6. Remy
Mornings had to be the devil’s way of punishing the wicked. That was the only explanation Remy could think of for why he felt like literal death as he dragged himself out of bed to close the curtains over the sliding door.
“Thank you,” Zach murmured from beneath a pile of blankets on the bed. “Is the sun brighter in Martinique than in Vermont? Because I was about to burn to ash like a fucking vampire.”
Remy felt a smile tugging at his lips. “I think it actually is,” he said, sliding back into bed and wrapping an arm around Zach’s smooth chest, “since we’re closer to the equator. But I’d have to Google it to be sure.”
“Hmm,” Zach said, pressing back against him. “I can think of much more interesting things for your fingers to do than typing on your phone.”
A laugh rumbled up out of Remy’s chest. “I’m sure you can. Unfortunately, I need to be in the lobby for an excursion in half an hour. Raincheck?”
“Shit! What time is it?” Sitting bolt upright in bed, Zach swiveled his head toward the digital clock on the nightstand. “Fuck! I need to go. I have an excursion this morning too.”
Zach flung the bedding aside and launched himself to his feet, flying around the room like the Tasmanian Devil as he located his clothes and got dressed.
“By the way,” Remy said as Zach checked his reflection in a mirror, wincing at the state of his hair. “You’re having dinner with me tonight.” He didn’t bother making it sound like a question.
Grinning, Zach practically skipped over to his side of the bed, leaning down to plant a kiss on his lips. “Can’t wait.” Then he was out the door before Remy could get another word out.
Remy couldn’t tear his gaze away from the door for several seconds after Zach disappeared. He had no fucking clue what was going on inside his own head right now, and despite the imminent departure of his bus, he needed to take a minute to sort it out.
He’d had his fair share of boyfriends and flings through the years, ranging from one-night stands to months’ long relationships. And never, in all that time, had he felt anything but genuine relief when the men walked away, whether it be for the night, the week, or forever.
He liked his own space. He liked peace and quiet. And above all things, he liked being in control.
So why did he suddenly wish he’d also booked a two-week vacation, like Zach had? He hadn’t so much as considered taking a vacation in years, and now an extra week here suddenly seemed like the best idea in the world.
Why did his chest literally begin to ache as soon as Zach left the room?
In the end, he could only come to one conclusion: he missed Zach. He’d liked having him here, and the room simply felt empty after he left.
Forcing himself to get up and get ready, he told himself it was nothing but the insane chemistry between them. He missed Zach’s clever tongue and slim hips and that positively delightful ass. Nothing more.
Yeah, that was why he asked Zach to dinner. A place where sex literally wasn’t possible, at least not without getting the cops called on you.
And why he got ready in five minutes flat, hoping to catch Zach in the lobby before they went off on their separate adventures.
For a few seconds, he paused by the door, wondering if maybe this was a bad idea. He needed to focus on finding a new job right now, not let himself get distracted.
But when he pictured that smirking mouth, he was done for. He headed for the lobby as fast as his long legs could carry him.
When Zach half-ran into the lobby twelve minutes later, Remy looked him up and down, admiring the day’s ensemble. His slacks and vest were a soft pink, like the inside of a seashell, and tiny pineapples dotted his bow tie. Once again, he’d rolled the sleeves of his crisp white button down to his elbows.
Remy wanted to drag him back to the room and have his way with him. Somehow, he managed to hand him a large, iced coffee instead. “For you. I didn’t know how you took it.”
“Oh my God, I think I love you,” Zach said, sucking down at least a third of the black coffee without pause. Eyes rolling back in his head with pure delight, he sighed. “I might survive this day now.”
You already paid for the class, Remy reminded himself. You can fuck him later.
His dick was about ready to override his brain when a twenty-something woman with a lanyard and clipboard bustled into the lobby, looking around at them with a thousand-megawatt smile. Nudging Zach, he turned toward the woman, catching sight of his reflection in a large mirror hanging on the lobby wall as he moved. He did a literal double take, then quickly looked at Zach, who was thankfully oblivious.
Since when did he ever have such a goofy smile on his face?
Pushing that thought aside, he gave his full attention to the woman who had just introduced herself at Angelica. She was clearly quite efficient at her job, calling out the bus or van numbers associated with each of the day’s excursions in a slow, clear voice. “Each tour guide has a list of all paid guests for their excursion,” she shouted after them as people hurried through the front doors. “If you think your name should be on a list and it isn’t, come back and see me.”
“Which bus are you on?” Remy asked as they left the air conditioning of the lobby behind.
“I’m in one of the vans,” Zach said. “Number thirty.”
A thrill of excitement ran through Remy, starting at his core and rushing out through his extremities. “So am I.”
Zach looked up at him with a delighted grin. “Seriously? The Flavors of Martinique cooking class?”
Throwing an arm around Zach’s shoulders, Remy said, “We may just have more in common than we thought, pretty boy.”
This cooking class was a foodie’s absolute fucking dream. For one thing, unlike the snorkeling and get-drunk-on-a-beach excursions that attracted literal busloads of tourists, the class only allowed eight people total. For another, glass made up one whole wall of the kitchen, with the most gorgeous view of the Caribbean Sea imaginable.
The large glass door at the center of the wall had been thrown open, allowing a perfect salty sea breeze to work its way through the kitchen, cooling them off as they toiled away at their workstations. A huge deck with several small tables and chairs stood just outside, and Remy couldn’t wait to sit out there with Zach while they enjoyed the fruits of their labors.
“Are you sure you have no culinary training?” Remy asked as he watched Zach cut up an onion with a speed that terrified him. “Your knife skills are incredible.”
Arching one brow, Zach held up the knife and gave him a maniacal smile. “Maybe I’m secretly a serial killer.”
Remy snorted. “Do serial killers often dice their victims?”
“Good question,” Zach said, grinning as he turned his attention back to the onion. “Maybe the cannibals do. If I ever meet one, I’ll ask them.”
“If I ever meet a cannibalistic serial killer, I’m not gonna stick around long enough to ask questions. Pretty sure I’ll just scream and run away.”
With a wink, Zach asked, “Where’s the fun in that?” Scooping the onions into a little bowl, he moved on to a red bell pepper, coring and slicing it with expert movements.
“Seriously, though, are you a chef?” It felt kind of weird asking such a basic question after they spent the night together, but their jobs hadn’t been particularly relevant before now.
“No, but I work at a hotel with an incredibly talented kitchen staff. I’m friends with a few of them, and they’ve given me some lessons.” Zach moved the peppers into the bowl with the onions, then threw a smile over his shoulder. “That’s why I wanted to take this class. I know the head chef is going to grill me about what I ate as soon as I get back. I want to have something useful to tell him.”
Remy couldn’t believe his ears. “And there’s something more we have in common. I work in a hotel too.”
“You do?” Zach said, perking up almost giddily. “Where? What do you do?”
“I’m the assistant dir—” A cold ball of dread formed in the pit of his stomach. No, no he wasn’t. He was unemployed. “Sorry, I was the assistant director of event planning at a hotel in Maryland. I quit three days ago.”
“Oh, shit, really?” The large chef’s knife dangled from Zach’s hand, totally forgotten. “I smell a story.”
Rolling his eyes, Remy said, “Yeah, and the story fucking stinks. I need a couple cocktails in me before I’m willing to dive into that whole mess. So what do you?—”
“Everyone, you’ll need to get your dorade in the oven in the next ten minutes if you want it to come out on time.” Their teacher, Amélie, had just walked by their workstation moments ago, and clearly noticed their lack of attention. “So you’ll need to start frying your vegetables in the next couple of minutes. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Remy shuffled closer to Zach, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Uh-oh. I hope we don’t get sent to the principal’s office.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Zach said, smirking, and got back to work prepping their ingredients. “Heat some oil in that pan, will you?”
They worked in perfect tandem after that, even managing to earn an approving nod from Amélie when she stopped by to check on their progress again. By that point, they had already arranged their veggies, herbs, and pair of red-and-silver dorade on the baking tray, and were placing some sauteed lemon slices on top of the fish.
“Looks perfect, guys,” Amélie said with a bright smile. “Go ahead and pop that in the oven, and then take the lid off your chatrou fricassée. We’ll leave it over medium heat without the lid for the final ten minutes to let it thicken up.”
Before getting to work on their main entrée, the class had prepared another common Martinique seafood dish as their appetizer—a stew made with tiny octopuses called chatrou, cooked together with a variety of veggies and spices. They’d eat it over rice while they waited for the fish to finish baking.
The two seafood dishes, apparently popular with the locals, were the reason Remy decided to take this class. It seemed like an exciting adventure to learn how to cook like the residents of Martinique. And while the food might seem strange to some Americans, seafood was a way of life in Maryland. Remy loved seafood almost as much as he loved trying new dishes. Especially dishes he’d have a hard time finding back home.
Zach’s clear passion for cooking and eagerness to try interesting foods only made him more attractive. And that was really saying something.
If Remy wasn’t careful, he was going to start catching feelings. Potentially quite a lot of them.
Remarkably, that thought didn’t give him pause at all.