Chapter 2
REAL
I reach down and covertly pinch myself just to check that I’m not dreaming.
I’m met with an immediate sting, and I both wince and laugh with relief.
Flynn cocks an eyebrow the way he always did when we were teenagers and he thought I was being strange.
Fuck, I wanted to chew his eyebrows off back then.
You know, in a sexy way. God, he was right.
I was weird…am weird. But fuck it, he’s here, and I’m here, and we have a weeklong vacation ahead of us.
The boat docks, and I bend down to pick up my duffle bag, but Flynn beats me to it, slinging it over his shoulder along with his own and winking at me, a roguish smile on his ridiculously handsome face.
I thought he was good-looking when we were younger, but the years have been damn good to him.
I’m more or less the same skinny dude I’ve always been.
At least I’ve perfected my bedroom eyes, and I can rock the hell out of a leather jacket, so it could be worse.
“Where are you staying?” he asks, putting a hand on my lower back as we shuffle toward the exit ramp that leads to the large dock, already crowded with people, tourists, and vendors alike.
There are a few people in teal polo shirts wearing big smiles and Mardi Gras-style beads around their necks, Palm Island scrawled on their shirts.
“At the hotel.” According to the brochure, there are three options: the Palms Hotel, one of the very ritzy beach house rentals, or a small campsite on the north end of the island.
“Me too.” Flynn smiles, his hand still lingering on the small of my back. Is he just so happy to see me that he doesn’t realize how touchy-feely he’s being, or is there a deeper meaning behind it?
Just because it turns out he is gay doesn’t mean he’s interested in me or that he ever was. He’s probably excited to rekindle our friendship. An ache of longing ricochets through my body. I want that. I truly do.
Don’t get me wrong, if he tells me he wants to fuck, I’ll bend over so fast I’ll get lightheaded, but damn have I missed my best friend. I lean into his touch, indulging in the warm feeling of his hand while I have the chance.
When my feet hit the dock, I spend a second taking in the view.
Beaches extend from both sides of the bustling hub, which is not as crowded as I expected, considering the weather.
In the distance, there’s a pair of small mountains, green with trees.
The salty scent of the ocean and the fresh scent of palm trees fills the air.
All types of men churn around us: different ages, races, and styles.
It’s like a gay buffet, but I’m a lot less interested in the wide variety of dick on offer than I was five minutes ago.
There is a shuttle bus idling just off the dock, and a heavily tattooed gruff-looking man wearing one of the teal polos leans against the side, waving people over.
“Does this go to the hotel?”
“Sure does,” the man offers with a hint of a southern drawl. “They call me Devil.” He gives me the friendliest smile I’ve ever seen and jerks his head toward the open bus doors. “Get on. We’ll go once she’s full.”
“Great, thanks.”
Flynn stores our bags in the overhead compartment, and we slide into the first open seats.
The leather is hot and sticky with the humidity, clinging to my thighs and burning.
I do a little shuffle to pull my shorts down enough to protect my skin.
The short shorts seemed like a hot idea when I put them on this morning, but I wasn’t accounting for this.
Flynn drops his eyes to my legs, lowering his sunglasses and giving me a shameless once-over.
Okay, so maybe he is looking for more than friendship…
this week anyway. I can’t blame him. Fuck knows the whole point of coming to a place like this is to have so much sex you can’t walk right by the end of the week, and I fully intend to.
Ideally with Flynn if I have any say in the matter.
I glance out the window to see the guy I met on the ferry, Boston, strolling past the open bus window.
A surfer-looking dude with brown hair and a relaxed swagger approaches him wearing a cocky smirk that borders on taunting.
Surfer dude slows his gait, and Boston does the same, a sour expression on his face.
“How’s Lyric?” Surfer asks.
Boston’s frown deepens and he narrows his eyes at the man like he’s trying to work out what he means. You can almost see the second it clicks. He bares his teeth and growls. “Oh, fuck you, you fucking asshole.”
Boston gives Surfer a hard shove in the shoulder before moving past him, shaking his head as he walks away.
Surfer watches him go, his smirk slipping after a second. “Fuck,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair, leaving it wild and unkempt. “Way to go, Trick, you goddamn genius.” His gaze lingers after Boston a few more seconds before he strides off in the opposite direction.
The bus slowly fills with people, loud chatter taking over the space as people begin their mating rituals with attractive seatmates and potential vacation flings.
The air is thick with sweat, cologne, and pheromones.
I’m not sure if it’s that or the fact that Flynn’s bare thigh is pressed against mine in the tight space, but my cock hardens uncomfortably against the constricting fabric of my shorts.
Flynn has an arm over the back of the seat to keep himself steady as the bus bumps along the uneven road to the hotel.
His bicep is thick and the tuft of dark hair sticking out from his armpit is hotter than it has any right to be.
I’ve spent years with an image of the teenage version of him in my mind, but young me wouldn’t have had the first clue what to do with adult Flynn.
He’s the stuff of fantasies, my perfect bear of a dream man brought to life and plopped down in the seat next to me.
His bottom lip is pierced with a silver hoop that he absently tongues as the bus rolls along. My cock aches as my brain conjures images of that tongue working over my shaft instead, tonguing my balls and lapping at the stream of precum he coaxes from my slit.
“What do you do…you know, for work?” I blurt, hoping to distract my dick from the present situation.
He grins. “Personal trainer.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” I shamelessly ogle his muscles. He flexes his bicep and grins, clearly not minding my drooling over him.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I’m a photographer.”
His smile widens. “I fucking knew you would be.”
I huff a laugh as my stomach flutters. Flynn bought me my first professional camera. After watching me take pictures with a disposable for years and hearing me complain about the shitty quality, he got a part-time job as soon as he turned fifteen and saved up every one of his paychecks for a year.
When I opened the present from him on my sixteenth birthday, I thought it had to mean he was as in love with me as I was with him. Hence the embarrassing attempted kiss a few months later.
After he left, I almost got rid of the camera.
I’d actually put it in a box and set it out by the curb, but my mom found it in time and brought it back inside.
She told me I’d regret it in a few weeks, months, or years, and if I gave myself time to heal, I’d be happy to still have the camera once my heart was whole.
She was right. Within a few months, I was able to pull it out of the box, and I realized I felt closer to him when I was using it.
Even if my best friend was gone, every picture I took felt like he was cheering me on and pushing me to chase the dream I had told him about when we were ten years old, camping in a tent in his backyard.
He’s still looking at me with happiness and affection as I yank myself back from memory lane.
“Tell me about it,” he says, and I spend the rest of the brief bus ride telling him all about the places I’ve gone and the beautiful pictures I’ve taken, all thanks to him.
FLYNN
After checking in and getting our room keys, Real and I exchange phone numbers and agree to meet in the lobby once we’re settled in so we can grab some dinner together.
As soon as I’m in my room, I toss my bag down on my bed and let out the whoop that’s been building inside me since I spotted my long-lost best friend on the boat.
Shit like this doesn’t happen in real life, and I’m not about to let my second chance slip through my fingers. First thing’s first, I need to take a quick shower and make myself presentable. Fuck knows nothing ruins a potential moment like swamp crotch when a guy tries to go down on you.
If Real and I only have a week here together, I’m not about to waste a second of it.
My cock hardens as I slip out of my clothes and start the shower, throbbing as it thickens against my thigh, too heavy to stand fully upright.
I reach down and give myself a few slow strokes.
Not enough to go anywhere, but enough to double down on the promise of some fun tonight. Assuming Real is into it, of course.
A happy feeling of anticipation blooms in my stomach as I step under the cool shower spray and soap up with the complimentary whiskey-scented bar soap. It smells like a sexy as fuck man, which only makes my cock harder.
I’ve thought of trying to find Real a million times in the past few years. Thought of it, typed his name into social media and Google a hundred times, and deleted it without actually searching. I’ve asked myself if I’ll ever work up the nerve to go through with it, wondering what I’d say if I did…
I stick my face under the stream of lukewarm water and run my hands over it to wash away the sweat that’s been clinging to my skin all day.
Over the years, I’ve had dozens of men in and out of my bed, but not a single one of them ever came close to my heart. I kept that set on my best friend, even after all this time, even when it seemed unlikely I’d ever see him again.
I finish rinsing the soap and shut off the water, sighing a little as I reach for a towel to dry myself.
I don’t want to get ahead of myself. It’s unlikely that he feels the same way.
Besides, for all I know, he might live on the other side of the world now.
I’m going to take this week as it comes and be happy with whatever happens, even if it’s nothing more than new memories to add to the box marked Real in my mind.
I get dressed in a black tank top with large armholes that dip down far enough to show off the body I’ve spent too many hours at the gym working on.
I’m not above using my physique to entice the man, no matter how shamelessly I have to do it.
I pull on a pair of shorts, slip my feet into sandals, and then text Real to let him know I’m heading down to the lobby.
When I get downstairs, he’s already waiting, looking freshly showered and a thousand kinds of tempting in a billowing, unbuttoned shirt and a pair of tight dusky-pink shorts.
As soon as he sees me, his face lights up with a thousand-watt smile.
It’s the same one that used to make me feel ten feet tall and like he was sure I’d hung the moon.
For too many years, I thought I was just a bit of an egomaniac, and that’s why I loved Real’s attention so much.
It wasn’t until after he tried to kiss me that I started to realize I didn’t just like his attention and adoration.
I wanted to kiss him and touch him and do extremely gay things with him.
It took me several months to draw the inevitable conclusion that I wanted those things because I was, in fact, gay.
What can I say? I’ve never been an honor student or anything.
The problem was, by the time I managed to work through all of that, it was too late to do anything about it…until now.
“Look at that. Sweet, little, terrified-of-needles Real Wilson has a tattoo.” I reach out with my finger and trace the colorful trail of ink that extends over his hip and dips below his shorts, goosebumps popping up in my wake.
He sways toward me, licking his lips as his breath hitches. “It’s a dragon.”
“Mm,” I hum, brushing against the waistband of his shorts before dropping my hand. “Maybe you can show me later.”
He nods without hesitation. Our eyes meet and heat sizzles between us, tempting me to suggest we order room service and lock ourselves in my room for the rest of the night.
“I asked the guy at the front desk, and he said we should eat at the Palm Island Eatery downtown. He said we can’t miss it if we just walk past the pool and keep going.
Although, he did warn me that walking past the pool isn’t as easy as it seems.” Real smiles mischievously.
“Apparently, it’s better than a live porn show out there. ”
I chuckle. “Challenge accepted.”