by Mia Kerick
“You’re not my keeper, dude.” The washer stops spinning and he opens it; then he fills the dryer with wet sheets and the pink towel he borrowed. “I take care of me.”
“Okay, then.” I’m not sure why, but his clipped statement makes me sad. Like he wants me to know he’s alone on this planet and that’s the way he wants it. Which is exactly how I want it—but apparently sharing my home has softened my heart.
“Anyhow, you working at four? I’d be glad to give you a lift.”
“No, thank you. I’m gonna walk today.”
Take that, Nick Bowden. Rejection is a two-way street.
The bar is packed by the time I arrive. Surf’s Up is usually a late-night hot spot, but on Memorial Day weekend, the party starts early. Bodie got here before me and is already busy weeding through the crowd in search of underaged patrons. Mika and Sam are scurrying around serving drinks. Even Jack is hard at work behind the bar.
“Oliver, a new bar back is starting tonight. Name is Nico—he’ll be here any minute. Tall, skinny, buzzed black hair. Covered in tattoos. He’s a tough one to miss.” He pulls an orange bucket from a hook, shovels in some ice, and fills it with beers. “You need to show him the ropes.”
“You should’ve had the two of us come in early for training,” I complain. “He’s gonna have a tough time learning on the fly.”
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” Jack grumbles. “Jesus, Tunstead, just train him. It’s not exactly rocket science. All the kid has to do is lug booze and shovel ice.”
“Will do, Jack.” Some shit isn’t worth an argument.
Goth, or maybe the term is Emo. Whatever the case, Nico is a dark sort. Jet black hair hanging across his pale pimply face, a smudge of heavy eyeliner, and red skull-print jeans so low and tight it’s a wonder he can bend deeply enough to replace the kegs. But wonders never cease; Nico turns out to be quite a fast learner. The dream barback. The bar is swamped, but I have what I need, and the tips are coming in well and fast. And Sullen Nico Pappas is the surprising secret to my success. I’ll tip him out well at the end of the night—I know how to encourage continued hard work.
My other secret weapon is Nicholas Bowden. Yes, my very own cowboy-housemate-bouncer. I haven’t been punched or manhandled once since his arrival. This allows me to focus on my actual job, and sometimes I can even put the finishing touches on the drinks to make them more than just standard bar beverages.
At the end of the night, I notice Bodie struggling with the same stocky drunk guy with whom I had several run-ins this past week. The same man Bodie has already once saved me from. Tonight, the man’s armed with a couple of gym-bunny pals who have Bodie pushed into a corner by the door. They’ve pressed him against the wall by his shoulders, and the asshole with “anger issues” is poking Bodie in the chest. And yelling at him, though the bar is too noisy for me to hear what he’s saying.
Not that I’m looking for trouble, but I owe it to Bodie to lend him a hand. So I head over to the door, sincerely hoping there’s safety in numbers. Although together we’re still outnumbered.
“You just can’t stay away from me,” my nemesis growls as I approach. “Fair warning, pretty boy—leave while you still can. I’ll meet you at the bar when I’m done with this.” He jabs Bodie’s jaw with his middle finger.
“I’ll give you a taste of fair warning—if I take off, the first thing I’m gonna do is dial 911.”
Stocky drunk guy curses beneath his breath.
Bodie’s not thrilled either. “Get the hell outta here, Ollie. Go back to the bar.”
“Not until these douchebags leave.”
And just like that, I’m the focus of stocky drunk guy and the larger of his meatheads. This time, though, when the wasted asshole grabs me, I’m ready. I stiffen my spine and dig my heels into the floor, refusing to make it easy for him to pull me out the door, which seems to be his goal. One of the hulks does his best to keep Bodie pinned to the wall, and the other guys drag my ass onto the street.
I resist the urge to curl up into a ball on the sidewalk, the way little kids do in nightmares when a monster is chasing them. “I’m not in the mood to fight you.” I try to shake them off, but it’s as if the men are superglued to my sides.
“We know you aren’t up for a fight—the odds aren’t in your favor. But you’re still gonna take a beating!” The guy who came to the bar tonight as backup seems to be aching for a brawl.
“Chuckie, go help Mark take care of that bouncer. I don’t want him disturbing us.” The burly man who has been harassing me for the past few nights seems to have another idea. He leans closer. “We can forget all about this here little misunderstanding if you come hang out in my car for a while.”
He leers at me, actually licking his lips in anticipation of whatever he has in mind. And soon his slimy lips are pressed against my ear.
Through hot breath, I hear, “I came back here tonight, even though that dickhead cowboy warned me to stay the fuck away. See, I’m so into you I wanna get into you.” He laughs aloud at his own wordplay. “It won’t take long to get me off. You’ll be back behind the bar in five minutes.”
I’d rather avoid getting my ass kicked if at all possible, but I still can’t swallow my sarcasm. “As much fun as that sounds, I’m gonna have to decline.”
“You got a smart mouth, know that?”
This is not the first time I’ve been told I’m a smartass. “Yeah, I know.” What I also know is that I’m in big trouble when he grabs my throat and squeezes it between his fingers and thumb, choking off much of my air. He succeeds in immobilizing me. And I’m not at all surprised when he dives in for a kiss—a grinding, groaning blasphemy of a kiss. I can’t even suck in enough air to cough, when what I want is to vomit.
“Get the fuck off him.”
The brute barely lifts his mouth from mine at Bodie’s stern warning. “Mind your own damned business, cowboy.”
“Ain’t gonna ask you again.” And suddenly, air whooshes into my lungs. The stocky guy is almost magically in Bodie’s grasp, about a foot behind me.
“Chuckie! Mark! Where the hell are you guys?” He cries out for his accomplices, but they seem to be indisposed. Flailing and twisting, he struggles to free himself.
“Already put them two outta their misery, you could say.” Bodie’s voice is hushed. “Now it’s your turn.”
When I look at Bodie, he’s not the same chill cowboy I’ve become acquainted with—the man who seems to take the world in stride. He’s a vision of darkness, putting Nico’s more youthful gloom to shame. Bodie’s furious eyes, the circles beneath them, the color staining his cheeks, and even the long scratch beside his nose are deep red.
And it suddenly hits me: the stocky guy is a goner.
“Listen up—I don’t have no problem with you. It’s him I want to have a little chat with,” the goner says to Bodie. “Let me and the pretty bartender go, and I promise I won’t come back ’til he invites me.”
This asshole is actually convinced that five minutes in the back seat of his car is going to make me swoon and beg him back for more of the same. The way I did with Jack. Ugh.
“Nope” is all Bodie says. Plain and simple. And with the word, a measure of his darkness fades. “This is what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna kick your ass, and you’re never gonna show your ugly mug here again.”
I need to reason with him. “Look, Bodie, I’m none the worse for wear.” I rub my bruised lips. “Don’t waste your energy kicking his ass—just send him on his way.”
“Can’t do that, Ollie.” His lips turn down in the corners. “So, ah, you might wanna go back to the bar.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You really don’t need to see this,” he adds.
More head shaking on my part. I can’t leave Bodie. If the two brutes return, he’ll be outnumbered again.
Bodie shrugs and goes to work. It takes less than the amount of time the stocky drunk guy wanted to spend with me in the backseat of his car to g
et the job done. It’s a fierce, ruthless beating. Thorough and balanced—to the face, the gut, and a literal kicking of his ass.
“Get yourself gone, buddy. And don’t come back.” Bodie’s parting words.
Clutching his jaw, the guy slurs, “Last I checked, it was a free country.”
“Nope, you got that wrong. You ain’t welcome at Surf’s Up no more.” Bodie gestures at me with his elbow. “Gotta keep you far from him.”
“Dream on.” A mere mumble. Apparently, the man has no interest in fighting for the freedom to drink at Surf’s Up.
“And you’ll find your buddies out behind the bar. On the ground by the Dumpster.” Bodie is once again the cool cowboy who’s got everything under control, including himself. “I’ll thank you to pass on my message to them.” Bodie smiles.
The guy shakes his head and staggers down the street away from the bar, unconcerned with the welfare of his friends.
Bodie turns toward me. He lifts his bloody hands as if in an impulse to touch my arm or maybe my face, but he changes his mind and pulls back. “You okay, Ollie?”
“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”
“You gotta let me handle shit like this. It’s my job.”
“You were facing three guys. I didn’t like your odds.”
His gaze finds mine. It’s so warm and bright that I gasp. Every last drop of darkness has drained from his eyes. “My job is to look out for you. So you gotta swear you’ll steer clear of shit like…like what just went down.”
I shake my head. “I can’t promise that. Not if I think you’re in danger.”
Bodie stares at me. His eyes narrow, and the stare pierces me, a touch of darkness returning. But he shakes his head, and it again disappears. “Let’s get back inside the bar before they miss us.”
“I doubt that Jack’s sent a search party.”
Bodie snorts. “I suspect you’re right about that, though I just met the man.”
In silence, we head back to Surf’s Up.
It’s after two a.m. so there are just a few stragglers left, swilling the watery remnants of their drinks, along with five staff members. Jack has long since returned to his office or the employee lounge, where he often spends the night. Usually not alone, and I speak from personal experience. I tip Nico well, which reenergizes his effort to help with the bar clean-up. Bodie rights the chairs and helps Mika and Sam wipe down the tables.
I wonder if all’s well that ends well. It never has been before.
I accept a ride home from Bodie. After all, he saved my ass yet again and some small and needy part of me—a part I wish I could better ignore—wants to cling to his strength.
“You came outside tonight—just in time,” I murmur into his ear when he stops the bike in my driveway. “Otherwise, I may have found myself getting unhappily busy with that drunk in the backseat of his car.”
Bodie’s entire torso tightens beneath my hands. “That’s called rape, Oliver.”
I’m shocked by the bluntness of his words. “I’m sure it wouldn’t have come to that.”
Still frozen, Bodie replies with a question. “Did you get a look at his eyes?”
“What do you mean?”
“The man had I’m-gonna-take-what-I-want in his eyes.” He speaks with certainty, as if he’s seen that look before.
I sigh, wanting to change the tone of what is turning into a disturbing conversation. “Well, thank you for helping me.”
“Glad to be of service, sir.” His voice brightens, taking on a courtly, playful tone.
It’s devastatingly sexy; my fingers tingle on his sides. Before I do something I’ll regret, I slide off the side of the bike and start for the door.
“Got no clue how you come off to a man, do ya?” His voice is gruff.
I stare at the doorstep before me, unwilling to acknowledge that I failed in my attempt to keep things light. “I’m aware that I look skinny enough to push around.”
“Maybe so.”
I whip back to find him watching me. “You’re supposed to say I’m not that skinny.”
Bodie swings his leg over the bike. “Ollie, you’re not so much skinny as you’re…Well, I haven’t got the right words for what you are.” Instead of following me up the walkway to the front door, he leans back on his Harley and folds his arms across his chest. “But I got words for what you’re not.”
“You can describe what I’m not?” This is surreal. I’m tempted to pinch myself to ensure I’m not dreaming it all up.
Bodie nods, once and decisively. “You’re not rough. You’re not rude. You’re not a coward. You’re just not an everyday kind of person.”
“Hello! I’m a twenty-five-year-old gay bartender struggling to make mortgage payments and fantasizing about a cute yellow convertible. I’m not exactly an original.”
“I’ll say it one more time—you got no clue how you come off to a man who’s really looking.” His eyes are shadowed, but I’m certain he’s still watching me. Measuring my response.
I want to ask Bodie if he’s really looking, but I’m way too smart. First, he’s a coworker. I’ve been through a breakup at my workplace with Jack. It ended seven months ago, but it seems like yesterday, and I’m not interested in revisiting that hell. And second, Bodie’s my housemate. It would suck to feel uncomfortable in my very own home should the shit hit the fan with us. Plus, he’s probably not even gay.
I turn toward the cottage. “I need to let Hugo out now.”
“Cool. Maybe after that I could make us some popcorn. “
“You did promise to share your snacks,” I quip.
“You’ll find I’m a man of my word.”
I have no reason to doubt him. Not yet.
Chapter 5
“You run the beach every morning?”
We’re seated across from each other at my kitchen table, eating eggs and toast and drinking coffee. “Most days. Running the beach makes me feel peaceful.”
Bodie nods. “I joined the Rose Gym on the south side of the island.” He finishes off his last bite of toast and lifts the hem of his black T-shirt to wipe his mouth. “It makes me feel safe.”
Bodie and I haven’t become what you’d call confidantes. Both of us are far too wary of the world and everyone in it to allow that. But every once in a while, he lets something slip. And whether he knows it or not, he just gifted me with a grain of insight into who he is.
“Safe. An interesting choice of words.”
He clears his throat. “Maybe I should’ve said strong.”
“People think twice about messing with you, built as you are,” I venture.
“That’s the plan.”
“Well, then, safe was the right word.” I stand and make my habitual attempt to snatch up his breakfast dish, and, as usual, his palm comes down on my wrist.
“You got a short memory, Ollie. You cooked; I clean.”
“I’ll try to remember tomorrow morning.”
He grins. “Hey, you mind some company on your run?”
I don’t answer immediately. Hesitation is a defense mechanism I developed while growing up with a mother such as mine. I only have one chance at answering a pointed question and blurting out the wrong response locks me into a certain course of action. So I think about what Bodie asked me—whether I mind if he joins me on my run. My chance to free my mind and release the nervous energy I struggle to contain. I’m surprised by the conclusion at which I swiftly arrive.
“I’d enjoy your company, Bodie. That is, if you can keep up with me.” The last part is my lame attempt at a joke.
“If I can’t keep up, I’ll tag along behind with Hugo.” He gathers the dishes and carries them to the sink.
“The dishes can wait, if you want,” I say.
“Cool.” He turns on the faucet to soak the frying pan. “Give me a minute to put on my sneakers.”
It’s my turn to smile. “I’ve never seen you in anything but boots.”
“Can’t work out in boots.”
“
Okay. Five minutes—me and Hugo will meet you on the deck.”
“I’ll be there.”
I needn’t have worried about Bodie keeping up. He’s a born runner, which is surprising for a man of his size. Once again, my mind is drawn to the question of football positions. Would he be a running back? A tight end? The quarterback? I shrug as I chase him along the beach, where the waves meet the sand. The man is big and fast—that’s all I know.
We pace the beach for an hour, sprinting until we’re both dripping with sweat. When we finally stop, Bodie toes off his sneakers, yanks his T-shirt over his wide shoulders, and plunges into the water.
“Shit,” I murmur to Hugo, who is sizing Bodie up, right alongside me. The guy is built like a freaking gladiator. A broad sculpted chest tapers to a narrow waist. A just round enough ass, well displayed by soaking wet basketball shorts. Long, muscular legs. Light auburn fur in all the right places. A crown of russet curls. “My God…”
Hugo’s interest runs more to the “Bodie’s swimming without me” direction than my “what an amazing piece of eye candy” bend. He trots out to join him.
“Water’s frigid,” Bodie announces with an exaggerated shiver.
“It doesn’t seem to be stopping either one of you,” I call back. “But pardon me if I don’t join in.”
The sight of my two housemates frolicking in the Atlantic Ocean warms my heart in a way that it hurts to admit. My immediate instinct is to turn my back on them. To make my way up the sand to the street just to distance myself from a vision so bittersweet. But I don’t. I let the sight sink into my soul.
I’m a damned fool.
Chapter 6
Habits form with surprising speed and ease. Bodie has barely lived in my cottage for two weeks, and we’ve fallen into a comfortable daily routine.
After an early breakfast and a morning run on the beach with Hugo, we clean up the cottage or maybe go grocery shopping—all of which we do together in relative silence. Bodie showers and I bathe, and we prepare to go to work. At half past three, without any formal plan, we meet in my shell driveway beside Bodie’s Harley. Once he’s seated, I climb on the back of his bike and wrap my arms around his waist. As we ride, I close my eyes and savor the breeze in my hair as much as the sturdiness of the man before me.
