by Mia Kerick
“I think Jack’s got his eye on the hot cowboy,” Mika says, filling a bucket of beer.
“Yup,” I grunt in agreement.
“Can’t say I blame him. The dude is a dream.” She takes a step toward a group of businessmen hanging out at the end of the bar but pauses. “And I mean literally. Bodie the doorman starred in my dreams last night.”
“He’s gay.” This may not have been told to me in strict confidence, but it isn’t my information to share. Nonetheless, it just pops out of my mouth.
Am I laying claim to the gruff man who kissed me so sweetly last night?
She sighs. “I’m not surprised. All the best-looking ones are. At least around here.” I choose to take this as a compliment.
“I shouldn’t have opened my mouth about Bodie’s sexuality—it wasn’t my place,” I admit. “But, take Nico…I doubt he’s gay. At least, I don’t think he is, based on the way he gawks at the ladies.”
“Nico, hmm?”
“Yeah, Nico.”
Just then the man of the minute brushes by me to pour ice over our selection of beers in the ice chest. “You rang?” he asks.
“Just saying, we’re short on Coronas, Nico,” I cover.
“Gotcha.” He glances at Mika. “How you doin’?”
“Just fine…now.” She saunters off with a bucket of Buds in hand.
“She likes me, don’t she?” Nico asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Heya, Mika.”
“Don’t forget the Coronas,” I call with a chuckle.
By one a.m., the bar is clearing out. Bodie, with Jack still plastered to his side, is now supervising the restrooms. They’re typically in heavy demand at this time of night. Nico is making an obvious play for Mika and she seems into it. Sam is chomping at the bit to get home to his little girl.
The rest of the servers and Larry, the fry guy, are all cleaning their stations. Why do I know all this? I’m not the manager of Surf’s Up, as we don’t have one. Jack calls himself the owner/manager, but all he does is cause problems—on his best day. So I have taken on the responsibility of making sure everything gets done. Even though I was hired and am paid as a mere bartender.
There’s a scuffle in the hallway by the restroom, in the exact spot where I first met Bodie. When I thought he was just an incredibly attractive patron who was willing to lend me a helping hand. I expect it to be more of the same rowdy behavior of drunken customers. But that isn’t what I see. Bodie has Jack against the wall, his forearm pressed to his boss’s chest.
“You keep your hands off my ass, Wheeler!” he bellows right into Jack’s face.
“We’re not doing this here—get your ass in my office!” Jack yells back, his teeth bared. He throws off Bodie’s grasp and storms to his office. Every last customer and staffer gawks. Nobody pushes around the king of Surf’s Up and is allowed to return to his kingdom. So my concern is solely for Bodie, who’s been here less than a month but has managed to respectfully, but authoritatively, control the crowd. Jack the playboy can eat shit and die for all I care, and I have good reason to believe that most of the other people looking on feel much the same way.
“Mika, handle the bar. I’m gonna check on Bodie.”
“Good thinking,” Mika says. “He looks like he needs someone to check on him.”
Bodie is standing in the same spot, gawking at the wall he just pushed Jack into.
“Hey, dude. How about you call it quits for the night?” I so badly want to place my hand on his shoulder to let him know he’s not alone, but I hold back. Bodie has made it clear that he doesn’t like to be touched. “Go on—get out of here.”
He shakes his head. “It’s cool. I can finish the night.”
I glance toward the door to Jack’s office. “You sure you want to stay?”
He gives me a single nod.
“Jack was out of line, Bodie. You shouldn’t have to deal with his shit.”
“I need this job. I’ll work it out with Jack.”
I do what I promised myself I wouldn’t; I grasp the back of his neck. At first, Bodie lurches forward, but once he accepts that he’s allowing this physical interaction, his muscles loosen. “Fuck the rent. You can stay at my place as long as you need to, and you don’t have to pay a dime. Quit your job at Surf’s Up. In no time, you’ll find another job on the island.”
Bodie shakes his head. “It’s cool of you to offer. But that’s not gonna work.”
Is he going to leave? Or worse, will he give Jack what he wants to keep his job?
“Let me talk to Jack for you,” I plead.
“I fight my own battles, Ollie.” He wraps his arms around his chest. “But I do better with battles I can fight with my fists.”
I draw him into the men’s bathroom because we’re turning into the night’s second spectacle. “What are you gonna do?”
“Tell him no.”
“All right. But I don’t get why it’s so hard for you to tell him to get his jollies somewhere else.”
My remark takes Bodie by surprise. He backs away from me like I burned him. And his gaze drops to the gritty floor tiles. “There’s shit you don’t know ’bout me. Shit that keeps me in line. And shit that keeps me running.” He sucks in a deep breath and blows it out carefully. “The thing is, I don’t wanna run this time. Not yet.”
This is the most content Bodie has ever provided about himself and his life. In his defense, neither of us are sharing types. Our sporadic conversations lean toward the weather, what’s for lunch, work schedules, and Hugo.
“I think—no, I’m sure you know what the right thing is to do. And you’ll do it.” I desperately needed—and never received from my mother—a show of confidence in my ability to decide for myself. Bodie needs a show of confidence now.
His gaze returns to mine. In the fluorescent light, it’s pale, almost golden. “Yeah. You got that right.” He takes a step toward the door but stops before leaving. “I’ll see you later on at my bike.”
“Of course.”
I follow him from the bathroom and watch as he marches straight to Jack’s office, entering without knocking. And he doesn’t slam the door.
It’s almost 2:30 a.m., and I’ll admit to being worried. His bike is here, but he isn’t.
If I go back into Surf’s Up to check on him, I’d be sending a message that I have little confidence in his ability to set Jack straight—the opposite of what he needs. And from everything I’ve seen, Bodie is strong and smart and courageous. He can take care of himself better than anyone I know.
I’m wiped out from the busy night, but I’m too wired to feel anywhere close to sleepy. I pace back and forth by the bike, trying to pass time. All I can do is wonder why a man so capable—who can stop the worst kind of trouble in a bar full of rowdy drunks with a mere snarl—is so disconcerted by the lecherous desires of Jack Wheeler.
“Ollie, you waited for me.”
“I told you I would,” I reply before I turn around to look at his face. And when I do, I’m presented with a man wearing a mask. Not literally, but Bodie’s face may as well be made of polished white glass. Hard and cold and formal. “What happened with Jack?”
Bodie brushes past me and climbs on his bike. “I still got my job. That’s about it.” Spoken like the final word on the subject.
I wonder about the cost to keeping his job, but don’t question him any further.
“Get on and I’ll take you home.”
I slide my leg over the bike and scoot backward as much as possible. And I cling to the seat back behind me instead of Bodie’s sides.
He starts the bike. “You better hang on.”
With his permission, I reach my arms around him. The muscles on his sides are sharply defined, and I trace them with my fingers because I can’t not. I even press the side of my face against his strong back. He doesn’t shrink away from me.
On the short ride home, I revel in the trust it takes for Bodie to allow me to be so close to him. I barely know the man, yet I someho
w sense his struggle to believe he’s safe with me. And honestly, all I want is to help him. To pave a smooth path for him.
Why do I feel this way?
Bodie is hardly more than a stranger, but in him I detect a kindred spirit. With a simplicity of needs. A pureness of intention. And a shared pain, although likely from vastly different sources.
Christ knows I don’t need the complications that come with falling in love. They can only lead to heartache; my history proves as much. I’ve had few close relationships in my life—with my parents, with one boy in high school, and another at the mixology school. And then the disastrous affair with Jack. Each of these relationships has left me broken and aching. But the strength in the lines of Bodie’s back, the warmth of his skin beneath the cotton T-shirt, the charm of his one-sided smile, the heat in his gaze—I’m helpless in the face of these things.
I’m going to stay by his side. As long as he lets me.
Bodie parks the bike and I slide off before his muscles have a chance to stiffen, thus rejecting me more effectively than words could. I wait for him beside the bike as he grabs his hat from the saddlebag.
“I’ll let Hugo out, Ollie. You go change and get yourself a beer.”
“Thanks. I’ll grab you a beer. Meet you on the couch,” I reply.
“I’m not up for beer and snacks tonight. You go on ahead, though.”
His words hurt more than when that drunk stocky guy backhanded me across the face. They sting so much that wetness blurs my vision; thank God it’s dark. “Uh…okay. I guess I’ll skip it tonight too.” He unlocks the door and steps aside so I can enter the cottage before him. “Are you…” I think better of asking if he’s planning to leave the island. But I dread the idea of waking up in the morning to an empty house. Just the way I thought I wanted it. “Never mind, Bodie. I’m gonna go to bed. See you tomorrow.”
Bodie’s response is to shrug and then turn his back and head to the kitchen to find Hugo.
Chapter 8
I can’t sleep because I’m too busy listening for sounds of Bodie leaving. Packing his bags, creeping into the bathroom to get his toiletries, the slam of the front door, the rumble of the Harley as he rides away. But I don’t hear any of these sounds. Bodie is as quiet as ever.
Until the single knock on my bedroom door.
“C-come on in.” I struggle to find my voice.
Bodie stands in the doorway. How can a man be so utterly breathtaking clad only in well-worn gray sweatpants, pushed sloppily up to the knees?
He breaks the silence. “I ain’t here looking to get laid.”
“Um…o-okay.”
“Just want to be with you.”
I slide to the side of my bed and pat the place beside me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Don’t much want to talk tonight. That cool?”
“Yes. It’s fine.”
He walks very slowly to my bed and stares down at me as if mesmerized. Or terrified. He’s still wearing the figurative mask. It covers his entire face, eliminating all expression. But I can see his eyes, even in the darkness of my bedroom. And in them, there’s as much fear as heat.
Bodie hovers over me for almost a full minute, as if gathering courage, before sitting on the edge of the bed and then sliding in beside me. He stretches out on his back and doesn’t move for the longest time. I want to pull him against me, but I don’t. I wait.
Excruciatingly slowly, Bodie rolls onto his side. I do the same so we’re facing each other. I wish he’d grab me by the shoulders and drag me against his massive frame, but he reaches out gingerly with one hand and places it on my cheek, much as he did last night, and bridges the gap between us with a kiss.
And I receive a soft, almost experimental kiss. Then another. Tonight, though, it feels different, because we’re half naked in my bed. My breathing swiftly grows ragged. Bodie makes a faint groaning sound. His kisses become more insistent until his mouth moves on mine frantically, like a starving man at a breakfast buffet.
“Do you want more?” I ask, breathless. And hesitant to break the spell.
“More?”
“Can I touch you?” I slide my hand beneath the sheets and lightly caress bulge beneath the tie of his sweatpants. “Can I touch you here?”
“I’m way out of practice, Ollie.”
“This isn’t something that requires practice.” I slip my hand into the front of his sweats. His dick is hard and ready.
“Oh, man…” I don’t think I’ve ever heard words spoken with such need.
He reaches clumsily for the front of my boxers as if to return the gesture, but I push his hand away. “Let me make you feel good.”
Bodie shudders but closes his eyes. I begin to move my hand, slowly at first, and faster when he rolls onto his back, spreads his legs, and places one hand lightly upon mine. The sounds he makes—almost too sweet to come from a man so rugged—are better than the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. Better than the whoosh of waves rolling on the beach.
As I stroke him, I fit my lips to his. He lifts his chin to offer me better access and I taste him thoroughly. He lets me. And based on his enthusiasm, I surmise that he likes it.
Soon he’s bucking into my hand, which is now covered firmly with his own, and I stop kissing him just in time to pull up and watch his face as he comes. His eyelashes flutter and his mouth falls open. And the sigh when he’s finishing—drawn out with blissful relief—erupts from the deepest part of him.
“That…was…so good.” Uttered in a trembling, but strangely surprised, tone.
“I hope so.” I smile. I can’t help it—Bodie’s pleasure makes me happy.
“It’s your turn now.”
“Doing that to you, Bodie, felt better than anything I can imagine.”
“I want to return the favor.” He pulls himself up on one elbow to study me. “But I gotta tell ya, I haven’t been in bed with anybody for a hell of a long time.”
“Well, I don’t need any favors.” I’m not sure that word should describe any aspect of making love.
“Okay, I get that. I’m just trying to tell you I’m not good at this stuff.”
“It’s like riding a bike. It comes right back to you.”
“Even if you only ever sorta rode one bike?”
“Are you telling me you’ve only been with one man?” I figured guys like Bodie—six and a half feet tall, athletically built, with a face stunning enough to sell high end skin products in men’s magazine—took advantage of their good looks and got busy with as many partners as they could find.
“Just one man. A long time ago.” The way he says it, his tone hollow and aching, makes me shiver. Not in the good way. There’s much more to it than him being an inexperienced lover.
“How long ago?”
“Thought we weren’t gonna talk tonight.” His hand slides beneath my shorts and wraps around my dick. I fight to keep my presence of mind, sensing the importance of what he just alluded to.
“Bodie, how long ago were you with that man?”
He sighs but doesn’t yank his hand away. “Aahhh…guess it was almost…like, a couple of…”
A couple of years? Months? Weeks? I place my hand on his to still its fledgling movement. “Just tell me.”
“It happened about, say, a couple of decades ago.”
Decades?
“You’re twenty-eight, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re talking about…You were with a man when you were eight years old?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice. I push at his hand, but he doesn’t move it.
“More like ten years old. And I never wanted what we did.”
“Of course not. You were a kid—he was a fucking adult! You couldn’t have given your consent to anything sexual had you thought you wanted to.” I’m the picture of freaked-out.
“Alls I can say is, I haven’t wanted anybody enough to do anything about it. Until you.”
I sit up. “Bodie, we don’t
have to do this.”
At that, he pulls his hand away. “Fuck that, Oliver!”
Bodie rarely calls me by my given name. I don’t think I care much for it at the moment.
“I’m a man, not a boy. I know what I want. With you. In this bed. Right now.”
“Uh…okay, then.” I slide back down into the sheets. Still conflicted, I whisper, “Kiss me, Bodie.”
Bodie seems to know exactly what he wants. He doesn’t hesitate, overwhelming me with the most ardent kiss I’ve ever received. A few seconds later he yanks down my shorts—not gently, but urgently. When they’re pooled around one ankle, Bodie climbs halfway on top of me and morphs into a rather clumsy creature of passion. He’s somewhat overzealous, but I don’t mind. Bodie grasps my dick like it’s a fucking lifeline. Or like he’s trying to prove something… To himself? To me? But it doesn’t take long until I let go in his hand, his wide-open mouth sealed over mine. And when I come, Bodie moans louder than I do.
“Shit, Ollie.”
“Yeah…” I pant, unsure of who’s more out of breath.
“It was perfect, huh?”
I’ve actually never been asked this question so soon after completion. “It really was.”
“Can I stay in your bed tonight?”
I don’t force myself to do the hesitate-before-I-answer thing I long ago mastered. “Just you try to get away.”
He laughs, which sounds almost as good as his sensual moaning of a minute earlier.
We don’t wrap ourselves up in each other. We just flop on our backs, shoulders pressed together, and fall into dreamless sleep.
I wake up gently. Fully aware that I’m not alone, and strangely comfortable with it. I turn my head to the side to check on my companion. Although his eyes are wide open, I’m relieved to see that he looks as content as I feel.
“Um, morning, Bodie.” Not the smoothest greeting, but I’m fairly certain he’s not judging me.
