Chapter Five Your Penis Uses She/Her Pronouns? #2
“Owen, I . . .” The way Jacob says his name forces Owen to stop at the door. “I just want us to both try and have a good time,”
he says.
“And I’m prepared to.” Owen turns, glowering at the taller man. When he catches Jacob’s hair in the right light, he can spot
one or two silver strands among the deep black curls. Owen’s gaze shifts downward, toward Jacob’s hands, his nails shredded
to the beds of his fingers, a nervous tic that Owen thought Jacob had stopped years ago. “Are you?”
“I . . .” He can tell Jacob wants to say more. But Jacob, ever the peacekeeper, simply answers, “Yeah.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan, then.” And with his suitcase in tow, Owen exits the suite, walking to the room that he’ll be sharing
with Kevin.
“All right that I grabbed the left side?” Kevin asks, already in his underwear, bathing suit laid out on the bed. “I always sleep better on the left side.”
“Of course,” Owen tells him. “Thanks for letting me share.”
“It’s cool!” Kevin promises. “I get that things are hella weird with you and J-man.”
“To say the least.” Owen hoists his suitcase onto the bed, careful how he picks up his hefty suitcase, since packing for an
entire week’s trip doesn’t exactly come lightly, especially considering everything he travels with.
“Have the two of you talked much?” Kevin asks.
“About?” Owen asks, digging around for his bathing suit, grabbing his medical kit to store in the refrigerator before they
leave.
“The breakup. You know, closure might help . . . whatever it is that’s going on between the two of you.”
“There’s nothing going on between us,” Owen says to him.
“Hey! Whatever you say, dude.” Kevin throws his hands up, the expression on his face telling Owen that he doesn’t believe
him for a second. “But you’re stuck together on a boat.” He says those words with a sly smile. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn
you when you wind up sleeping together.”
Owen scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Trust me, I’ve seen this play out before.” Kevin turns, grabbing the waistband of his underwear as he steps away. “Now look
away, I’ve gotta moon you for a second.”
Sure enough, Kevin’s pale ass cheeks are out for the world to see a split second later.
“Dude,” Owen groans. “There’s a bathroom right there!”
The lido deck is packed with passengers.
Far too many for Owen’s taste. How dare people try and have fun.
“We want to welcome everyone today on what promises to be an incredible journey up the West Coast toward those gorgeous Alaskan
shores!” the captain says, voice echoing through huge speakers as he greets the guests from his place underneath the shaded
veranda. “It’s a trek I’ve made countless times, but it never gets any less beautiful. And one that I’m honored to get to
share with all of you.”
Owen rolls his eyes.
“So, from all of us at Pacific Coast Cruises,” he starts to say, before every single cruise employee dressed in matching teal
polos joins in with him to say in unison, “we want to welcome you to what’ll be the greatest week of your life!” A foghorn
cuts through the air a beat later, the crowd’s cheers growing even louder.
Owen can’t help but flinch at the noise, then he feels the first lurch of the floor underneath his feet. With nothing but
the cloudless sky to go off of, it’s hard to tell that they’re moving at first, especially as he floats half-submerged in
front of the pool bar, ass already aching from the hard concrete stool underneath him.
They’d all gone their separate ways once they arrived on deck. Abigail pulled Kaitlyn right to the dance floor, surrounding
themselves with the crowd. Kevin admitted that he was going to do the rounds and, in his own words: “Find a cute girl to make
out with.”
And Jacob. He’d stood next to Owen for a beat too long, hovering there, not knowing what to say until Owen finally decided
that the warm water would probably feel nice.
“I’m guessing you liked it?” The bartender approaches, nodding toward Owen as he cleans a glass.
“Sorry?” Owen apologizes, having not registered the man’s question one bit.
“Your drink.” The bartender gestures to the near-empty glass that Owen’s been cradling. “Can I get you another?”
“Oh, sure . . .” Owen slides it toward him. He always feels a little self-conscious ordering virgin drinks or mocktails. Sometimes
he gets this look, instant judgment that a bartender or waiter just can’t help. Even if his inflammation or biologics weren’t
a factor, the way he’d come to rely on alcohol during the worst part of his attempt at college had done enough to dissuade
Owen from ever wanting to get drunk again.
“You know,” the bartender continues, refilling Owen’s glass from one of the nozzles behind the counter, “I’ve worked on this
ship for a while—”
“Hmm . . .” Owen hums, unsure of what to do with this piece of information that he didn’t ask for.
The bartender nods, walking back to grab the syrups. His side of the bar is totally dry—obviously—but that hasn’t kept him
from dressing in a short bathing suit, humongous thighs on display, along with a black tattoo that vanishes into the inseam, hiding the full picture
from Owen.
The bartender continues, “—and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so depressed while they’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Owen barely attempts a reply, staring at the refill as the bartender slides it toward him.
“Hey, can I just get a beer?” Hearing Jacob’s voice again makes Owen’s eyes roll so far back into his head he’s sure he can
see his brain for a second. He can almost feel the man’s presence as he falls onto the barstool next to him. “Modelo? Lime,
please.”
“You got it,” the bartender says.
“Oh . . .” There’s a playful tone to Jacob’s surprise, like he didn’t actually see Owen sitting here first.
Yeah, right, Owen thinks.
“Here you are.”
“Yeah,” Owen says, mostly into his drink. “Here I am.”
“You’re drinking now?” Jacob asks.
“It’s a mocktail.”
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
Owen sips the drink, letting the awkward silence be filled by an old Usher song.
“Here you go, handsome,” the bartender says, sliding Jacob’s beer across the bar, not paying any further mind to Owen. “That
all I can get for ya?”
“Yeah, for now, thanks.” Jacob reaches out to let him scan the rubber medallion on his wrist.
“Oh, no. You’re all good.”
“Are these drinks included?” Jacob asks.
“These ones are.” The bartender even pulls down his sunglasses, so that Jacob can see the wink that he gives him. “So, is
there anything else you want while I’m on shift, handsome?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, big man,” the bartender says, leaning across the bar. His uniform is a bit different from the rest of the
staff’s, his arms on full display in his teal tank top. And he knows they look good. “So . . . are you on vacation alone?”
“No,” Owen interjects. “He’s not.”
“Oh, well . . . the more the merrier?” the bartender half offers.
Owen glowers at the bartender, unblinking. The man’s face turns pale, his expression sinking.
“Right . . . you two have a fun time!” the bartender says, scurrying away with his tail between his legs.
“Down, boy,” Jacob says, going to press a hand to the small of Owen’s back. Then, he remembers. If only he could read Owen’s
mind, Jacob would know in an instant how badly Owen wants Jacob to touch him.
Just one last time.
“I’m fine,” Owen scoffs, downing more of his drink, like there’s any actual alcohol content to quell the growing mess in his
brain.
“Are you sure?” Jacob asks, leaning in closer, hands around the neck of his beer bottle. “Because that was scary . . . almost
like you were jealous.”
“Pfft, you wish.” Owen stares straight ahead, not wanting to give Jacob the attention that he’s desperate for.
“Come on, Owen. We can’t just ignore each other.”
“I’m not ignoring you,” Owen says. “I’m talking to you, am I not?”
“Yeah . . . I guess. But it doesn’t feel good.”
“Maybe that’s your fault? Did you ever consider that?”
Jacob’s shoulders sink, and Owen hears him let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know why I even bother.”
“I don’t know why you do either,” Owen tells him, finally turning to face Jacob. He can see the slight flush in his cheeks
now. That’s certainly not his first beer. He’s also shirtless, his hairy chest on full display.
The black lines of the squid tattoo are still vibrant despite the fine detail of some of them, tentacles spreading out toward the underside of Jacob’s plump pecs, the shading covering up his top surgery scars.
It’s still the tattoo Owen is most proud of. Even if he can still see some of the mistakes. A crooked line near the mantle,
and a spot in the shading of the eye that needs to be touched up. Still, it’s Jacob’s only tattoo. And he’d been kind enough
to give Owen that privilege.
“I want to try, Owen. I really do,” Jacob says. “I thought that in coming here we could—”
“We could what, Jacob? What was your grand plan, exactly?”
“Well, if you’d stop interrupting me, I’d—”
“Actually, never mind.” Owen turns on the stool, water splashing around his legs. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“Okay, keep not listening to me,” Jacob scoffs. “That worked really well the first time.”
That’s when Owen notices the stares he’s getting from a few of the nearby passengers. Nosy neighbors who want nothing more
than to eavesdrop on the argument and figure out who’s in the wrong. The heat on Owen’s neck starts to spread, first to his
back, and then to his chest, causing his shirt to stick to his skin like it’s coiling around him.
Not here, Owen thinks. Not right now.
In a calmer setting, he’d maybe be able to talk himself down from the ledge he’s stepping up on, or even if he had his noise-canceling
earplugs. The music seems to slowly creep up on Owen, a ringing starting in his ears.