by Mia Kerick
And then we work at Surf’s Up—me behind the bar and Bodie at the door. Occasionally, over the course of the endless nights, we catch each other’s glances. Each time, the heat in his eyes thrills me, especially so when Bodie grins in his lopsided way. As if his smile is just for me.
I cringe when customers try to mess with him at the door. Try being the operative word, as Bodie knows how to douse the flames of their aggression with his unpretentious wit or, if necessary, physical intimidation. He rarely needs to follow through with his threats.
Each night when our shifts end, we find ourselves in the Surf’s Up parking lot on either side of his Harley. And when we finally arrive home after the short trip on the motorcycle—and once Hugo is walked and watered—we sit together on the living room couch to relax for a few minutes before turning in. Bodie shares his favorite simple snacks—popcorn, peanuts, potato chips—and I serve specialty cocktails or bottles of beer. Neither of us says much, but it’s not a problem. If a stranger passing by on the street were to glance into the living room through the cottage’s picture window, he’d smile at such a quaint scene.
Some days are slightly varied. Several times a week, Bodie spends the afternoon at the gym, building the glorious muscles that so enthrall me when he swims on the beach or dashes across the deck after his outdoor shower wearing nothing but a towel. And other days, I get lost in the kitchen, dreaming up cocktails that I’ll serve at the bar as a daily special. In truth, we’ve become roommates in the fullest sense. What most takes me by surprise is that sharing my life in these simple ways doesn’t feel like individuality surrendered. In other words, I haven’t lost my precious independence; I’ve gained a companion.
“Jack gave me the night off work,” Bodie says when we return from our morning run. He picks Hugo’s bowl off the floor and fills it with fresh tap water.
“That’s weird. Fridays are super busy.”
“He wants to talk to me about my job performance.”
My belly clenches. “Let me guess… He wants to take you somewhere quiet, where he’ll gaze at you by candlelight and you can hear every captivating word he utters. Be prepared—he’s gonna ply you with plenty of drinks.” I sound resentful, and it’s unfair. But I’m annoyed at Jack for making a move on Bodie, which he’s surely about to do. Then again, Bodie’s not my property and he’s a big boy with free will. He can associate with whomever he pleases. I try to pass him a water bottle as a peace offering, but he holds up a shaky hand to refuse it.
Bodie’s eyes narrow, his mouth tightens, and his forehead wrinkles. Worry is written plainly on his face. And it hits me that Bodie has no interest in being pursued by our boss.
“I’ve seen it before, that’s all.” I force my voice into a casual tone, despite the churning of my gut. When we broke up, I swore I’d never throw Jack under the bus—I’m not a bitter ex-lover. But I am a wise and aware one. And I need to explain myself. “Look, Bodie, it’s perfectly natural for him to take an interest in you. You’re…well, let’s just say you’re kind of hotness personified.”
“What the hell?” He doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he turns on the heel of his boot, strides to his bedroom, and slams the door. Entirely uncharacteristic behavior of the man I’ve come to know.
For a full minute, I stand in the middle of the kitchen in silence, except for the pounding of my heart that I’m certain even Bodie can hear in his bedroom. My first impulse is to feel embarrassed. Did I, or did I not, just inform my coworker that he is hotness in the human form? Next I feel guilty. Maybe Jack actually does want to review Bodie’s job performance in a quiet place. Like a cozy bar or an upscale restaurant where they can have privacy. But when Jack made his move on me, he did so under the guise of reviewing my job performance in a quaint whiskey bar across the bridge. And after my breakup with Jack, three other staff members—the guy who runs the grill and fryolator, I hesitate to call him a cook, and two former waiters—informed me that they had their job performances reviewed in dimly lit, romantic places too. Meetings at the end of which Jack proceeded to proposition them.
My final impulse is to wonder why Bodie looked so distraught at my revelation that Jack wants him as more than a doorman. Panic-stricken, even. Probably, it’s because Bodie isn’t gay. It simply surprises me that his reaction to learning he’s the subject of a gay man’s interest is so profoundly negative. After all, he knows I’m gay—I told him as much. And it hasn’t seemed to be a problem in our relationship.
I place my bottle on the kitchen table and watch Hugo lap up his water. “I may as well go find out what’s up with Bodie, huh, boy?”
I walk to his bedroom door and knock lightly. And then I wait—as it turns out, for nothing. Bodie has either fallen asleep or is ignoring my attempt to discuss this. So I knock again, with slightly more force, and still receive no response.
“Okay, then. Fuck it,” I grumble to Hugo, who has followed me down the hall. “I suppose this is my cue to sleep the afternoon away. Care to join me?”
Hugo smiles and trails behind me as I stomp to my bedroom.
It’s been almost two weeks since I hid in my room, but today seems perfect for an extended nap.
We hang handwritten signs all over the bar—sharpie on cardboard with a generous supply of duct tape to stick them to walls and doors—stating that the bar is not serving food tonight. The fryolator guy is helping Mika at the bar and I’m the lucky fool who gets to work the door.
It’s a drawn out and, for me, miserable night. At midnight, Sam approaches the door, eyes red and face blotchy. “My mom called to tell me that LeeLee’s got a fever. Gotta take off.”
I place my hands on his shoulders. “Of course. Go home and make sure she’s okay.”
“I’m super sorry to leave you like this, but Kimmie and Jared swear they can handle the customers without me.”
“Don’t worry about us. Go look after your daughter and let me know tomorrow how she’s doing.”
“Th-thanks, Top Dog. I’m outta here.” He looks so young as he bolts down the street. Having a child is a huge responsibility, and especially so for a single parent.
The bar is as busy as it has been all season and I sorely miss having Bodie at the door, keeping the place under control. I’ve also been suffering with anxiety—and not just because I’m trying to hold down a short-staffed fort. I guess I also have a pretty serious soft spot for Bodie, and seeing him upset or angry, or whatever he was this afternoon, shook me.
I’m only semisurprised to see Jack saunter up to the door, wearing his usual cocky smile. “Why are you on the door, Tunstead?”
“Because you gave the doorman the night off.” As if he doesn’t know. “Remember?”
“Ah, yes. Sexy Bodie.” Jack shakes his head and leans in close. “Are you fucking him?”
“Christ, Jack.”
“Well?”
Disgusted, I push him into the doorframe. “I’m not. But if I were, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.”
“Well, I’m not getting anywhere with him.” Jack shrugs. “Maybe the boy’s just shy.”
“Maybe the boy’s not gay.” Or maybe he has higher standards than I did.
“Nah, that’s not it. All Bodie said when I told him I was into him was that he doesn’t fuck around—with anybody. I figure I can wear him down.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” I don’t expect a reply.
But I get one. “You never seemed to mind. Not until you found me on the couch with…um, whoever it was. I honestly forget.”
I remember. “It was Matthew Shields from the Clip Joint downtown.”
“Well, it didn’t mean anything.”
“It meant something to me,” I retort. “Just do us all a favor and don’t chase off our doorman. We need him.”
And I’d miss him if he left.
Bodie’s waiting in the parking lot when I get off work. I’m honestly surprised. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Figured you’d need a
ride home. Get on.”
I’m not particularly fond of taking orders, but I know Bodie well enough to realize he’s a man of few words. He keeps it simple, which sometimes means sounding gruff.
“Thanks.” I hop on the Harley. I don’t wrap my arms around his waist. Maybe it’s instinct that tells me to give Bodie some space—or at least as much space as I can as a passenger on his motorcycle. I place my hands lightly on his sides as we ride.
He pulls into the driveway but speaks before I have a chance to climb off. “Wanna take Hugo for a late-night walk on the beach?”
This is out of our usual routine, so I’m sure he has a reason for this request. “Sounds great. I’ll go get Hugo and meet you on the deck.”
All I receive in response is a quick nod. But it was truly all I was expecting.
I let myself into the cottage and literally run to my bedroom to change my shirt. Not in the mood to wear a sweaty Surf’s Up polo, I throw on a clean, white T-shirt from my laundry basket. Then I hook Hugo—who is rather confused at this change in regimen—on to his leash. “I know, buddy. We’re out of the habit of taking moonlit strolls. But I’ve got a feeling that Bodie needs us right now.”
I rush out the kitchen door to find Bodie. He’s sitting on the steps, the way I often find him when I wake up late and he’s killing time until breakfast. And he’s staring at the sky as if he’ll find the answers there. Fiddling with the Stetson on his lap.
“Plenty of stars tonight,” he says. His voice is tight. Controlled. He’s trying to make this unusual event feel normal. Which indicates very clearly that something isn’t normal at all.
“Yeah. It’s gorgeous out.” I hand Bodie the leash, thinking it will give him something to do with his hands. “Let me stick your hat on the picnic table.”
After relieving him of his hat, we start across the front yard and then the street. The beach is beautiful, in a mystical way. The crescent moon is bright and, with the help of the stars, illuminates the waves. Spots of seaweed mar the pristine shoreline. And the evening light brings out shades of ginger in Bodie’s hair that I haven’t noticed since the morning he showed up on my doorstep.
Hugo yanks at his leash, desperate to investigate the edge of the ocean. Probably to search for a stick that’s been washed ashore. “Can I let him run free?” Bodie asks.
“Sure. He never goes far.”
Bodie reaches down to release Hugo. We watch as he waddles into the waves. “You cool to sit down for a minute?”
I don’t answer in words but fall to my knees and then shift to my ass. Bodie drops to the sand close beside me. I steal a glance to find him studying the horizon, where the ocean meets the bright, yet somehow still dark, nighttime sky. “You had your, uh, job review? With Jack?”
Instead of his usual nod, he smirks. “If you could call it that.”
“Is he pleased with your, uh…performance?”
Bodie turns to face me. The usual heat is missing from his eyes. His blank gaze tells me he’s lost. And that he needs my help. But he doesn’t reply with anything other than a shrug.
“He wants to date you. Am I right?”
“Date me?” Bodie replies. “I’d say he wants something else.”
I nod. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“In theory.”
“I mean, just tell him you’re not gay. That pretty much closes the door to what Jack’s interested in.”
“But I am gay.”
I hate myself for gasping, but I do because this complicates things. For Bodie, with regard to Jack. And for me, because I’m starting to feel things for him I shouldn’t. “Uh…did you tell Jack that you’re gay?”
“He asked. I answered.” Direct, as always.
“You don’t owe him your private information.”
Again, he shrugs. “I don’t hide who I am.”
“Well, maybe you should have.” Jack won’t leave him alone now. He’ll interpret Bodie’s lack of interest as some kind of warped challenge.
And then Bodie does the strangest, most unexpected thing. He reaches out, hesitates with his arm midair, and takes my hand. He’s shaking. “I need this job, Ollie.”
“Fucking Jack Wheeler,” I mutter. “He’s such an asshole to put you in this position.”
“And I like living at the cottage. I know it can’t be forever, the way me and you and Hugo are together. But right now, it feels like home.” The usually unaffected cowboy gulps loud enough for me to hear the sound over the waves. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“Then I’ll talk to him.” God knows if it’ll get me anywhere, but pressuring Bodie for sex is wrong. And as his employer, it’s illegal. I have no problem telling Jack this, although it could put my job at risk too.
“I fight my own battles.” His words are clipped.
“I believe you. But please, let me try to help.”
He ignores my plea. “You used to be Jack’s, huh?” Bodie’s eyes narrow.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yep.” He nods. “Do you still want to be his?”
“Not if he was the last man on earth.” I’m surprised at how certain I am about this.
Bodie’s half grin appears and his eyes pop wide. “Good.”
“Why’s that good?”
“Got my reasons.” He continues to smile.
“Care to share them with your housemate?” I squeeze his hand, flirting. I’m scared of his reply as much as I’m desperate for it.
“Here’s my answer.” Bodie yanks his hand from my grasp and places it gently on the side of my face. And he leans in for a kiss. Soft, but not tentative. Just a brush of his lips to mine and, when he pulls back, it’s only by a few inches. I feel his breath on my lips, so sweet and light. Patient too. As if considering whether we fit together.
I nod and he moves even closer. More unified breathing, and the most emotional intimacy I’ve shared with another man—and we’re fully dressed on a beach, not naked in bed. I press my lips to his, but he shies away.
“Let me do it,” he whispers against my parted lips, and I understand that this kiss is his ballgame, not mine.
Another feathery kiss to my lips and then another. Fingertips brush my cheek, the side of my neck, my chest on top of my thin T-shirt, drawing out goosebumps up and down my arms and along my spine.
I struggle to control my breathing, as a realization hits me: This weathered cowboy isn’t tough and cool, through and through. Bodie’s just a man, like me. With his share of hopes and fears and needs. A man who requires protection, as much as he is a protector.
When he finally draws all the way back, his gaze is troubled. Searching my eyes for something he clearly doubts I can give.
“Let me talk to Jack,” I repeat. It’s all I can offer.
“Uh-uh. I look after myself, Ollie.”
“I get where you’re coming from, but I—”
Hugo is on top of Bodie before I can finish. And when Bodie flops backward onto the sand and laughter rumbles in his chest, it’s enough for now.
Chapter 7
I cannot fathom what it is I ever saw in Jack Wheeler except a pretty face. The way he leers at Bodie repulses me, but since Bodie didn’t give me permission to discuss the situation with Jack, all I can do is watch.
At the start of our Saturday shifts, the staff meets briefly at the bar to discuss the evening game plan since it is the most crowded night of the week at Surf’s Up.
“The special tonight is a Moscow Mule,” I announce to the small crowd of servers and Bodie who lingers by my side. Jack half listens from his usual stool at the end of the bar.
“Like, exactly what’s in it?” Mika asks. “The customers are gonna ask me for details.”
“Tito’s, lime juice, and my homemade ginger beer. Secret recipe, so don’t press me.” I wink. “It’s garnished with mint and a lemon wedge.”
“Sounds good, Top Dog,” Sam says. “Wish I could stick around after closing to sample one, bu
t I gotta get home to LeeLee.”
“Is she feeling better?” I wish I’d pulled Sam aside to ask him earlier. But I’d been distracted by Jack’s drooling and ogling, and Bodie’s obvious discomfort with it.
“Yeah, much better. My mom says she was just coming down with a cold, but her fever freaked me out.”
“Kids get colds all the time,” Jack adds. “They’re little germ factories, if you ask me.”
No one asked, but I don’t point this out. “Okay, Mika, you’re on the bar with me. Sam, you’ve got section A, Wendell, you’re on B. Kimmie and Jared, you guys can share the tables by the dancefloor and the jukebox.”
“I want to get ten bucks for a Moscow Mule,” Jack says.
“Ten bucks? It’s a damn drink special!” Jared protests.
“We won’t sell any at that price, Jack,” I point out.
“If you like your jobs; you’ll do as I say.” Jack doesn’t stare down the waiters or me as he makes this declaration. His gaze falls directly on Bodie, who turns and heads to the door.
“Six bucks is the most we can charge if we want to sell any,” I insist.
“Calm down, Oliver—charge whatever the fuck you want. I really don’t give a shit.” He trails after Bodie.
I suspect he really doesn’t much care about the price of a Moscow Mule. Jack’s plan was simply to demonstrate how powerful he is—the mighty king of Surf’s Up. And this message was exclusively for Bodie’s benefit.
“Okay, everybody, the Moscow Mule is six bucks. Let’s get to work.”
I try to concentrate on mixing drinks and interacting with customers, but my attention is continually drawn to the door where Jack hasn’t left Bodie’s side for so much as a minute. Although Bodie’s been doing his job, he’s probably worn a rut in the floor in front of the door with all of his pacing.
