Chapter 3
REAL
The concierge, who proudly wears a name tag labeled Nacho—I’m hard skeptical that’s his birth name—was not wrong about the pool situation.
“I didn’t think that was possible.” I tilt my head hard to one side, mesmerized by the shocking display of flexibility before me.
“You must not watch much porn,” Flynn murmurs, equally as transfixed.
I snort a laugh and jab my elbow into him. “Or the wrong kind of porn, apparently.”
We manage to make it past the incredible double-jointed man, as well as a handful of blowjobs and one three-way in the making. By the time we hit the pavement of the sidewalk, I’m sporting a semi and sneaking glances at Flynn out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s in the same position.
Yup, major bulge. Fuck, I forgot what a nice bulge he has.
I spent entirely too much time sneaking surreptitious looks when we were young, praying he wouldn’t notice.
The back of his hand bumps against mine as we walk, and it hits me, really hits me that after all these years, he’s actually standing right next to me.
My skin tingles at the realization and a smile jumps to my lips in an instant.
“What?” he asks, glancing over and obviously noticing the dopey smile I’m sporting.
“This is just wild.” I shake my head, the restaurant coming into view as promised. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m sorry.” He said it once already on the boat, but this time there’s a heaviness in his voice that really hits home. Maybe it hurt him just as much as it hurt me when he left.
“It’s the past. We have a whole week ahead of us to get to know each other again and enjoy our vacation.”
He pauses, his eyes lingering on me for a few seconds, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Yeah, we do,” he agrees.
Flynn pulls the door open and waves me inside. We’re greeted by a waif-ish, cute waiter with a smile that I’m sure has brought countless men to their knees. His pretty blue eyes twinkle as he greets us.
“Welcome to the island. Just the two of you?” he asks, grabbing a couple of menus.
“Just us.” I glance down and notice his name tag says Hennessy, right before he turns to lead us to a table.
The restaurant is busy, and we have to weave between tables to get to an empty one near the back.
I look around at all the couples eating and wonder if they came together or if they’re vacation flings, set to run their course by the time both parties head back to wherever they came from.
“I’m Hennessy. I’ll be your waiter tonight,” he says in a polite, professional tone.
“Is that your real name?” I’m not sure why, but I’m curious. “There’s no way every person who works or lives here has such interesting names.”
“I’m not allowed to tell tourists all of our island secrets,” he answers with a smirk. “What I can do is get you one of our island specialties to drink if you’re feeling adventurous.”
“Sure, why the hell not,” I agree, and Flynn nods as well.
“Great, I’ll be right back with those.” He flits away, and we both turn our attention to our menus.
I try hard to concentrate on the options laid out in front of me, but it’s damn hard to keep from looking across the table at Flynn, wondering what he’s been up to all these years, where he ended up going to college.
Did he go at all? When did he realize he was gay?
What was his first boyfriend like? Does he still chew that cinnamon gum?
Is he hiding any other piercings under his clothes?
There are a million things I want to know, and there’s no way a week will be enough for it all.
He toys with his lip ring between his teeth, glancing up from his menu and catching my eyes across the table.
“What?” he asks again with a grin.
What? Oh, nothing, just wondering about the entirety of your existence for the last fifteen years. Where to even start?
“Where do you live now?” I ask because it seems like as good a place to start as any.
“Long Island. You?”
My heart jolts and my hands jerk out of sheer excitement, nearly causing me to knock my glass of water over with my menu. Just like when we were kids, Flynn’s reflexes are lightning-fast. He catches the water glass, setting it right before a single drop spills, and then quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Manhattan,” I answer.
What are the odds? We were probably on the same flight out here.
Hennessy returns with our drinks, and we both place our orders.
I’m not even sure what I ask for. I just point to the first thing on the second page and then hand the menu over.
I’m too busy caught in a whirlwind of emotion, trying to convince myself not to let my excitement or the sheer improbability of it all get to me.
“Who’s the old guy?” Flynn asks Hennessey, nodding toward the picture hanging on the wall.
“That’s Harold Tellinson. He owned the island and founded the town. He basically built everything you see here from the ground up with the help of his partner, George,” our waiter explains. “He was an absolute hopeless romantic. It’s why he wanted to create a place like this.”
I snort into my drink, wondering what a hopeless romantic would think of his dream turning into a giant orgy.
Hennessy must catch onto my train of thought because he just smiles and shakes his head.
“He wasn’t a prude either, don’t worry. He believed in soulmates and true love, though, and was always setting people up when he could.
” He gets a wistful smile on his lips. “You know, they say his spirit still hangs around the island, finding love for tourists and locals alike whenever he can.”
He slips away to put our order in after that, leaving Flynn and I sharing an amused look. “I’m trying to figure out if that’s supposed to be part of the charm of this place or what,” he confesses.
“The legend of old man Tellinson or how quirky all the locals seem to be?”
“Both,” he says.
“It’s kind of fun. I expected this to just be a giant fuck-fest, but there’s a certain kind of…je ne sais quoi about it here.”
“Whoa, whipping out the French.” Flynn leans forward across the table, the move seeming almost unconscious. “I have no clue what you said, but it sounded hot.”
“You really did scrape by with that C in French by copying off me, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Damn straight.” He tastes the festive rainbow drink, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip to catch a stray droplet. “It obviously stuck for you though.”
“I did a year studying abroad in Paris, actually. The city is beautiful and what they say about the men is true.” I add a flirty grin so he catches my drift.
“Oh yeah? What makes the Parisian men so special?” He holds my gaze for a long moment, heat and electricity passing between us.
“Their passion,” I answer, remembering many nights of being kissed breathless by men who I could just barely hold a conversation with. “And their sense of romance.”
“Interesting.” Flynn takes another long sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re probably used to being swept off your feet by men eager to impress you.”
I scoff. “Men eager to use me up and toss me aside,” I correct. “What about you?”
He winces. “I hate to say it, but I’m probably on the other end of that equation most of the time.”
“You don’t have many serious boyfriends?
” I ask, careful to keep my voice even. Learning that he lives within two hours of me likely made me more hopeful than I should be.
Just because I knew everything about Flynn fifteen years ago doesn’t mean I know jack shit about adult Flynn. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.
“None,” he answers.
None. Got it. Don’t get attached. That’s what he wants me to know.
His foot bumps against mine under the table, and then his calf, skin warm, the coarseness of his leg hair grating against mine. The simple connection is like a jolt straight between my legs, and the grin on his lips tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Whatever happens this week happens. I am so along for the ride.
****
“Oh my god, that was so good,” I groan, wiping my mouth and tossing my used napkin down on my empty plate a short time later.
“I’ll pass along your compliment to Chef Storm,” Hennessy says, picking up our plates.
“Storm?” Flynn repeats.
“Everyone calls him that because the last thing you want to do is get caught up in one of his rages,” he says wisely.
I raise both eyebrows at him. That sounds ominous.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he hurries to reassure me.
“He’s just…” His cheeks pink and he looks down at the small stack of plates and silverware he just made. “He’s passionate, that’s all.”
“Well, sounds like we definitely want to be on his good side, so tell him the meal was incredible,” I say, and Hennessy smiles.
“Will do.”
He turns to walk away, but Flynn calls after him before he can get far. “Hey, any recommendations for a fun way to spend the night around here?”
The waiter cocks his head to one side, quirking his lips in a really? kind of grin, darting his eyes back and forth between the two of us. I snort a laugh into my nearly empty glass.
“When you leave here, turn left and then walk north up the street until you see the obnoxiously big beach houses. Those rentals have private beach access. That’s where the best parties are.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Flynn says, pulling out his wallet and stuffing several bills into the check fold on the table.
“Have fun.” Hennessy gives us one last grin and then disappears.
“So, you up for crashing a beach party?”
“Count me in.” I reach for my wallet to pay for my half of the meal, but he puts his hand out to stop me.
“I’ve got it. You can owe me one tomorrow.”
The promise of more one-on-one time is perfect with me, so I put my wallet away and stand up, more than ready to go see what kind of trouble the two of us can manage to get up to for the rest of the night.