CHAPTER 6
Murphy
Blowing out a breath, I take in the sight of myself in my cabin’s wall mirror, then check the cruise program for the dozenth time since boarding. Yup. Harness Night—Meet he plopped and then dropped his head in my lap, sighing like my body was the most satisfying pillow he’d ever encountered.
I remember glancing around to see if anyone thought our proximity sent off a red flag or produced a giggle, but everyone was either zoned out in boredom or immune to Jesse’s behavior by then.
“I’m in love,” he said wistfully.
I think I knew instantly that he didn’t mean he was in love with me, but my stupid heart kicked like a mule in my chest hearing those words as he looked dreamily up at me. It was the first time I ever thought about love, and I realized he’d be the most likely candidate if I ever had feelings like that.
“With someone other than yourself?” I snarked, knowing I should shove him off my lap, but unable to move.
Snorting, he grinned at me. “No. With Marianne Gregor. She’s… everything.”
‘Everything.’ I never hated a word so much.
She was everything—a new transfer student with energy that practically made her glow. She was perfect for Jesse. I can say that now that I think back on it, but at the time, just the sight or mention of her annoyed the shit out of me, and I didn’t know why. I was too proud to admit it was jealousy, secretly trying to find fault in her.
She’d snared the life force that was Jesse and monopolized our time together. Someone else was suddenly making him laugh and smile like only I had previously done. I hated her, but moreover, I hated myself for being hateful.
I left for the Army that summer. They broke up three months later. My face heats remembering the ‘I told you so’ sensations I felt when he called and told me.
By then, I’d discovered the wonderful world of fisting and frotting with a fellow soldier at my duty station. I don’t know how I didn’t see it, but all I knew was that I had Jesse back, yet a Jesse who had no clue about the things I’d done while I was away.
What the hell I thought I’d learn from unearthing that memory is beyond me. I’ve spent all afternoon contemplating alternate scenarios where I grabbed his face in my hands and told him, “No. I think you mean you’re in love with me.”
I’ve officially watched too many damn soap operas. Time to rip off the bandage.
Palming the door lever, I step out into the hallway and nearly run smack dab into a trio of laughing, black leather harness-clad men. Their potent masculine scents hit me like a tidal wave, reminding me where I am and why I came here.
“Oh, sorry about that,” the nearest one says.
“Nice harness,” another with a leather driving cap comments, throwing me a nod.
“Thanks. Um, the Meet and Greet?” I venture, glancing in the direction they were headed.
“It’s down on the lower deck,” the one with the cap informs me. “We had to run back to our rooms. People were just starting to show up, but I bet it’s filling up now. Follow us. I’m Tom.” He extends his hand.
I shake his firm warm grip, feeling breathless and treacherous all at once. He’s gay. I’m gay. Neither of us has to hide it or explain it. That’s what I wanted when I booked this trip.
“Kip,” the first one says with a wave.
“Deacon,” the third offers.
“Murphy. Nice to meet you.”
Following them is a meet and greet in itself. Tom and Deacon have gone full bore with the leather all the way down to their assless chaps. Tom leads the way, throwing me a grin over his shoulder. I’m wondering now if his offer of tour guide includes a subtle invitation.
A balloon of sadness inflates inside my body as I follow the bouncing cheeks in front of me. It feels like I’m marching toward a funeral, a death that will erase Jesse. Maybe not Jesse per se, but that misguided flame in my heart that’s burning for him, like walking into this mixer will cheapen the purity of the feelings that just crashed into me like a tidal wave. I need to snuff out that foolish flame, though. I’m the only one fueling it, and I can’t go back to Wenatchee with it still burning.
Inhaling a deep breath, I take in ship’s scent, the sea, the happy trio, and their leather. Music and the sound of voices, masculine voices of every pitch, waft up the stairway as we descend to the lower deck. It’s the familiar ambiance of Rouge but multiplied, calming me with its familiarity, waters that I know how to navigate.
Maybe I’ll have the time of my life. Maybe I’ll meet someone who likes hunting and ABBA. Someone who thinks apple growing is interesting and knows teasing the frenulum can be even more erotic than deep-throating.
Huffing at my forced optimism, I sigh and feel some of the tension leave my body at the sight of a sea of bare-chested men in the ballroom. Who knows? Stranger things have happened—like falling for a clueless straight guy.
Bidding my escort farewell, Tom promises to buy me a drink later. I cheekily tell him I’ll be looking forward to it, willing the open-mindedness I usually have to be present.
My skin thrums as I make my way through the crowd. Bare arms and shoulders brush against mine. Eyes canvass my body. Mine do a little canvassing of their own, but it still feels clinical. I want to deem the men that I see as opportunities, not threats to a relationship that can never be.
What kind of guy would Jesse be most open to me being with? Taking in the shapes and sizes of men in my view, the question truly registers.
What the fuck am I saying? What does it matter what Jesse would think? I can’t choose someone based on his ability to vibe with them.
Enough, Murph. Get a drink. Get laid. Get fucking over it.
When I finally elbow my way to the bar, I order a pint and a shot of rum from the bartender. I’m on vacation. I need to start acting like it.
“Ooh, you found an in!” a smooth voice behind me exclaims, a cold hand alighting on my side. “Could you order me a Seabreeze when he comes back?”
I adjust my gaze down six inches to focus on a pasty complected guy with a bleach-blond cut that closely resembles Jim Carrey’s hairstyle in the movie ‘Dumb and Dumber.’ The sparkly silver collar around his neck complements his sheer tank top however, did not make an appearance in that film.
“Sure.” I nod, happy to perform a good deed for the evening.
See? I’m already mingling. How hard was that?
“Thanks, handsome! Is this your first time?”
Is he asking about my virginity? How out of place do I look in my jeans? I’m still wearing a harness.
“‘First time?’” I parrot.
“Your first Gaytoberfest? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
It’s now that I notice the buttons on the strap of the satchel slung across his torso. Each signifies a Gaytoberfest cruise of years past, reminiscent of the button I saw in my welcome tote when I boarded. Do people actually attend more than one of these things? Well, that’s not promising.
“Uh, yeah. First time.”
“Really? Well, stick with me, daddy, and I’ll fill you in on all the dos and don’ts.”
Did he just… Daddy me? I have a high-maintenance friend. I don’t need a high-maintenance boyfriend to boot.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll just take it all in as I go. I like to do my own thing, you know?”
“Mm, lone wolf. I love a confident bear,” he purrs, batting his lashes at me.
Waving more frantically than necessary, I catch the other bartender’s attention and order Sparkle Boy his Seabreeze.
“I’m Philip,” he informs me, arching his back so his chest sticks out, pressing against my arm. “And what should I call you?”
The veiled hope in his eyes says he’d be tickled if I said, ‘Daddy.’ How many people has he used that blatant introduction on?
“Murphy.” My elbow accidentally on purpose nudges him back when I raise my forearm to extend my hand for a shake.
It’s meant to convey my attempt at keeping this parlay business formal, but he wraps his fingers over the top of mine like he’s a queen at a tea party. Am I supposed to fucking kiss them?
“Ooh, kind of like that restaurant, Papa Murphy’s.”
Is he for real?
“Um, no. Just Murphy.”
The first bartender finally delivers my drinks, thank God. I ask him to throw Philip’s in with my total and toss my money down. Downing my shot, I swipe up my beer and hoist it toward Philip, a suave but blunt adios.
“Nice to meet you. Enjoy the cruise.”
I catch a protest from him as I push back into the crowd and pray he wants his free drink badly enough to wait for it rather than follow me. A clearing in the crowd offers a safe place to pause and sip my beer, soothing the burn of the rum in my throat.
Up ahead, a gaggle of men are cracking up at something. Their attention seems collectively fixed on the same object, but there are too many people in the way for me to see what kind of entertainment this mixer has.
“Oh, I know! Right? I bet he’s fun in the sack. The goofy ones always are,” one of the men comments to another.
A cold touch slithers up my bare back, giving me a start. I nearly spill my beer, twisting around to see what I’ve run into.
“Do you wax or are you just all bear up front?” Philip asks coyly, trailing his fingers back down the way they came.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I have a fan, and I’ve only been here ten minutes.
I don’t even know how to answer that question, but manage to shut my gaping mouth. I fix my gaze back on the laughing gaggle of men like I’m incredibly busy and focused on discerning national secrets.
“The only wax I use is on my truck,” I say sternly, hoping he’ll get the hint.
“Hm. I’d have pegged you for a motorcycle man, but I could see you in a truck.” His fingertips do a playful little two-step across my shoulder that says he knows shit about boundaries.
I came here hoping to be touched in the near future. It’s been months. Auggie is going to think I have a problem if I don’t blow off some steam soon, but my motor isn’t revving for Philip Sparkle Buttons. He’s clearly willing, but I am committed to having a full-fledged conversation that I actually enjoy with the next man I take my clothes off for.
“Oh, I guess they spotted the mountain man.” He chuckles, angling his chin in the direction of the laughing men.
Is there an entertainer here? Did I miss that on the program?
“‘Mountain man?’”
“Yeah.” He snorts, rolling his eyes and nodding in the direction of the crowd in front of us. “Some guy must have thought it would be funny to wear a rappelling harness. Either he’s got a wild sense of humor and a shit ton of confidence, or is some hayseed who doesn’t know what harness night stood for.”
Scoffing, I can’t help but crack up, shifting onto the balls of my feet to see if I can spot the man in question. Now, that’s someone I’d like to meet. Someone who speaks my language of sarcasm and honey-badger-don’t-give-a-shit. Someone who—
Is that…
No.
I swear to God, if that was a Dew Drop t-shirt I just saw, I’m going to—
Jesse?
It…
No.
Jesse’s here?
On this ship?
Why…
How…
He’s fucking wearing his rappelling harness. It’s suddenly not funny at all.
Did someone lace my drink? Am I having an out-of-body experience?
No. I can feel Philip stroking the edge of my harness. I’m still here at Gaytoberfest, and staring at the man I came here to get away from.
He’s laughing at a sexy Latino guy who’s tugging on his straps. I can practically visualize from here him bragging about his harness, recounting all of his rock climbing adventures, oblivious to the fact that the guy probably doesn’t give a shit about rock climbing. What the fuck is he doing here?
Our gazes lock and he lights up like he hasn’t seen me in ten years, rather than just speaking to me on the phone yesterday to say goodbye.
“Baloney!” he shouts, waving frantically. Like I could miss him in that harness and his Dew Drop t-shirt with the silhouette of a woman tangled around a dancing pole.
I go to him, oblivious to who or what I bash into. Oblivious to whatever Philip is saying as he paws at me. It’s not the magnetic pull I realize I’ve always felt. It’s terror and confusion, ready to spontaneously combust over the explanation I get.
Did he have an awakening and is here to explore that? Was it an awakening because of me? For me?
“Oh, my word. I finally found you. This is off-the-hook. There’s like over a thousand people here,” he lets out between breaths when we reach each other. “Reception wouldn’t give me your room number, so I had to wait to see if you’d show up.”
“What… what are you doing here?”
Why does his face look like he’s surprised by the question? His confusion evaporates, and an excited smile forms as he holds his arms out aloft.
“Surprise?”
I am definitely surprised, but what the hell is the surprise? And why did he think it was a good idea to wear his strip club shirt?
“You’ve been all tense lately. I could tell you were anxious about coming here,” he explains. “I know you said you didn’t need help, but I remember you saying if you hated it, you’d hang out in your room. And I thought, man, none of these guys will get to find out how amazing Murph is. I mean, you can’t find happiness holing up in a ship cabin. Then you’d come home all miserable, so… I’m here.”
I blink at the foreign language coming out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve got you, Murph. I’ll be your wingman. I know you think I don’t understand, but I do. I’m here for moral support. We’ve done everything together. I want you to know that I support your happiness. I want you to have a good time and not worry about things being weird. You don’t need a secret life. I’m your boy, just like always.” He beams, slapping me on the shoulder. “We got this.”
Is he fucking kidding me? I now understand why animals have both the urge to protect and smother their young.
The second a slender arm drapes across my back and chilly fingers curl around the back of my biceps, I know it’s Philip. I can feel his sparkly presence before I even look at him.
Jesse notices too, his eyebrows hiking up at me conspiratorially, as if he thinks I’ve just struck gold.
Jesus fuck. Is that what he calls moral support? Gay plus gay equals happily ever after? Does he know me at all?
“Nice harness,” Philip simpers, eyeing him up and down.
“Thanks!” Jesse grins, hooking his thumbs through his shoulder straps, making the leg braces cinch tighter around his upper thighs.
If I noticed that, guaranteed others here will, reminding me of the comments I heard those laughing guys say a moment ago. He has no freaking idea what he’s gotten himself into.
“I had to dig them out of the back of my closet. I haven’t used them in a while,” he continues.
“Mm,” Philip hums, unimpressed. I inch away, but he goes with me, suctioned to me like a leech. “Big into the exotic dance clubs, are we?” he asks, arching a brow at the logo on Jesse’s shirt.
“Oh, um…”
Watching Jesse’s face heat as he glances around, realizing his blunder, almost has me feeling sorry for him. I did not come here to babysit him, nor to be babysat. I can’t freaking believe his brain concocted an entire plan that involved finding a ticket and getting himself here. What part of ‘I need space,’ did he not understand?
“I… like to support my sister,” he finally babbles.
Pinching my eyes shut, I get a mental image of his and Pete’s sister, Miranda, hearing that lie. I can just see how the rest of this cruise is going to go.
“Your sister?” Philip counters.
“Y-yeah. Gotta support your family. Right? She’s… flexible,” he supplies. “Really flexible.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Sucking in a breath, I shake off Philip’s clutches and hook my thumb under one of Jesse’s harness straps.
“Could you excuse us for a minute? I need to talk to Jesse in private.”
“Sure, love,” Philip assures me with a smile, but not without adding, “Don’t be long!” as I drag Jesse to the nearest doorway.
“Hey, what’s up?” Jesse asks, gripping my wrist and stumbling along beside me.
“You… come with me,” I grit, trying to ignore the intrigued looks we’re getting as I make my way to a nearby stairwell.
“Murph! Take it easy! You’re making my straps dig into my back,” he whines, squirming free when we reach the edge of the room.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I scathe.
“What? I… I just told you.”
“No. I mean… That’s… How did… You can’t be here. That’s fucking ludicrous. I told you I needed space, and you freaking followed me here?”
His lower lip pouts out. “I didn’t follow you. I came on a different flight.” Watching him straighten his harness, I can’t decide whether he looks completely ridiculous or endearing. “Yours was full by the time I booked mine,” he murmurs.
“This trip cost thousands of dollars. How in the hell did you afford that? You’re like the cheapest person I know.”
Flinching, his expression turns sour with indignation regardless of how many times we’ve had the frugal conversation. His mother still does his laundry, for crying out loud. I will not feel bad about that comment. I’m still shocked he bought me that crappy coffee a few weeks ago. I should have known right then it was a red flag for his behavior that night.
“I have money. I just choose not to spend it.”
“Yeah. I know, which makes this make even less sense.”
“I cashed in on my hot tub fund. Okay?”
“What?” He talks about that hot tub project like it’s the damn Taj Mahal of construction wonders. He freaking used his hot tub money to chase after me? How… I don’t even know how to feel about that.
Wait. Of course, I do. I’m pissed. It’s not sweet or touching. It doesn’t change anything. He invaded my space—my space to get over him.
“It’s fine. I still have plenty left. Friends are more important than hot tubs. It’s no big deal,” he elaborates, making my blood pressure spike even further.
He cannot do this to me. I will not be subjected to friend guilt when I didn’t even ask for help. Help. Why in the hell does he think I’d need help mixing with gay men? Me and my stupid freak out comments short-circuited a wire in his addled brain.
Ugh! Why is he so needy, but not in the ways I want him to be?
“You need to leave,” I huff, trying to take a calming breath.
Scoffing, he laughs. “Um, it’d be kind of hard to do that. We’re way out to sea already.”
“Find a way. I don’t care.”
“What am I supposed to do? Jump overboard?”
All I can manage is a bland look. If I say what my brain wants me to say, I know I’ll regret it. The unspoken message must register, though.
“Murph…” he hiccups, gaping at me.
He has no right to look hurt. None. This is bonkers, even for Jesse. “Look around Jesse. What do you see?”
Brow furrowing, his gaze makes a pass over the room. “Um… dudes.” Swallowing, his brows lift. “Half-naked dudes.” Leaning in, he whispers, “Some of them are barely dressed. What’s the deal? It’s October. It’s chilly out today. Is this like a porn convention or something or is the nudity a gay thing?”
When he finally looks back at me, realizing I haven’t answered, I can feel my nostrils flare. “It’s a finger-fighting thing. More the reason you shouldn’t be here. You’re going to get yourself hit on or in trouble.”
“What? How?” He guffaws, ratcheting up my agitation another notch.
“I can’t believe you did this after I specifically asked you for space.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“But you were… You’ve been all weird! And you keep acting like I don’t know you or support you! And then you said you’d hide out in your room if you weren’t happy, and I thought, that’s awful. I thought maybe if you knew you had support that you’d feel better, more confident.” Glancing at the room, he looks back at me hopefully. “Do you want to go talk to some people? I saw a guy with a beard about your height. Or… what about that little fella with the collar thing? He looked like he was into you.”
The man I’m in love with wants to pawn me off on strangers. My teeth are going to break, I swear.
“Jesse… I don’t care what you do, just stay away from me.”
“Okay,” he replies, sounding smaller, and I hate that I’ve made him feel that way. I hate that I’m still mad and that it has more to do with me than him. “Right. You probably don’t want people to think we’re together.” He nods as though he’s figured out some riddle. “I didn’t think about that. Cool. Well, do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?”
It’s official. I am going to hole up in my room for the rest of this cruise. I’m in hell. Finger-fighting hell because my stupid heart decided to fix itself on the clueless, big-hearted man in front of me.
Shaking my head, I turn toward the stairs. “That’s the wrong kind of harness,” I mutter, feeling like a child. "And who wears a women's strip club shirt on a gay cruise?"
Maybe it’s not the wrong kind of harness. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he can rappel off the side of the ship into a lifeboat. Because that’s the only way I have a remote chance of enjoying this Gaytober-fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition-fest now.