Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom Book 2), Page 5

  Narrator: But Jamie wasn’t fine.

  Friday rolled around and still, Marcus hadn’t spoken a word to him. Every morning, they went through the same routine. Marcus strolled into the Hut at the last second, only making the barest touch of eye contact with Jamie, never saying a word. Never requesting the chair beside Jamie’s. Nothing. Making the whole situation worse and less possible to shrug off, the other lifeguards were growing increasingly subdued, too. Had Marcus’s brash asshole routine really been the heartbeat of the lifeguard station?

  The notion was ridiculous.

  Or was it?

  Jamie’s own heartbeat didn’t feel the same, either. Nothing did. He’d been so fucking moody, his brothers had been avoiding him like the plague. None of his books would hold his attention, not even his favorite comfort read, a book of essays by Emerson. It was time to start working on his lesson plans for the new school year and he couldn’t focus long enough to write the date at the top of a notebook page, let alone incorporate the country’s current administration’s economic policies into his baseline teaching notes. And why was everything so itchy? The soles of his feet, his fingers, the back of his neck. There was a colony of red ants marching around under his skin and sitting still proved impossible.

  Especially tonight. It was Friday at midnight and Marcus had been working the door of the Castle Gate since happy hour. He hadn’t said shit to Jamie and Jamie was starting to get really annoyed. At Marcus. Then himself, for being annoyed when this was exactly what he’d wanted. Marcus to leave him alone.

  What Jamie needed to do was call Kurt, the older gentleman whose number was programmed into his phone. Never mind that he couldn’t even remember what the dude looked like.

  Jamie poured a row of tequila shots for a group of girls. One of them had a silk, birthday girl sash draped across her chest and a phone attached to her hand. She snapped a picture of the neatly lined row of liquor oblivion and squealed. “Take a shot with us!”

  Bartenders were asked to do this all the damn time. Drunk people never stopped worrying about being judged and thus, hated having sober people around to potentially catch them doing something regrettable. Ten times out of ten, Jamie declined. But his hand was suddenly being operated by someone else, sluicing golden liquor into a sparkling clean shot glass and tossing it back while the girls cheered.

  Oh shit, the burn tasted good.

  Too good.

  Andrew was distracted by a boisterous group at one end of the bar or he probably would have given Jamie hell for imbibing on the job. Rory merely raised an eyebrow.

  “Another?” Jamie asked the girls, already lining up glasses.

  A few minutes later, he did it again.

  After that, the night wasn’t so bad at all. When Jamie glanced up and found Marcus watching him with a stony expression by the door, Jamie winked and Marcus looked away, his throat muscles shifting. He wasn’t drunk enough to see Marcus upset—what the hell did he have to be upset about, anyway?—so he took another shot. Whiskey this time. Huge mistake, but he’d worry about it tomorrow.

  This simply wasn’t how things were supposed to work. No matter how many times Jamie told Marcus to fuck off, he wasn’t supposed to actually do it.

  Jamie was in the middle of pouring a Guinness pint when Marcus went into the back office. A quick glance at his cell phone clock told Jamie the bouncing shift was over. Usually he hung out until the bar closed, nursing a beer or two. But this time, Marcus emerged with his sweatshirt, throwing an absent wave at the bar before disappearing out the door.

  Gone. Just like that.

  Jamie swallowed several times, but there was a fistful of nickels in his throat and he couldn’t get them down. He took a fifth shot, but that did nothing to dislodge the heaviness. Was the train ride that bad? Or was it that good?

  There. That explained why Marcus’s silence was bothering him so much. Because he didn’t have answers. Jamie thrived on having conclusions to all questions, so obviously being in the dark about what had driven Marcus away was unacceptable.

  Thank God. It all made sense now.

  Four o’clock in the morning rolled around before Jamie knew it. He wasn’t drunk drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober, either. But unlike most nights when he had too much…he wasn’t yearning for his bed. No, he wasn’t tired at all. Wired was more like it. Anxious.

  Rory had opened the bar that night, so Andrew sent him home to Olive early, leaving Andrew and Jamie to close. They’d just cleared the Castle Gate of all drunken revelers when Andrew came out of the back office, fingers perched on the bridge of his nose. “My keys are gone. Did you pocket them by mistake?”

  Already knowing he hadn’t, Jamie went through the process of patting his pockets anyway. “Nope.”

  Andrew took out his cell and hit a button. “Rory has the only other set.” He sighed and hung up a moment later. “He’s not answering. How am I going to lock up the bar?”

  Jamie winced. “Diesel was back there.”

  His older brother groaned. This was not the first time Marcus had walked off with someone else’s shit by accident. In early June, he’d picked up the wrong duffel bag in the Hut, not realizing it belonged to someone else until Jamie pointed out his red lifeguard shorts were riding up his CrossFit-honed bubble butt and the seam was about to burst.

  He should have let it happen, Jamie thought wistfully.

  Wistfully.

  All right, that was quite enough. He needed to build a bridge over Marcus and walk across to the other side. That wouldn’t happen until he got some answers…

  And here was his chance.

  “I’ll go get the keys.”

  Andrew did a double take. “You’re going to wake Marcus up at four in the morning?”

  Jamie shrugged, avoiding his brother’s hawk-like scrutiny. “Those are the breaks when you take someone’s keys, right?” He tossed aside the rag he’d been using to wipe the bar, trying and failing to ignore visions of Marcus messy from sleep. “Hang tight. I’ll be back.”

  On his way out the door, Jamie paused, watching Andrew climb onto one of the bar stools and rest his face in his hands. They all got their asses kicked in the summertime, working two jobs, so they could manage the mortgage on the house they shared for the rest of the year. Not to mention the mountain of debts their father had left behind. But Andrew bore the brunt of the workload, supervising the lifeguards and overseeing the Castle Gate…and he never let the strain show. Ever. Jamie was catching him in a weak moment, and knowing his stoic brother, he should just leave without prying. But he couldn’t.

  “You okay, A?”

  A long pause, followed by a measured breath. “Yeah.” Without looking at Jamie, Andrew waved him off. “Go.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Marcus heard the knock on his front door and immediately reached for the baseball bat under his couch. Although a bat would be totally ineffective against a ghost, wouldn’t it?—and it had to be a fucking ghost, man. No one knocked on his door. His father and brother had keys and barged in whenever they felt like it.

  Since coming home from the Castle Gate, Marcus had been unable to sleep. A lot like every other night this week, but tonight was worse, because Jamie had been drinking behind the bar. If he wasn’t positive that Andrew would be with Jamie on the way home, Marcus would probably be lurking in the shadows of the boardwalk about now, making sure no one so much as looked wrong at Jamie.

  Coming to his feet with the bat poised to swing, Marcus threw a guilty glance at the porn video paused on his computer. Had the ghost heard him ineffectively jerking off?

  You’re the idiot everyone thinks you are.

  Marcus shook his head at his own ridiculousness and advanced toward the door, one quiet step at a time, fully prepared to move apartments first thing tomorrow if some old-timey ghost from the Great Depression era or some shit was on the other side of the door. “Uh…yeah? Someone there?”

  A beat passed. “Open the door, Diesel. You took my brot
her’s keys.”

  His heart climbed up into his mouth. “Jamie?”

  “No, it’s Paul Rudd.”

  Trying to breathe normally, Marcus eliminated the remaining distance between him and apartment entrance, twisting open the deadbolt and opening the door. He was so busy gulping down the sight of Jamie, Marcus forgot he was holding a bat. “How did you know where…”

  Jamie rested a hand on the doorjamb, drawing Marcus’s attention to his bicep. “We dropped you off in Andrew’s car that night it was raining so you wouldn’t have to walk. Remember?” He shrugged and sauntered into the apartment. “I just looked at the names on the buzzer. Pretty obvious Deez Nuts in 2A was you. Why are you holding a bat?”

  Horror washed over Marcus until he realized Jamie was actually referring to the bat and not the erection springing up in his sweat pants. Sure. Now he gets hard. “Oh, uh…” Turning slightly, Marcus tried to shift his cock to one side and make it less noticeable. “I thought you were a ghost from the Depression.”

  Jamie turned with a cocked eyebrow. “Bats don’t work on ghosts. Everyone knows that.”

  “What does work?”

  “You just have to ignore them,” Jamie said. “You’re well versed in that.”

  “Does that mean I’m good at it?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. “Yeah.”

  Before Marcus could crawl toward Jamie on his hands and knees, complaining about how fucking horrible the last week had been, Jamie reached past Marcus and used his index finger to lift a set of keys off Marcus’s entry table, complete with a lucky rabbit’s foot and a four-leaf clover. “I’m going to get these back to Andrew.”

  “Oh.” Marcus managed. “Okay.”

  “You obviously have both sets, right? Since you got in to your place.”

  “Yeah.” Christ. Jamie smelled so good. Coffee and books and whiskey. “Guess so.”

  “Next time, remember, your keys are the only ones with a GNC discount tag and a Rick and Morty keychain.”

  “I was wondering when I switched those for a rabbit’s foot.” Let him go. Let him walk out. Don’t open your mouth again. “That’s the only reason you came over?”

  “No.” Jamie took a step closer to Marcus and it felt so good to have Jamie in his orbit, he stumbled back a step, his ass coming up against the entry table. “I came over here because I was wondering if you cut me off because—”

  “Don’t say I cut you off, Jamie,” Marcus interrupted miserably.

  Jamie kept going. “I was wondering if it was because you weren’t attracted to me anymore and had no use for me. Or if you were still attracted and that’s the problem.”

  All right. So they weren’t pretending anymore. That scared the hell out of Marcus, not having that safety net of denial, but it was almost five o’clock in the morning and they might as well have been the last two people on earth. Lying or hiding seemed pointless. Especially when he’d missed more than the way Jamie made his body feel. He’d missed his friend. Keeping the truth buried from his friend wasn’t an option. “Well go ahead. Aren’t you going to ask why I stayed away?”

  “No, Marcus. I’m not.” Jamie closed his eyes and laughed without humor. “Marcus, you have enough wood to fill a national fucking park. Safe to say you’re still attracted to me.”

  Marcus looked down to find the front of his sweats tented to hell. He was so hard, the tip of his cock was standing straight out from his body, almost brushing against Jamie. And Marcus couldn’t control the embarrassment. Talking about his attraction to another man was enough for one night. The physical proof was too much. Too exposing.

  He could feel his ears turning red as he tried to push down his cock with the heel of his hand. Not helping. Nothing was helping, his flesh continuing to rise back up, thick and pulsing.

  It was difficult to meet Jamie’s eyes, and when Marcus finally managed to do it, he caught the tail end of Jamie’s hurt, before it vanished. “This is why I’ve been trying to stay away from you,” Marcus rasped. “Hurting you is the worst thing I can think of. And I don’t…I don’t want to deal with this. It’s not who I thought I was. Or who my family and friends think I am.

  “Before the train, I could…pretend I just wanted to be around you because I fucking like you. As a friend. And I do. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been depressed and…” Marcus pressed his thumbs into his eye sockets. “You knew this would happen. It’s why you told me to leave you the hell alone ages ago and I should have listened. I’m listening now.”

  “Only I don’t want to be left alone as much as I thought I did, do I?”

  Marcus’s lungs emptied, his thumbs dropping away from his eyes. Had Jamie missed him? No. No, it couldn’t be.

  Jamie cleared his throat hard and stepped past Marcus, ready to walk out the door. “I have to go—” They both ceased all motion when Marcus’s hand shot out and wrapped around Jamie’s elbow. “What are you doing, Diesel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A frustrated sound left Jamie. A moment ticked by where they just stared at each other, Marcus’s chest huffing up and down like a locomotive, the boner in his pants vibrating like a tuning fork, begging for the surrounding pressure of a fist, friction, anything. Marcus could see how torn Jamie was. Maybe he was even a little pissed off and Marcus couldn’t blame him. He was a mess. A total fucking mess that really didn’t want Jamie to leave, even though he’d just said out loud he didn’t want to deal with his attraction.

  A change came over Jamie, his manner going from frustrated to almost taunting. He faced Marcus fully and ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “Caught you in the middle of something, didn’t I?” His eyes ticked past Marcus toward the coffee table. “How is that porn working out for you?

  “Not good.”

  The admission was barely out of his mouth when Jamie fisted Marcus’s T-shirt in his hand and walked him backward toward the couch. They maintained eye contact the whole way, and Marcus was so wrapped up in it, he had no idea where he was until Jamie shoved him hard into a seated position on the couch. Jamie reached back and snicked the laptop closed before slowly drawing off his own T-shirt, giving Marcus long, breathless seconds to watch the lithe flex of tight ridges play out on his stomach, the roll of muscle just above the low-riding waistband of his jeans.

  Before Marcus could speculate on what came next, Jamie’s knees dug into the couch on either side of Marcus’s thighs. He picked up Marcus’s hand laid it flat on the center of his chest, before dragging it down, down, over his hot skin, the black, curling hair in the valley of his pecs, the hard stomach beneath. “You want me to stay? You’re damn well going to tell me why.” Leaving Marcus’s hand resting on his denim waistband, Jamie leaned in and breathed coffee and whiskey against Marcus’s mouth. Once, twice. Shaky. “Do you want my tongue to touch yours? Play with it a little?”

  Jesus, he almost came in his sweats. Hearing those words out of Jamie’s mouth, feeling Jamie’s breath, their skin pressing together. It was sensory overload. His dick hurt like it hadn’t in…ever. Minutes before Jamie walked in—and most of the week—he’d been trying his best to get aroused to straight porn, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get off anymore without thinking of Jamie and now he was there, giving Marcus no choice but to let go. Let his body get what it needed.

  “An answer, Diesel.”

  Openly panting against Jamie’s mouth, he gave a jerky nod.

  “Uh uh.” Jamie touched his tongue to Marcus’s upper lip and his hips jerked off the couch, a groan rumbling from deep inside him. “Say it out loud.”

  It all came out in a rush. “Yes. Please. I want your tongue.”

  Conflict rose in Jamie’s eyes, but it cleared just as fast. Was replaced by an emotion Marcus recognized in himself. Lust. Jamie dipped his head, easing their lips together, gently letting his tongue slide into Marcus’s mouth. It was like time suspended as it happened. Their tongues brushed and they both pulled back, breathing heavi
ly. Fear that Jamie would change his mind caught Marcus around the throat and he shot forward to draw Jamie into a kiss, melting back into the couch cushions and bringing Jamie with him.

  As if on autopilot, his hands lifted to squeeze Jamie’s boobs. But of course, Jamie didn’t have those. Marcus kind of wanted to curl up and die but Jamie only laughed, a puff of sound that bathed Marcus’s lips in warmth. “I’m not a woman, Diesel.”

  “Just double-checking.”

  They melted back together. And kissing Jamie was nothing like kissing a girl—and he didn’t miss that softness or the awkwardness or fear of crushing a human to death whatsoever. The scruff of Jamie’s unshaven jaw raked over his chin, his cheeks as they deepened the kiss and the sensation was something he hadn’t thought to fantasize about. But he sure as hell would now. Marcus knew without a doubt that the bristled proof of masculinity would be more than enough to make him hot next time he needed relief. The physical power and strength of a man—the full extent of how much that worked for him was mind-blowing.

  Only when attached to Jamie, though. Marcus might be confused, but there was nothing confusing about his growing hunger for something different being assigned strictly to Jamie. Which was scarier? Having sexual cravings he wasn’t familiar with? Or craving only one man?

  Those thoughts scattered a second later and all Marcus could think was, either way, I have great fucking taste. Because Christ, Jamie knew how to kiss like nobody’s business. And Marcus didn’t want it to be anybody’s business, unless it was his. Marcus was hit with a fair amount of jealousy as Jamie’s tongue licked at Marcus’s just long enough for him to mimic the rhythm, then…oh Jesus, then Jamie consumed, suctioning his mouth to Marcus’s and pulling deeply. So good. So perfect.

  So perfect, in fact, it took a full minute of experiencing Jamie’s technique to realize it was careful and practiced.

  Marcus broke the kiss with growl. “You holding back with me, Jamie?”

  Jamie looked dizzy, his breath coming in bursts. “Have to. I have to.”