5. Xander
FIVE
Xander
God above but I loved first class.
Sure, it was a bit pricier—actually a lot pricier—but the privacy one was given was worth the extra cost. Solitary had been my middle name since that night at the party when Mason and I had locked lips.
I’d shrugged off going out with Eli or hanging at his house for fear I’d run into Mason.
Perhaps my middle name should be cowardly more so than solitary.
Glancing out the window as my plane waited in line for takeoff, I drifted back to that night.
The night as I’d taken to thinking of it.
Everything had been fine then that kiss.
Looking further back, I had to confess that I’d thought Mason’d carried a torch for me when we were younger.
He threw off little clues. A shy look, a soft smile, the way he showed off in front of me.
Of course, back then I’d been playing myself off as straight because I’d been unable to face myself.
But the kiss? It was like Renco in our loss with LA when he’d expected the five hole and the shot had gone top shelf, it was unexpected and life changing and way out of my comfort zone.
The plane lurched forward another five feet.
Sighing, I checked my belt and studied the tarmac.
Yes, coward did seem to be the better choice for that middle name.
My default was to pull back into my shell like a snapping turtle when things got uncomfortable.
Case in point… me sitting here on a jet to Aruba to celebrate my upcoming birthday alone, courtesy of a birthday gift from Eli.
No one other than my family and him knew where I was going or that I planned to be there for two weeks.
Xander the Cowardly Turtle. Someone should write a children’s book about me.
Look, kids, this is Xander. Xander is afraid to face himself or his feelings so he hides in his thick shell. I wonder what the fuck is wrong with Xander, don’t you?
Okay, so maybe penning children’s literature isn’t for me.
Still the point was a valid one. I was taking off for an island getaway to drown my sorrows about losing the Cup, my captain/dear friend/defensive partner talking of retiring, and my growing attraction for my best friend’s younger brother.
The rolling bar would get a good workout on this close to five hour flight.
We had to get into the air first though.
Departing Logan could be a nightmare at times.
Sitting here with my thoughts was also unpleasant.
Soul weary I closed my eyes, blocking out the airport and my fellow passengers to focus on finding inner peace.
Meditation was something that I played with from time to time when I was exceptionally stressed.
As a last resort sort of thing mostly, but over the past few weeks, I’d been seeking it out more and more.
I no longer had hockey to take my mind off all those life worries, and I couldn’t jog or lift weights on a packed 747, so introspection it had to be.
Pulling out my earbuds, I plugged them into my phone and pulled up a beginner’s meditation YouTube video I’d been using.
Listening to the sound of my breathing, focusing on the in and out, easing myself into that soft state of relaxation was working.
The sounds of the other passengers talking began to fade away as the deep, relaxing voice of the narrator began to ease the tensions and worries piled up on my back.
He spoke of finding a place in your mind to linger in.
Somewhere warm and breezy, a beach perhaps or a woodland glen.
Anywhere that brought solace and serenity.
The plane began rolling, the seams of the tarmac a steady thump, thump, thump as I tried to dredge up a place where I felt whole and happy. Mason’s face appeared.
“I’m not a kid, Xander. I think you know that.”
His mouth had touched mine. What I said in reply, I couldn’t recall, but instead of pushing him away or gently teasing him as I’d been doing for years, I moved into the kiss. Reveled in it, encouraged it, wanted it…
The man felt so good in my arms, so hard and strong.
Perfectly crafted muscles and sharp edges, citrus aftershave or shampoo, the scrape of new whiskers, a stiff prick.
No, Mason was certainly not a kid anymore.
He was all man and for that short moment in time, we’d come together perfectly.
The taste of him had faded, but I could still feel his hands on my ass and the way he’d lapped into my mouth.
My body reacted now as it had then, my cock plumping, my hands yearning to touch, my heart hammering against my breastbone…
The jet began to pick up speed. My eyes flew open just as the front wheels left the ground.
I felt the force of takeoff on my chest, or perhaps that pressure wasn’t related to leaving the ground at all.
Maybe it was the weight of craving something I knew I had no business craving.
Cussing to myself, I yanked out the earbuds and watched Boston grow smaller and smaller as I shoved at my erection with the heel of my hand.
So much for mental cleansing and mindful quietude.
Guess it was going to take a few Jack Daniels on the rocks to align my radically misaligned chakras and restore harmony to my chaotic head.
When we touched down, I’d found my mellow.
It had been with me the whole time… it just needed a little Tennessee whiskey to lure it out.
The Sheltered Sands Resort had a shuttle waiting for me.
A cheery man named Esmar was waiting for me with a big sign reading MR. XANDER and a bigger smile.
He led me to baggage claim, found my bags, and then hustled me out into the warm tropical sun.
I took a moment to enjoy the balmy breeze on my face as well as marvel at the palm trees swaying in the wind.
“Mr. Xander, we have to check in by four sharp,” Esmar said, taking me by the elbow and leading me to the big blue Range Rover with the resort’s logo on the doors. I grinned at the rainbow gulls over the lettering, my head buzzing with alcoholic happiness.
“I’m bisexual,” I told Esmar. “These are my birds.” I patted the logo lovingly.
The middle-aged man in the red shirt and khaki shorts chuckled.
“Then you will love the Sheltered Sands, Mr. Xander. We’re LGBT friendly and set up many fun activities for our gay, lesbian, and transgender guests.
We have dances and parties, scuba diving excursions, and…
not that way, Mr. Xander, this way. Yes, step up.
Oops. Try again. There we go. Now sit down. Yes, let me buckle you in.”
“I can buckle my own belt,” I sniggered, slapping at his hands. “Watch me.”
When the buckle snapped, I hooted in glee. Esmar nodded proudly, closed the door, and hurried around to the rear to throw my bags into the back. I inhaled and exhaled, the warm booze glow settling in nicely.
“Hey, Esmar,” I asked when he climbed in and settled behind the steering wheel. “I feel glowed on. How many drinks did I have on the plane?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Xander, but maybe a few?
” He gave me a wink in the rearview. I liked him.
He was funny and had a lovely Spinach accent.
Wait. No. Not spinach. Spanish. I snorted and giggled behind my hand.
When I had less of a whiskey glow, I wanted to sharpen my Papiamento skills so I could speak with the locals.
I had a keen ear for languages and had studied and mastered several—mostly curse words from players I’d met.
Still, I liked to show people that I was willing to put in the effort to learn how to communicate with them in their native tongue.
Yes, most on the island spoke English, Dutch, or Spanish, but I wanted to go that step beyond. Just not right now obviously.
“Spinach,” I sniggered softly.
The ride from the airport to the Sheltered Sands Resort took about twenty minutes. Esmar chatted the entire way, telling me about the sights to be seen during my stay.
“… beautiful beaches of course but there are so many other places to see. The Bubali Bird Sanctuary, the Butterfly Farm, and the Old Dutch Windmill. There is also the National Archaeological Museum close by. If you wish to go to any of those places, just call down and ask for Esmar. I will take you wherever you wish to go, Mr. Xander.”
“Will do,” I replied, the wind coming in the open windows was thick with the smell of the sea.
We pulled up in front of a magnificent high-rise resort dotted with palm trees.
I inhaled the smell of salt water and held it as long as I could.
Yes, oh yes, this place was going to work wonders for my mental health.
Two full weeks of sun, surf, and sand would be the perfect way to put Mason Kingsley and his sensual lips back into the buddy box where he belonged.
Then life would be smooth and normal again.
I could stick my head out of my shell once the whole Mason situation was in hand.
I freed myself from the seatbelt and exited the Rover, my gaze skipping up the massive resort’s white walls.
“This place is even prettier in person than it was online,” I told Esmar when he came up beside me with my bags.
“We think so too. Come now, we’ll get you registered and then maybe you can nap or go to the pool around back to wink at the pretty men.”
Yes! Winking at pretty men was perfect. Once I found my room and took a tiny nap.
Somehow I managed to sign in and get my room key.
The staff were all lovely. A bellhop toted my bags for me while simultaneously keeping me from falling out of the elevator onto my face when we reached the eighth floor.
He moved with grace and skill. He could be a hockey player.
I told him so. He smiled widely, turned me around, and then herded me down a long corridor filled with tan walls, big plants in pots, and all kinds of people coming and going.
Most in swimsuits or shorts and tops with walking shoes.
Maybe they were going to the bird sanctuary or butterfly farm.
I made a mental note to go see the butterfly and bird places.
The bellhop helped me scan my key card then gently maneuvered me into my suite.
I gasped at the sight of my room. It was stunning.
Wide open and airy. White and blues and tans ran through the draperies, carpeting, and bedding.
I toed off my sneakers then raced to the sliding glass doors to gaze down on an Olympic-sized pool to the left and the ocean to the right. Oh the joys of having an end suite.
“Can I get you anything else?” the bellhop asked. I peeled my face from the glass, spun around, and shook my head.
“No, thank you. This is superb. I love it here. Wait! Don’t leave.” I shoved my hand into my front pocket, pulled out my phone and a wad of bills, and peeled a couple of fives off. “Here. This is for your help. I’m going to lay down for a bit now.” I waved a hand at the big bed.
“Pleasant dreams, sir.” He pocketed his tip, pulled the drapes closed for me, and then backed out of the room.
I made a circle of the suite, taking in the door to the bathroom standing open then dove into the bed.
The sheets were stiff and clean. They had a lingering aroma of citrus to them.
It made me think of Mason and the lemon-lime taste of his mouth when we’d kissed.
He must have had a Sprite to drink before he’d come to me.
Mm, my body tingled at the thought of Mason coming to me again with a kiss on his mind.
I buried my face into a fat pillow, closed my eyes, and dreamed of soft lips and summer loves.
I’d been asleep no longer than ten minutes when some asshole began hammering on my door.
I was instantly mad. The jerk had interrupted a dream that included me, Mason, gentle winds, and sex on the beach.
Not the vodka, cranberry juice, Schnapps, and orange juice version.
I mean ball slapping hyena howling sex. Sand in delicate places.
Crabs pinching your ass. Sunburn on your taint.
That kind of sex. My dick was so hard it hurt.
As did my damn head. I yelled something at the moron pounding on my door.
It was a dirty word followed by several dirtier words.
The asshole laughed and called to me to open the door.
I sat up, ran my hands through my hair and over my face, and then chanced a look at the big round clock on the wall. Eight p.m. No. That wasn’t possible. I’d just laid down ten minutes ago. Oh fuck my head hurt. Badly. Jesus.
“Xander, open the damn door, dude!” Rubbing at my eyes with the tips of my fingers, my brain slowly picked up on the fact that the sphincter at my door knew my name and sounded a lot like Eli Kingsley.
Like. A whole lot. I tried to shout back but had to take a second to scrape the foul barnacle-like crud from my tongue with my teeth.
Why had I drunk so much on the plane? I hated being hungover.
What had possessed me to indulge in so much—
Oh. Right. It had been a Kingsley. Only not the big lumbering dickwaffle making enough noise to wake the dead. It was the younger one. The one I’d just been pounding into the white sands while he passionately called my name over and over…
“Xander!”
Honest to fuck I was going to kill him, best friend or not.
What the shit was he even doing here?! I got to my feet, head thumping, and staggered to the door.
I whipped it open with vigor. There stood Eli.
And right beside him? Mason who was backed by Dunny, Renco, and Marquis.
My eyes, dry as they were, flared at the sight of them standing outside my door.
Eli looked pleased as punch. Mason looked like he had a hedgehog crammed up his ass.
“What the fucking hell are you guys doing here?”
“Surprise, dude! We’re staying here too!” Eli threw his arms around me. “Like we’d let you spend your thirtieth birthday all alone? You need your bros with you when you’re officially over the hill. Group hug!”
I gawked at Mason then Eli reached for his baby brother and tugged him in for a three-way brotherly hug.
That sinful citrus shampoo smell wafted off Mason as his nose was crushed into my clavicle.
He stiffened. I tensed. Eli pounded on our backs as he yammered on about besties for life.
He’d be singing a different tune if he’d seen what I’d been dreaming about doing to his little brother…