming around to the other side of the car, he opened the door to pick up Miranda Priestly’s carrier.
The normally chill ragdoll cat was not happy, letting out a loud hiss followed by a wave of melancholy meows.
Jake pushed aside the pang of guilt that sprang up in his stomach.
MP would be fine once she adjusted to the new place.
Piling up the luggage by the door, he retrieved the key, hidden in a decorative lighthouse by the stairs, and opened the door to his home for the next six months.
It was…naval. Very naval. The first floor was open, with a kitchen and living room, and everything was decked out in white and navy blue. Blue-and-white striped throw pillows covered the couch. Navy curtains covered each window. Every inch of empty wall was covered with paintings of sailing ships.
Great-Uncle Charlie must have had a sailor fetish.
Jake cringed at the overwhelming visual, then brushed it off. It was a place to live. A place to start over. He was lucky to have it. He could deal with overbearing thematic furnishings for a few months.
Resting Miranda Priestly’s carrier on the kitchen table, Jake stepped into the living room and gasped.
The view was incredible. The bay window was enormous, running most of the length of the side of the house facing the ocean.
Not only was he confronted with sand and surf but also miles of coastline where Maine jutted out to the east.
Maybe everything wasn’t completely terrible. Inside the house, the whoosh of the ocean water hitting the shore was like a faint, meditative blanket to the ear.
Out in the water, a man was surfing, wearing only a pair of board shorts, which seemed insane. It wasn’t February yet, but it was still pretty freaking cold.
On the other hand, he was a superb surfer. And really hot. For a moment, Jake allowed himself to get lost in ogling the stranger, with his toned, muscular chest and his blond hair. Plus, he was tall, and he had tattoos. Jake loved tattoos.
He wrenched himself away from the vision on the water. It was ridiculous to think romantically about anyone at this point. Phil had just dumped him. He was unemployed and barely had a place to live. No one would be interested in a fat, jobless mess.
A shrill, obnoxious meow poured forth from the kitchen, and Jake spun around. He shouldn’t have left MP in the carrier. She was probably champing at the bit to explore her new home. Moving back to her, he unlatched the metal door and, excited to be free, the kitten darted out of her prison.
And straight through the still-open door.
Jake stumbled and yelped as he ran after her, calling her name as he raced down the steps. She bolted down the pathway on the side of the house leading to the beach, and he groaned.
Why was everything always so hard? Why did everything bad happen to him?
Already out of breath, Jake ran after her, but she wasn’t tempted by his calls to return.
What if she jumped into the ocean? Cats didn’t like water, right? But she could be surprised by a wave and swept out to sea. Or maybe an octopus could sneak up onto the beach and grab her with its tentacles. Or a kraken!
Visions of various sea creatures munching on his beloved kitty flashed through his head as the path transitioned from concrete to sand. He was on the beach now, and Miranda Priestly was about two hundred feet ahead of him.
She was still running at top speed, frolicking in the sand, glorying in how easy it had been to evade him. Stupid cat. He stopped for a moment to recover his breath, but his eyes stayed trained on MP, who shot further down the beach, up to the edge of the water, and…
Into the arms of the blonde surfer.
He was almost fully out of the water now, his toes the only part of him still covered. He wore a wide grin as he gazed down at the evil traitor in his arms.
Figures. All it took was one hot surfer, and Miranda Priestly discarded Jake like fish bones once the feast was over. Although Jake had to admit she had good taste.
Still huffing and puffing, Jake finally reached the guy, who had stepped out of the ocean and was strolling towards him.
“Who is this glorious being?” the man asked, petting MP, whose eyes were closed in ecstasy, oblivious to the angst she had caused.
“Uh, hi. Thanks for grabbing her. That’s Miranda Priestly. MP for short, but never Miranda. She gets very pissy about being called Miranda.”
The shirtless man chuckled, and Jake’s stomach did a ridiculous little pirouette inside his torso.
Really? It was going to be like that? No. Absolutely not. Jake would force himself to act normally, even if the guy was a total hottie.
“Anyway, thanks again,” Jake said, holding out his arms. The surfer transferred the cat over to him with surprising gentleness, brushing his fingers over Jake’s forearm. Even through Jake’s red flannel shirt, a spark of desire ignited at the touch.
Come on. He wasn’t that hard up. Sure, the guy was hot, but that wasn’t enough to explain the shiver running down his spine. This was silly. God, there’d been a flannel barrier between them.
Flannel. Because it was autumn. November. Almost winter.
“How can you be out here surfing without a wetsuit or anything?” Jake asked. “It’s freezing.”
The man shrugged as if it were nothing. “I’ve always had an affinity for the cold, and I find the sensation of rubber against my skin quite irritating. Besides, if I don a wetsuit, I cannot display my tattoos. You seem to appreciate them.”
Jake’s face flashed hot at the man’s words.
He hadn’t realized how obvious his ogling had been.
He’d spent the last thirty seconds poring over every inch of the man’s ink.
On his right arm was a large skull surrounded by red roses.
That was pretty, but what really made Jake drool were the tattoos across the man’s left shoulder.
Black and white tentacles in a swirling pattern.
His cock twitched in his jeans at the sight of them.
He had to stop. The man was beautiful, but this was rude. “I’m sorry—”
“Oh, don’t be. I adore the attention, especially from a handsome man like you. The name’s Doren.”
He stuck out his hand, and the warmth spread from Jake’s face to his neck and chest. He’d just been standing there drooling over the man, and hadn’t even introduced himself!
“I’m Jake. You’re also a very handsome man.” Why would he say that? The guy would think he was flirting, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was a disaster. Flirting led to dating, and dating would be a terrible idea.
Jake shook his hand, and Doren smiled, his blue eyes sparkling in the late morning sun, catching the shade of the ocean behind him. The subtle, salty scent of someone who’d just spent hours surfing wafted off him. It was delicious.
“Thank you. I don’t identify as a man, but I appreciate the compliment. I’m nonbinary. I use they/them pronouns.”
“Shit!” Jake had to fight the instinct to run back up to the house and lock the door forever. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without screwing everything up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Doren waved him off. “It's not such a dire transgression. After all, I assumed your gender as well. I just happened to be correct.”
“Even so…” Jake stared at Doren’s face for a moment, waiting for a sharpness that never came. Their smile didn’t waver, and there was no sign of anger or offense. “Okay. It was nice to meet you, Doren.”
“It was a pleasure. Perhaps I’ll encounter you on the beach again some morning.”
Doren winked at Jake. They winked, and Jake thought he would pass out at how hot it was. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He’d already thrown away several years of his life with a man who turned out to be an absolute dickhead. He couldn’t get a crush on a random surfer.
Even if they were to get together, there were only two possible outcomes. Either Doren would turn out to be an asshole, or Jake would fuck everything up. Or a poisonous combo platter of the two.
No, he had to get away from this tempting blonde surfer.
“Maybe, but I won’t be out here much. I don’t like the beach. And it’s cold. And I don’t leave the house very often.”
Jake was babbling. The nonsense he was spouting was making him regret not snatching MP and running away the minute Doren had picked her up.
“Well, perhaps my luck will hold out and we’ll chance upon one another once more.
” Doren’s speech was strangely mannered.
It was odd, but Jake didn’t mind it at all.
They also had a lovely, smooth tone to their voice, like a nature documentary narrator.
He couldn’t help but imagine what that voice might sound like whispering in his ear during sex.
Nope. Don’t get trapped by their insane sex appeal. Just get out.
Jake attempted to say “Bye,” but what came out was more of a squeak than anything else. Then he turned and moved away at a pace just shy of running. He was trying his damndest not to look like he was fleeing the scene of a crime, but got the sense that he was failing. Hard.
Stealing a glance back over his shoulder, Jake instantly regretted it. Doren cut a striking figure against the glittering ocean, and Jake couldn’t help but yearn to run his hands over all that smooth skin. All that toned muscle. They were beautiful.
Please. Doren wasn’t interested in a chubby, bearded loser like Jake.
They were only flirting because they were bored, and there were so few people left in town.
Doren would meet some finance hottie on vacation next summer who’d whisk them away into a life of luxury and travel, going from beach to beach around the world so Doren could surf wherever they liked.
Jake could never provide anything like that. At this moment, Jake couldn’t provide anything. He had no money, no job, and no life. For six months he had a place to live, but then he’d be homeless again, assuming he hadn’t found a job.
He squeezed Miranda Priestly to his chest as he crossed the final distance back to his new abode. Being careful to close the door behind him, Jake entered and surveyed the space, letting MP down to do her own exploration.
At least it was furnished. Being a vacation rental, it had all the necessaries that Phil had spirited away when he left. Jake didn’t have to worry about bedsheets or cooking utensils or a coffeemaker.
Actually, nothing was particularly urgent. He grabbed MP’s litter box and the bag of litter and popped it into the spare bedroom. As long as Miranda Priestly had a place to poop, all was well.
It had been a long, exhausting drive to Maine, and a strange welcome, chasing MP across the beach and running into Doren. No one could blame Jake if he wanted to slide under the covers of the king-size bed and take a solid nap.
There was no one here to judge him at all, in fact. MP wouldn’t mind.
Once covered up, the warmth of the duvet resting atop him combined with the gentle ebb and flow of the sea against the beach, lulling him into a deep sleep.