HEAT STROKE
A Beach Kingdom Novel
by Tessa Bailey
Copyright © 2019 Tessa Bailey
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Mouth to Mouth
CHAPTER ONE
God save him from confused straight guys.
Jamie Prince used the book he was reading to block Marcus “Diesel” O’Shaughnessy from view. Not an easy feat, considering Marcus was six foot five in a slouch and looked like he should be holding a championship wrestling belt over his head. It was Saturday morning, their lifeguard meeting was in full swing and the idiot wouldn’t stop making faces at Jamie across the locker room.
Marcus had been a fixture at the beach for the last three summers and the meathead never failed to get under Jamie’s skin, but life had been so much easier when their relationship was purely based on shit talking. It was one of his favorite pastimes and his above average IQ guaranteed that he basically slayed in a battle of words. Unfortunately, Marcus showed up each summer progressively confused about what exactly made his dick hard.
Jamie recognized the signs.
He’d been down this road before and fallen off the eventual cliff.
Sign number one. On Memorial Day weekend, also known as the day the Long Beach lifeguards begin manning their chairs, Marcus had walked into the locker room with a naked woman tattooed on his forearm. Hello, overcompensation, you’re looking well.
Sign number two. He wouldn’t leave Jamie the fuck alone.
Everywhere Jamie went, so went Marcus.
Which took a lot of effort, considering Jamie remained on the move almost every hour of the day in the summertime. During the rest of the year, he taught economics at one of the top college prep schools in the five boroughs. But the summer months were reserved for the family businesses. Beach and bar. He could almost always be found at one or the other, Marcus hovering somewhere in his periphery.
The nights Jamie bartended at the Castle Gate? Marcus played bouncer, checking IDs and escorting troublemakers out to the boardwalk by the scruff of their necks.
When Jamie’s older brother, Andrew, made the lifeguarding schedule and assigned their chair numbers? Marcus always requested the chair next to Jamie’s.
Those two signs were enough to know Marcus was peeking out of the closet and seeing a whole new, scary world. Jamie was not going to play his tour guide.
Unfortunately—and this was a massive drawback—Jamie kind of…maybe…didn’t mind the idiot so much. God, how ridiculous.
With an inward groan of pure self-disgust, Jamie buried his face in A Brief History of Time for a moment and gathered his resolve, Andrew’s voice going in one ear and out the other, summarizing a rescue on the beach yesterday and explaining what could be improved on for next time. Only when Jamie remembered why he didn’t make friends with confused straight guys on the verge of self-discovery did he lower the book—
Marcus crossed his eyes at Jamie.
Jamie fought a reluctant smile.
He wiped it clean when he caught Andrew watching him.
“All right, everyone,” said Jamie’s older brother, slapping his clipboard against his thigh. “It’s July Fourth weekend in Long Beach, so it’s safe to assume everyone on the beach is tanked. You know the deal. Pretend you don’t see the odd beer, but report the hard liquor. Radio in with any fireworks activity and we’ll hand it over to law enforcement.” He waved everyone forward. “Come get your chair assignments.”
Jamie sighed and approached his brother, Marcus converging at the same time, rifling a hand through his mess of dark blond hair and causing his CrossFit-honed bicep to pop. He was obviously preparing to make today’s case for being seated in the chair closest to Jamie.
Oh no. Not today. This whole weird friendship he was developing with Marcus needed to be nipped in the bud STAT. Jamie had almost smiled at him a second ago.
“Put me next to Rory,” Jamie said, widening his eyes at Andrew. “Someone needs to make sure he’s alert and not daydreaming about Olive all day.”
As if summoned by the mere mention of his girlfriend, Rory sauntered over to join them with a faraway look in his eye. “Speaking of Olive, she did the cutest thing when I was driving her to school yesterday—”
“See what I mean?” Jamie tapped his finger on Andrew’s beloved clipboard. “Lives are at stake. I better stick close to him.”
“Jamie,” Marcus cajoled. “Jamiiiie. Admit you want to be near me.”
Jamie dug his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. “If I’m not back after my shift, it’s because I’ve drowned myself. Remember me fondly. Carry on the Prince name without me.”
Marcus stepped back and gestured to his physique. “You’re really going to pass up all this eye candy?”
What am I even supposed to say to that?
If anyone else said something like that to Jamie, he would cut them off at the knees. Or, more likely, Rory would deck him. However, Marcus was the one person on the literal planet that could make the asshole assumption that Jamie had the incessant need to ogle anything with a penis simply because he was gay—and not get punched in the throat. One look at his earnest smile and it was impossible to hold anything he said against him. God, it was annoying.
Sometimes it was easier just to lean into it.
Jamie sighed long and hard. “Actually, Marcus you make a good point.”
“I do?”
“Yes.” Jamie nodded at Andrew’s clipboard. “You have to put me as far as possible from Marcus or I’m going to be distracted all day. How can anyone do their job effectively with all that muscle drawing their eyes like a…a beacon of manliness? It’s too much.”
Slowly, Marcus crossed his arms, looking suspicious. “Wait a minute…”
Andrew feigned being conflicted, a favor for which Jamie would definitely be paying for at a later date. “We can’t have that. Jamie, take chair one. Marcus, you’re on twelve.”
All right, so Jamie’s mental fist pump wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as it should be, especially when Marcus’s linebacker shoulders deflated. He needed to distance himself, though. They still had two months left of the summer ahead and Jamie was beginning to grow way too accustomed to having Marcus around. Hearing his ridiculous…fine, kind of refreshing…take on everything. And he couldn’t get used to that. Marcus wouldn’t acknowledge why he wanted to be around Jamie and probably never would.
Jamie might only be twenty-six years old, but he didn’t wait around for miracles to happen anymore.
“Wait. Before you go…” Marcus said, holding up a finger as he returned to his locker and took out a plastic cup of green juice. Holding the cup to his chest, Marcus waited for
the rest of the lifeguards to leave before he approached Jamie again. “I made you this.”
“What is it?”
Marcus tapped the lid with his finger. “Juice.”
“I can see that. What kind?”
“Lots of greens for energy. Lemon, kale, parsley, ginger, spinach.” He pushed it higher toward Jamie’s mouth. “You have to work two jobs today.”
Jamie ignored the ridiculous flip flop in his stomach and took a sip, expecting it to taste terrible. Somehow it didn’t. “That’s…really good. Thanks.”
An exhale left Marcus in a rush, like he’d been nervous about Jamie’s verdict. This was when Jamie should have broken eye contact with the big muscle head and turned to leave the lifeguard hut. Instead, he found himself hesitating because Marcus was back to frowning.
“You sure you don’t want to sit closer today?” Marcus asked.
With a muttered prayer for the return of his sanity, Jamie shoved one of Marcus’s shoulders. Don’t dwell on how solidly he’s built. Or how Marcus’s eyes followed the action, as if entranced by Jamie touching him voluntarily.
“Relax, Diesel. We’re both working tonight.” He ignored Rory and Andrew’s rapt attention. “I’ll see you then.”
Marcus’s too-masculine face split with a grin. “Okay, Jamie.”
*
Marcus flipped the walkie-talkie end over end in his hand, humming the jingle from a car insurance commercial that had been stuck in his head for a week. This direction of the beach was mostly retirees and they never ventured deep enough into the ocean to cause any excitement, although the senior in the purple bonnet and matching bathing suit was playing Frank Sinatra a little loud on her portable radio.
He blew out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. After making sure no one was watching, he made his pecs take turns flexing—right, left, right, left—but even that didn’t lift his mood. Or distract him from the person who seemed to remain front and center in his thoughts lately.
Jamie Prince.
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Jamie Prince?
That was a mystery he was determined to solve and it required spending a lot of time with Jamie. How else was he going to figure out why Jamie popped into his head at the weirdest times? Like when he was soaping himself up in the shower.
Marcus cleared his throat hard and shot a glance at the closest lifeguard chair, as if the girl occupying it might hear his thoughts. He could not have that. This whole thing with Jamie was probably just a couple of wires crossed in his brain. Not an unusual occurrence for Marcus “Diesel” O’Shaughnessy, he’d tell you that much. He was famous among his family for missing flights, not because he’d overslept, but because twice he’d mistaken the flight number for the time of departure.
It got worse.
When he was enrolled in the Nassau Community College, he’d spent the whole first semester of his freshman year in the wrong classes. Why? Because he’d been following the sample schedule from the school website, instead of the one he’d gotten in the mail. He’d found it roughly six months later under a stack of Men’s Health magazines and promptly dropped out so he’d never have to explain what actually happened to anyone’s face.
Without college as an option, he’d spent the last half a decade training at the local CrossFit gym. But ever since getting his lifeguard certification and taking summers off from training to work the beach, he counted the days until summer rolled around. Every year, it got a little harder to wait for June when he’d walk into the locker room and see Jamie.
Marcus tapped his fingers on his thigh. So he had a man crush. Didn’t males get those on each other all the time? There were entire football stadiums of dudes wearing their heroes’ jerseys, chanting their names and mooning over them on flat-screen televisions. And Marcus occasionally jerked off while thinking of Jamie’s mouth. Or the way his dark hair sometimes fell over his forehead. Or the way his triceps winked when he slid a drink across the bar.
Same thing.
Sweat broke out across Marcus’s forehead and it had nothing to do with the sun beating down on him from the cloudless blue sky above. This infatuation with Jamie…it wasn’t the same thing as a man crush, was it? He might have gotten away with bullshitting himself at the beginning of the summer, but the more time he spent with Jamie, the more he kind of needed to be around him. Marcus couldn’t explain it. If a day passed without him seeing Jamie, it wasn’t complete.
“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Snap out of it, Diesel.”
Thing was, Marcus had told himself to cut it out before. He’d ordered himself to start picking up girls and bringing them home again, but over the last few years, he’d just lost his enthusiasm for the dating game. Getting a chick’s number used to be his sole mission in life and now he couldn’t even spare an appreciative glance at the lifeguard in the next chair. And she was seriously hot. If Marcus’s brother was there, he would be ridiculing him to no end for taking this long to run game on a girl.
Marcus caught her smiling over at him and gave a weak wave.
Why did waving suddenly feel unfaithful?
Okay. Pull it together, man.
Even if he was into dudes, which he was not…Jamie Prince was way out of his league. Not only did Jamie look like he could be on billboards modeling Armani underwear, he read books thicker than Marcus’s johnson—and that was saying something. During the rest of the year, Jamie was an economics teacher. Yeah, the middle Prince brother was way overqualified to be working on the beach, and word among the other lifeguards was he only did it to make sure his hothead, ex-con younger brother stayed out of trouble. Although Rory had calmed way down since he’d gotten into a relationship. Way down.
Did that mean Jamie wouldn’t lifeguard next summer?
Marcus swallowed a fistful of panic.
It didn’t matter. First of all, totally not gay. Second of all, Jamie obviously didn’t even want to be friends with him, let alone…other stuff that Marcus definitely didn’t want to do.
So it was fine. It was fine.
Jamie’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie and Marcus’s spine straightened. The public channel. He could hear it echoing from the chair closest to his, too. “Andrew, this old hippie literally just rolled a suitcase of sparklers onto the beach and appears to be selling them. Should I congratulate him on his giant nuts or bring the man down on his head?”
Marcus laughed into a fist. Man, Jamie was funny. And smart as shit. He looked especially brainy when he wore his glasses, but when he was lifeguarding, he wore contact lenses. Which was nice, because nothing was blocking his eyes from view—
“I’ll call it in,” Andrew crackled back. “Keep him in your sights for now.”
“Roger that.”
Before Marcus knew what he was doing, he switched to a private line and radioed Jamie. “Hey Jamie.”
A sigh came back. “Hey Diesel.”
The loneliness he’d been bogged down in went away. Just like that. “You must miss me, right? The distance is killing you.”
“Yes, Marcus. ‘Morning without you is dwindled dawn.’”
“Is that from one of your brainy books?”
“It’s Dickinson.”
“Christ, Jamie. Always with dick on the brain.”
A long pause. “Why do I let you get away with that shit?”
Marcus frowned. “What shit?”
Another static-laced sigh. “Never mind. What do you want?”
“Let’s make a bet.”
“No.”
“Afraid you’ll lose?”
“Ha.”
Marcus should have said never mind and closed the channel of communication. Every time he was around Jamie, shit got more and more confusing. For instance, right now, his cock was hard as a fucking rock inside his red swim trunks and he refused to admit his boner had everything to do with the gruff, sarcastic voice coming through his radio. If he was hard for a dude…he didn’t know himself anymore. His father and b
rother sure as hell wouldn’t know him. They might not even want to know him. Not to mention his friends at the gym who worked out every day specifically so they could get laid easier. With girls. Girls seemed to be the main topic of discussion everywhere he went. At home with his family. At the gym. On the internet.
Men who liked men were never in the mix. It simply wasn’t discussed as an option among the people he knew. Ever. If he ever broached the subject, his friends would probably be weird about it. No, they definitely would. Everyone in his world followed the same pattern—work, lift, party, eat, sleep—he would be like a giant glop of ink on a white canvas.
Different than them.
Marcus’s mother had passed away from heart disease when he was in high school. If she was still around, he thought maybe she would understand. She would love him no matter what—she’d always said as much. But confiding in his mother was no longer an option.
He didn’t have any options, except to stop trying to spend every available moment with Jamie. As soon as this weekend was over, he’d chill. Start hanging out with his old friends again and force himself to talk to a girl or two. No excuses.
First and foremost, his dick needed to chill out. “Go down,” he growled, adjusting it.
“What was that?”
“Uh…” Marcus cleared his throat. “I was just telling this lady to turn down the Frank Sinatra. I mean, I love Ol’ Blue Eyes as much as the next guy…well, not love love, you know? Just a passing appreciation. But it’s loud enough to wake him in his grave.”
Nice cover, bro.
“What’s the bet, Diesel? I’m intrigued.”
“Uh yeah…” He rubbed his damp palm down the material of his shorts. “Pick a song.”
“Any song?”
“Yeah.”
“‘Hallelujah’ by Jeff Buckley.”
“Christ.” Marcus tipped his head back and laughed. “This is going to be fun,” he said. “Mine is ‘Baby One More Time.’ Tonight at the bar, we compete to see who can get more customers to play their song on the internet jukebox. No bribery allowed.”
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