Rainbow Flirt (Pride Road Trip 2026 #1)

Chapter One

Finn

Finn dressed for the occasion,obviously.

Tight blue jeans that hugged him just right.

A Pride Express shirt bright enough to be seen from space.

Ten handmade bracelets stacked up his wrist, each celebrating Pride Week.

His dot earrings were arranged in perfect rainbow order—he’d triple-checked.

The black army boots were the only neutral thing on him, and they had rainbow laces.

He stepped off the Boston bus at Penn Station, feeling like a walking Pride parade float.

Finn moved onto the platform and had to stop for a second, palms flattening against the strap of his bag because his hands wouldn’t stay still.

The Pride Express stretched out in front of him—long, gleaming, wrapped in bands of color that shimmered in the morning sun like someone had taken a rainbow and ironed it smooth across the metal.

His breath came a little quicker, not from nerves but from that fizzy, too-big feeling in his chest. He reached out and brushed his fingers along the side of the train. The paint was warm, sun-soaked, and the simple contact sent a stupid grin crawling up his face.

Music drifted from somewhere up ahead—bright, unapologetic pop—and Pride flags being handed out by volunteers in neon vests, snapped in the breeze. A group of men was laughing as if they’d known each other for years.

Seven days. Sixteen states. A whole train full of queer men who weren’t hiding, weren’t apologizing, weren’t dialing themselves down. And three days in San Francisco waiting at the end like a prize.

He bounced once on the balls of his feet, bracelets clacking together. He couldn’t help it. The surrounding energy was contagious—like stepping into a space where every version of him could exist at full volume.

He fiddled with his shirt, straightening it for no reason, and almost laughed.

Yeah. This was going to be good.

He boarded right at nine, the exact moment the schedule said he would. A cute volunteer wearing a bubble-gum-pink vest and a lanyard with the name Sammy printed on it, checked his name and ticket, and smiled like he’d been waiting just for him. He handed Finn his packet and lanyard.

Sammy led him down the narrow hallway of the sleeper car. Finn trailed behind him, bracelets clinking softly, trying not to look too eager even though he absolutely was.

Sammy stopped at a door with a tiny New York Pride sticker on it. “This one’s yours. Room 110. Make sure you read the rules.”

“Thank you, Sammy,” Finn smiled, then winked.

He stepped inside and yeah, it was small, but in a charming way that said this was his little gay cave for the week.

The single cabin had a narrow bed tucked against the wall, made up of crisp white sheets and a colorful throw blanket folded at the foot like someone had really committed to the theme.

Above the bed, a long horizontal window stretched almost the length of the cabin, giving him a view of the platform and the blur of Pride flags outside.

Sunlight spilled in, catching the glitter on his shirt.

There was a tiny built-in desk under the window, just big enough for a notebook and a drink.

A little reading lamp curved over it like a friendly robot.

Hooks lined one wall—perfect for his jackets and, honestly, his jewelry if he ran out of space.

The air smelled faintly of clean linen and whatever citrus cleaner the staff used.

He tossed his suitcase onto the bed, the springs squeaking in protest. For a second, he just stood there, breathing because this was real. He was on the train, had his own cabin, and was about to spend a week surrounded by gay men and drinks, and questionable decisions.

One deep breath to steady himself.

Then he spun on his heel and headed right back out. No way was he staying in here when the Meet and Greet hour was calling his name.

Finn slipped into the Welcome Car with his easy, unhurried rhythm—like he knew the beat of the place and fell right into it.

His bracelets gave a jingle as he moved, and the car’s vibe shifted to make room for him.

Mimosas tapping against each other on trays, someone laughing too hard and bumping a table, ice shifting in a cocktail shaker behind the little pop-up bar.

The air smelled like citrus and champagne, mixed with cologne—everything from sharp, woodsy aftershave to something sweet and vanilla-leaning that definitely belonged to the guy in the crop top near the window.

The train carried a subtle, metallic aroma, cool and clean, reminiscent of steel warmed by the sun.

Men filled the space—every shape, size, age, and vibe. Some shy, some loud, some already tipsy and giggling. Finn grabbed a mimosa from a passing tray, the stem cool against his fingers, and took a sip as he let the room wash over him.

This was exactly the chaos he loved.

“Morning,” he said to the room in general, flashing a grin.

A few guys turned their heads to glance at him. One winked. Finn winked back. He scanned the crowd, sipping his drink, letting the bubbles loosen the last of his nerves. Cute guys everywhere. This was going to be fun.

The guy his eyes landed on was tall enough that Finn had to tip his chin up a little to meet his eyes—broad shoulders, ginger beard trimmed neat, the kind of steady presence that usually made Finn’s pulse do something embarrassing.

He moved through the crowd as if he had all the time in the world, careful not to bump anyone, and when he stepped closer, he angled his body so Finn still had space. Nice. Thoughtful. Hot.

And that cologne was clean, and a little woodsy, making Finn lean in closer.

Definitely his type except for the hair.

Finn usually went for the tall, dark, and older ones.

The ones who lived life and could hold you without gripping too tight.

But hey, nobody’s perfect. A curveball wasn’t a deal-breaker.

“Love the outfit,” the guy said. “You look like Pride threw up on you—in a good way.”

Finn rolled his eyes. In a goodway? That was like complimenting someone’s cooking by saying it didn’t poison you. His spark dimmed a notch, but he didn’t let it show. Seasoned flirts didn’t flinch at a bad opener—they sidestepped it.

“Bold choice,” Finn said,“ starting with a bodily-fluid metaphor.”

The guy laughed, oblivious.“I’m Caleb.” He offered a hand.

Finn shook it. “Finn. Boston. Professional flirt.”

A slow smirk tugged at one corner of Caleb’s mouth. “Is that a job?”

“Only if I get good at it.”

Caleb held his gaze a beat too long, not smoldering, not curious, just… assessing. Like he was checking Finn against a mental checklist. The warm flutter in Finn’s chest cooled another degree.

He didn’t make a scene. Didn’t call him anything. He just let the moment slide off him. Plenty of men here. Plenty of sparks waiting to catch. Finn flashed a polite smile, scanning the room for his next conversation. He was here to mingle, not get stuck in someone else’s awkward energy.

Bright green glasses, nervous smile—the guy still hadn’t worked up the courage to step closer. Something about the way he hovered at the edge of the crowd tugged at Finn’s chest, so Finn moved his way.

“Hi,” the guy said, voice barely above the music. “I, um… like your bracelets.”

Finn lifted his arm, so the stack of colors slid down and clacked. “Thanks! Made them myself. Want one?”

The guy’s eyes went wide behind those neon frames. “Really?”

“Sure. Pick your favorite color.”

He hesitated as if it were a trick question, then pointed at the purple one, almost apologetic. Finn slipped it off and onto his wrist, and the guy admired it like Finn had just handed him something priceless instead of the handmade bracelet.

“I’m Theo,” he said, still staring at the bracelet like it might disappear.

“Finn,” he said. “And you’re adorable.”

Theo flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Finn had a little twist of sympathy for this sweet guy, too soft for a room full of loud strangers. He gave him a warm smile before drifting back into the crowd, hoping the bracelet made him a little less awkward and alone.

Finn barely made it three steps before an athletic blond guy stepped into his path as if Finn were a ball he planned to intercept. Good-looking, sure, but he had that smug, locker-room-king air that made Finn’s shoulders tense on instinct.

“Hey, handsome.” The guy shot Finn a once-over, but more like a scan than a compliment. “Are you traveling alone?”

“Yep,” Finn said, keeping it light. “You?”

“Rooming with my ex,” the guy groaned, loud enough for people nearby to hear. “We thought it’d be fine.” He paused. “It’s not fine.”

Finn laughed. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, it is,” the guy said, leaning in just a little too close. “But you’re cute enough to distract me from him.”

There it was, that pushy edge under the charm. The way he talked, as if Finn were a solution instead of a person. Finn sipped his drink, letting the citrus fizz give him an excuse not to answer right away.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, even though it landed like a red flag rather than a flirtation. The guy was easy on the eyes, sure, but the attitude? Hard pass.

“By the way, my name is Gage, from New York. Room 113.”

Finn kept moving, letting the conversations swirl around him, letting the liveliness of the train settle into his bones. He felt alive, electric, exactly as if he was in his own element. But for now? He flirted. He sparkled. He soaked in every second of the gay heaven pulling out of New York City.

The train rolled into Newark only thirty minutes after leaving New York, and Finn barely had time to finish his second drink before the doors opened again.

Five guys in black boarded the train as if the world tilted in their direction—matching hoodies, heavy boots, gold chains, the whole “don’t mess with us” vibe.

They didn’t look like anyone in the Pride crowd.

Did they hop on the wrong train? Like… wildly wrong?

Their arrival paused conversations. Glasses clinked harder. A couple of heads snapped up, instinctively checking for trouble or at least a disruption worth watching.

One of them met Finn’s eye but didn’t smile.

Another nudged his friend and whispered something, and all five of them laughed, making Finn’s stomach tighten.

Then the guy closest to him shifted his stance, planting a boot on the low metal rail along the aisle—casual on the surface, but angled just enough to block Finn’s path.

Another lifted his chin at Finn, slow and deliberate, like a challenge.

And then came the final straw: the tallest one tapped two fingers against his own wrist, mimicking Finn’s rainbow bracelets, and smirked at his friends as if he’d just made the punchline of a joke.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Finn slipped out of the Welcome Car and headed straight for the Dining Car.

The Dining Car was a completely different world—bright, warm,and smelling like coffee and cinnamon.

Sunlight poured through the windows, catching on the white tablecloths and the colorful-striped menus.

The clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation instantly calmed him.

He dropped into a booth and ordered pancakes and bacon, grateful for the relaxed lull between mealtime rushes.

A few minutes later, the server slid the plate and a mug of coffee in front of him.

The scent of bacon drifted up, rich and comforting, and his stomach answered with a low growl.

Then Finn raised his head, and there they were—five guys filling the doorway like a wall.