Chapter 3
THREE
Jack
Staring at this beautiful, younger man whom I’d just hit on as if he were a nail and I a mallet, another rush of pure lust flooded my brain.
Which sent a tsunami of blood to my dick, leaving my poor cerebral matter drowning in a sea of desire.
Not always a good thing. Things that did not sound like me at all. Make our own nightlife? What the fuck?
“I like the nightlife,” he replied as the other passengers began that maddening nonsense of freeing themselves from their belts only to stand, bent over like crones, in front of their seats.
The clicking of hundreds of seat belts floated forward to first class as the flight crew waited for the ground crew to roll the jet bridge into place.
“Do you like to boogie?” I asked and got a vacant glance. Great. My affinity for Mom’s seventies disco tunes had made me seem even older than I felt at that moment. “It’s a song. Alicia Bridges. Disco. My mother loved disco.”
Jonathon Patrick Killian O’Leary. Shut the fuck up with the disco.
“Oh, cool,” Tian replied, a hint of amusement on his too-pretty face.
“I personally don’t remember the disco era.” I felt I had to clarify in case he thought I was in my sixties rather than my late thirties.
Late, late, late thirties.
Fuck all the way off, me. I know how late my thirties are.
“My grandma thought they were pretty cool. She still has some bell-bottoms that she wears around on special days.”
“Cool.” The ache in my dick was lessening now that some of the lust juice in my skull was being replaced with reality.
The plane door slid open. I felt the sudden need to exit stage left with as much speed as my creaky knees could muster.
“Grandmas are cool. So are bell-bottoms. So, uhm, see you at the hotel then.”
“Yeah,” Tian replied, unsure now as I nearly checked the flight attendant off her little feet in my haste to get off this motherfucking plane as Sam Jackson might say if he were here.
If Sam Jackson were here, he would kick your ass for acting like a moron.
Yep, no doubt. I shot Tian a wobbly smile, apologized to the flight attendant, and with my carry-on in hand, sprinted off the plane with a “Thank you” to the young male flight attendant in front, saying goodbye.
Jogging into the airport, I found the first men’s room—next to a McDonald’s—they really were everywhere—and rushed to the row of sinks.
I splashed cold water on my face, rubbed it into my hair and beard, and then stood there staring at myself as my old friend self-doubt reared its ugly head.
You old, foolish ass. Look at yourself. As if that young stud was really interested in someone like you? Loser. Couldn’t please his wife, couldn’t lead his team to a victory, couldn’t—
An incoming call thankfully pulled me from the spiral I was about to tumble into. My sister. I took the lifeline I knew her voice would bring me. Several men entered. The sound of flushing toilets and rushing water filled the air.
“Hey, you,” I croaked as her pretty face came up on the lower corner of my phone screen. “You look snazzy.”
“I know.” She held her phone up a bit to show off her dark blue uniform dress, custom-fitted to her curves, a blue-and-gold scarf tied around her throat, and her hair tumbling down in thick waves of honey blonde and red.
“Damn, she’s hot. You hitting that?” some random male next to me asked. I looked down at the guy, early forties, balding, pudgy, gawking at Fiona. His hands were soapy, his brow sweaty, and his skin tone the same color as school glue.
“Dude, that’s my fucking sister,” I snarled down at the man in the ugly suit.
“Oh, is she available for a date?” he asked, then wet his thin lips. I could hear my sister mumbling “Oh no” to herself.
“No, she is not. If I were you, buddy, I would move my ass down a few sinks before I decide that creeping into a private call then slobbering over a man’s little sister is a drowning offense.”
He gave Fiona a quick peek then slid down four sinks, hands still soapy. “I think I can still reach you,” I warned, which helped spur him to leave the bathroom with lather on his hands. “Fucking creep.”
“Jack,” she said, then started to giggle.
“Sorry, not sorry. Jerks don’t deserve to rinse their hands. So, can you talk? I need some help here.”
“I have ten minutes before we take off for Tokyo, so can it be quick?”
“Shit, yeah, sorry. I just…” I turned back to face the mirror. “Okay, so I met this guy on the plane.”
“Oh, did you? Tell me more!” Two men appeared, glancing at me, then attending to their handwashing as normal people should do.
I studied myself as I spoke. “He’s really nice, super sexy, and way younger than me.”
“Define way younger.”
“Fiona, don’t even go there. Twenty-seven.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Are you meeting him for drinks later?” She was fiddling with something in a plane galley as she spoke, her phone now propped up on a shelf, I assumed, aimed at her.
“No, I mean… maybe?” I ran a hand through my already messy hair.
“He sat beside me, really charming, funny, he knew who I was, he’s a fan…
” I bumbled over things as they emerged into my thought stream.
“We talked the whole flight. Then something came over me. Fiona, I swear, it was just like Father Fitzpatrick talks about. A demon took control of me, and I started saying things that I would never say. I hit on him hard. Said we should make our own nightlife. I just cannot with myself right now.”
“Was he into you?”
“I think so. I mean… he said uh-huh a lot as I drooled over him. Oh shit. I’m as bad as the sweaty suit guy slobbering over a young, pretty thing way out of my league!” My eyes rounded as the realization of how rancid I must have sounded to Tian struck home.
“No, Jack, there is no way you could be—”
“I was though. Things fell out of me. It was a flyby possession. I knew I should have gone to confession before I left on this trip. Shit, Fiona.”
“Jack, you hardly ever go to confession,” she reminded me, her attention flicking from her phone to something in the distance. “My passengers are arriving. I have to go. Look, I know that what your ex-from-hell did to you knocked your self-confidence down some.”
“Fiona—”
“Sure, her being a cheating bitch would ding your armor a bit, but you need to jump back on that horse—or sexy younger man—and get laid.”
“I—”
“I have to go. Do not let this chance go by, Jack, or I’ll kick you in the shin when I see you next. Promise me you’ll go have fun with this guy, and in this case, fun means ample sloppy sex, and you will not go into full hermit mode.”
“I promise,” I lied, then had to say goodbye to my sister.
I planned to go into major recluse mode as soon as I could find a cab to the hotel.
If I never left my suite, I could never make a fool of myself in front of Tian.
A man can have a lot of fun spending two weeks in his room.
No shaving, no showering, room service. Who needs the sun or the surf or the sex? Not this guy.
Two hours later, I was ensconced in my luxury suite, gazing at the LGBTQ singles mixer kicking off four floors below by the pool.
Around a hundred people were down there, enjoying cocktails, dancing, and getting to know each other, as the tropical breeze blew through the swaying palms. Dua Lipa’s “Physical” floated up on the warm currents.
I was in my boxers, a thin summer robe tied around my waist, on the patio sipping spring water from the fridge, waiting for my dinner to arrive from room service.
The start of a perfect vacation was about to kick off as soon as my T-bone steak meal arrived.
I had thought about Tian a few dozen times while unpacking.
I’d even Googled him. He was popular. And good.
Damn good. Lots of followers on Instagram and TikTok.
And why not? The man oozed charm and sex appeal.
A soft knock on the door pulled me from the horny queers below.
My stomach rumbled when I thought of the meal waiting outside.
Steak, baked potatoes, green beans with almonds, a chocolate torte, and an icy cold bottle of beer.
I’d settle down, watch some baseball, burp, scratch, and fart to my heart’s content while the gyrating masses by the pool ended up feeling used and unloved come morning.
I yanked the door open, stared at the tray, and then glanced up when the door across the hall from mine opened.
Tian filled the doorway, all tanned and gorgeous in some khaki shorts and a floral Hawaiian shirt showing off a nice expanse of strong chest. His calves were toned, thick with muscle, and his feet were in some cool leather sandals. Even his damned toes were sexy.
Our eyes met.
“Oh, hey, hi!” he said, closing the door behind him as I stood over my dinner like a mother bear protecting her cubs. “I was just heading down to the bar for a drink. Are you going to the mixer?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “I uhm…”
“I mean, if you’re going, I can wait for you,” he said, a faint hint of hopefulness in his tone that made me forget all about steak and beer.
He wanted me to go. Then his eyes dropped to the food at my bare feet.
Feet that weren’t as pretty as his. I’d broken a toe once after taking a puck to the boot, and it never healed quite right.
It might have if I’d told the team doctor, but why bother?
Not much to do with a broken toe. And it was the playoffs, so…
“Or we can meet up at the pool after you eat?”
Somehow, and I’d discuss this with the parish priest after I get back to Harrisburg, that same lust demon grabbed control of my tongue.
“I’m done. I was just putting the empty dishes out. If you want to come in and wait while I shower quickly, we can go down and enjoy that nightlife,” I said with such swagger that it surely had to be a foreign entity running my mouth.