CHAPTER 10
Murphy
Aside from its low-lit bar in the far back corner, the emerald-green sectionals, couches, and easy chairs arranged around the Crosby Lounge give it an informal movie theater vibe under the backdrop of the massive big screen at the far end of the room. Or perhaps it’s all the guys cozied up throughout the darkened room as visions of Henry Cavill flash before our eyes. Whoever designed this cruise ship successfully captured both the feel of a cinema and a swank living room. I can easily see how a person could feel transported.
Any other person.
With Jesse’s thighs sprawled out over my lap while one seasoned Gaytoberfest cruise patron with the buttons to prove it shoots death glares at me, the only place I have been transported to is a special kind of hell that conjures two different types of discomfort.
Jesse’s insistence that we attend this showing because, ‘you can’t let some possessive button hoarder ruin your cruise,’ was difficult to argue against at the time. In hindsight, I think my brain hadn’t resumed functioning yet after he slipped his hand into my back pocket. I can still feel the tingle of that touch on my ass. It was nothing like the polar opposite reaction I got when Philip did it yesterday.
I know I’ve thought about Jesse touching me, mostly in the hopes of proving myself wrong about wanting him, but actually being touched by him and thinking about being touched by him are two very different things. Now, he’s basically set up camp, using my lap as an ottoman. With one hand shoveling popcorn into his mouth while his other idly grazes the back of my neck, I envy his obliviousness. It’s taking everything in me to will my dick not to spring up and poke the back of his thighs. I’m almost grateful that Philip is shooting us daggers. The irony that one cockblocker is saving me from another is not lost on me.
Tracing the lines at the top of Jesse’s knee socks with my fingertips was supposed to be a methodical mindfulness technique to keep my breathing under control. I needed somewhere to put my damn hand when he used me as furniture—after Philip took up residence in the chair next to us—but it’s not as mundane an action as I hoped. The sensitive flesh on the underside of my arm is brushing against the soft hairs on his legs. It’s warmth against warmth. And I can…
Fuck. I feel like such a perv, but… I can smell him.
That little gap in the openings of his short legs is enough to vent the heat from his groin in my direction. I smell man, and that man is Jesse. I feel like a damn vampire right now. I just need to remember that there’s someone with a wooden stake sitting next to us and that touching Jesse any further would be like walking into the sunlight.
One unbearably long hour later, the Avengers have finally saved the world, or possibly the universe. I couldn’t tell you. I feign a yawn and stretch.
“Well, I’m beat. Think I’ll head up to my room,” I announce loud enough for Philip to hear, so he knows he can cease his clinger duties for the evening.
Rising, his demeanor instantly turns sunshiny. “Perfect! I’ll walk up with you and keep you company.”
Fuck. Fucking fuck.
Can’t someone adopt him? Why me?
I truly hate myself for flashing a terrified look at Jesse. He shouldn’t have to fake gay for me. That seems to go beyond the duties of friendship, but my pulse quells when he turns a brilliant smile on Philip.
“That’s so sweet,” he coos, standing and dusting popcorn flecks off his shirt. “You can tell me more about yourself on our way.”
Philip does not like that, not at all. How freaking long are we going to have to keep up this charade?
Jesse’s hand appears in my line of vision. I understand why he’s offering, God bless him, but… it’s Jesse’s hand. Would he be offering if he knew how many times I’ve imagined us walking through our orchards together, fingers intertwined?
Making a come-hither motion, he chirps, “Come on, sleepyhead. Looks like it’s time to tuck you in.”
Kill me. Kill me now.
When he pulls me up, my heart skips a beat. I’m holding a hand I’ve only looked at my entire life. One I want to hold for the rest of my life because, of course, it just had to feel like it was meant to be in mine.
Through my mental pep talk to act cool, I catch bits of the conversation as we walk the two levels up to my cabin. Philip’s tone is less than cordial, while Jesse’s inquiries sound like his genuine, innocent self. He doesn’t deserve to be talked to like that, nor to put up with this treatment because of me.
I realize I’m giving his hand an apologetic squeeze for Philip’s last barb when I feel his thumb brush across my knuckles. It’s making it difficult to remember this is just a ruse and not a dream come true.
Get a grip, Murph.
When we reach my door, there’s an awkward moment of silence as Philip scrutinizes us like he’s waiting to see our next move. I am so done with this. If he follows us tomorrow, I’m going to have a heart-to-heart with him. I can’t keep letting Jesse touch me without fucking up our friendship or my grasp on reality.
Sliding my key in the door, I nod to them. “Have a nice night.”
I step inside, sighing in relief, but then a warm body bumps into my back. I know that warm body. Spinning around, I watch the door shut behind Jesse.
“What are you doing?”
“If he thinks you’re alone in here, he’ll be all up in your back pocket again tomorrow,” he whispers.
He noticed that? And why does he sound jealous?
Sure he is. My straight friend is jealous of another guy copping a feel of my ass.
“Look. I’m sorry about today. Thanks for playing along, but you don’t have to—”
“Holy shit!” He smacks me in the chest, shoving past me. “Dude! You have a balcony?”
“Uh, yeah. Not much of one, though.”
“And a couch! What?” he shrieks. “Your room is like twice the size of mine! All I have is a bed that I can barely walk around and a tiny window.”
“I take it you just booked a stateroom?” I ask, folding my arms and quirking a brow. Why am I not surprised that Jesse picked the lowest rate?
“Yeah,” he confirms, testing the ‘bounceability’ of the couch with his ass. “That’s all that was available.”
Ouch. Nothing like a reminder that this was a charity mission for him, not a well-planned vacation.
“Man, this couch is hard as shit,” he grumbles. Making his way to my bed, he flops down on his back, boots and all, before I can even get the words out. Why does it look like he’s Goldilocks-ing my cabin?
“Dude, get off my bed.”
I don’t need it smelling like Jesse after he was touching me all day, and I sure as shit don’t need to remember the sight of him in it.
“Get. Out!” he exclaims. “Even your bed is better than mine. I swear! That’s some bullshit.”
Sighing, he folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. Is he freaking settling in?
No. No way can I handle a sleepover right now.
Lifting my leg, I give his boot a swift kick. “Don’t you dare get comfortable. Your fake boyfriend detail is over. I’m not sharing my bed.”
“Just five minutes in case Button Man is lingering.”
He has a point. I hate that he has a point.
“Fine, but wait on the couch. I know you. It only takes you five minutes to pass out once you hit a mattress.”
Clicking on the TV with my remote, he scoffs. “Does not.”
Rolling my eyes, I head into the bathroom. “It does too!”
Gripping the counter, I heave a sigh at the reflection in the mirror. I swear I look older than the last time I saw myself. And, of course, my sappy heart sinks at the thought of getting older… alone. I’m no better off than when I decided to take this trip.
“Oh, my God!”
Jesse’s cry from the other room has my spine going rigid. I’ve left him alone for ten seconds and he already hurt himself?
“You brought Lasso Ted?” he squawks.
Fuck.
His discovery of the bobblehead doll he bought me is worse than him getting hurt. I turn back from the doorway to hide my reddened cheeks. I saw Lasso Ted on my first trip to the rodeo with my dad when I was a teenager. It was the one and only time that Jesse came along, and it was our favorite part of the show. It’s debatable that the tight jeans on the cowboys might have been my favorite part of the show, completely signifying my sexuality for me, but neither of them needed to know that at the time. I couldn’t believe he remembered after all these years and actually found a Lasso Ted bobblehead doll. It’s just one of the sweet things about Jesse—the way he pays attention to us and our memories.
“He sits on my nightstand at home,” I call casually, like it’s no big deal, like I didn’t pack him because I knew I’d miss Jesse. “I thought it’d make it feel more like my room.”
His cackling laugh has me smiling despite myself. I love that stupid laugh.
“No way. That’s awesome. I thought you hated it.”
“I don’t hate it,” I murmur softly enough that he won’t hear, staring at the fool in the mirror.
Rip the damn bandage off Murph. Tomorrow needs to be different.
Resigning to find a way to turn off the floodgate of my emotions, I rest on the toilet to take off my boots and socks. I brush my teeth and splash my face with cool water like a tidal wave of reality.
Sucking in a breath, I head back into the cabin.
“Listen, Jesse. Tomorrow, why don’t we just do our own thing, and then we can meet up for—”
He’s snoring. The jackass is already snoring. I freaking knew it.
I’m about to kick his boot again, but the sight of Lasso Ted clasped in his grip strikes down any ire. Am I even capable of being annoyed with him?
Maybe I crawl into the other side of the bed without waking him because I’m exhausted after today. Maybe I don’t wake him because he just looks too peaceful to disturb. Or maybe I leave him clutching Lasso Ted because I understand completely not wanting to let something slip from your grasp.