by Scotty Cade
No! Garner stiffened and pushed him away. When Joey attempted to slide his tongue into his Garner’s mouth, Garner lost it. “What the fuck?” he said, looking around Joey and trying to reconnect with Mr. Clean. His heart sank when the object of his obsession turned his attention to the brunet and proceed to make out with him like a teenager.
Garner said the first thing that came to his mind. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
Joey looked shocked. “I’m sorry, I thought….”
“You thought wrong,” Garner said, standing so abruptly the barstool went flying behind him. He stormed toward the exit and felt more than saw Joey following him.
“Wait,” Joey said. “I’m sorry, I thought….”
Garner didn’t stop until he got to the entrance of the club. He spun around, and Joey was right behind him with an embarrassed expression on his face. Garner waved his finger in front of Joey. “Look, I’m sure you’re a very nice guy, but I don’t appreciate unwanted advances from someone I just met. Thanks for the drink.”
With that he turned and made a grand exit onto Duval Street, heading for the marina. His brain was whirling a little from the Scotch and the events of the evening.
How could he go from being deathly afraid of a guy one minute to being so attracted to him the next? A mental picture of Mr. Clean again popped into his brain. The shaved head, the tattoos and piercings, and the big black disks in his ears.
My God, he’s not even my type. I’ve never had so much as a henna tattoo.
He reached the marina mentally exhausted, wanting nothing but his bed. He stopped at his boat and glanced over at ReelCrazy. He shook his head still not knowing what to make of the evening’s events, but he’d surely get to the bottom of it tomorrow. Mr. Clean lived two boats down, and he was damn sure going to knock on his hull in the morning and straighten this whole thing out. But right now all he wanted was sleep. He boarded his boat, turned off all the lights, and climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up over his head. His last conscious thought was “Welcome to Key West.”
HAWK WALKED Justin home, apologized a hundred times for his rash behavior, and then set out for the marina. He took his time, making a point of staying out of the hustle and bustle of Duval Street and enjoying the quiet he found in the picturesque neighborhoods of old Key West.
Once he found a comfortable rhythm, his mind drifted off, and Hawk started to replay the entire evening in his weary head, starting with the Crystal Room Cabaret and the uptight Garner Holt singing “I Got You Babe” with a six-foot drag queen dressed like Cher.
When Hawk had realized the MC was heading towards Garner’s table, he knew this was going to be good. But he could never have prepared himself for what he saw next. The poor guy stood in the middle of the stage with Cher, his eyes squinting against the spotlights, his body riddled with tension. Hawk even remembered feeling a little sorry for him when he started bouncing from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable with the attention being bestowed on him.
When Hawk had heard Cher say, “It’s time for Crystal virgin karaoke,” he’d choked on his beer.
When the band started the intro for Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe,” Hawk thought the guy was going to pee himself, but when his turn to sing came and he just stood there, Hawk’s pity had turned to something else altogether. He’d been completely focused on him.
He might be uptight as hell, but he’s pretty damn good-looking just the same.
Then he’d watched Garner in disbelief as he straightened up, opened his eyes, and looked directly into the spotlight with a newfound confidence. And… it had looked damned good on him.
When Mr. Uptight started to relax and sing… well, Hawk started to really see him in a different light, and the attraction reached all the way down to his groin.
Shit! He’s not even my type. What’s up with this?
When he’d seen Garner later at Aqua, there was that immediate connection. How do you analyze that?
In his entire life, he’d never felt anything as energizing as when he’d first locked eyes with the guy. But the most puzzling thing was how he’d reacted when he saw that guy kiss Garner.
Replaying that scene in his head over and over, he wondered why he was so enamored. He didn’t know Garner. As a matter of fact, their initial meeting—of sorts—wasn’t under the best of circumstances, so what was the attraction?
He searched his mind as he strolled along, and it kept bringing him back to the first time he saw the stranger at the marina. But no matter how hard he tried, all he could actually remember about the brief encounter was the uptight vibe the guy was throwing off, like a window shade pulled down so far, it was about to pop and spin endlessly out of control.
In his mind’s eye, Hawk tried to recall anything else that might have had an impact on his subconscious mind, but he kept coming up with nothing.
Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind quickly flashed back to a particular expression on Garner’s handsome, suntanned face. Oh great, Hawk, now you think he’s handsome too. He tossed that thought out of his already saturated brain and kept analyzing every other detail he could remember about the guy’s face from the very first time he’d seen him. The guy was afraid of me! When he first saw me barefoot and shirtless, heading in his direction, he was actually afraid of me. Why didn’t I remember that?
He focused on the mental image and his jeans were suddenly getting tighter. He grabbed his crotch to reposition himself and damn if he didn’t have a hard-on.
Damn, Hawken, you’re one fucked-up dude. The fact that the guy was afraid of you is turning you on. That’s a first and weird as hell.
When Hawk finally made it to the marina, he walked down the dock and slowed in front of AquaTherapy. For a split second, he thought about knocking on the hull and settling this once and for all, but as he scanned the boat for any sign of life, he saw nothing. There were no lights shining through any of the portholes, no music playing, nothing to indicate whether Garner was there. And even if he was in there, he was probably fucking that guy from the club, and that’s the last thing Hawk wanted to confirm or even think about right now.
“Time to call it a night, Hawk. Remember, you have a charter tomorrow morning,” he mumbled as he lowered his head and walked to his boat.
Chapter 5
GARNER WOKE to the sound of the wind whistling through his rigging and the waves lapping against the hull of his boat. He glanced at the clock. Ten thirty! He sat up and looked out of the porthole. The sky was gloomy and gray with very ominous clouds hanging low, and based on the way flags were ripping back and forth, the wind must have been blowing at least twenty knots. He plopped down on his back and rested an arm over his forehead. Ten thirty? I haven’t slept this long in ages. He remembered tossing and turning all night, waking frequently, recalling the strangest dreams. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember one of them now.
Garner lay quietly, trying to jar his memory. In the stillness of his bed, he could feel AquaTherapy heaving in the wind; the lines stretching in one direction caused AquaTherapy to creak under the stress, and then she would heave in the other direction. I better get up and check the rigging.
Once topside, the first thing he did was glance in the direction of ReelCrazy. His heart fell to the bottom of his stomach when she wasn’t in her slip. He’s gone! Was Mr. Clean only passing through?
A loud rumble of thunder in the not-so-distant skies reminded Garner of the task at hand. He pushed the overwhelming feelings of disappointment aside and focused on securing his boat against the howling wind.
With his boat secure, he noticed a cruiser on the other side of AquaTherapy was lying heavily against the dock from the force of the wind. He knocked on the hull a few times and yelled over the howling wind and waited. No one came out, so he adjusted the lines himself, trusting he wasn’t overstepping. He hoped someone would do the same for him if the situation were reversed.
Just as Garn
er was slipping the last line around the cleat, the skies opened and the rain came pelting down in bucket-loads. By the time he got from the dock into the covered safety of his cockpit, he was soaked to the bone and a little chilled to boot. He stripped down to his underwear and went down below for a towel and a dry change of clothes. With his boat and the boat next to him now secure to ride out the storm, he sipped his coffee and tried to sort through the disappointment he was feeling about Mr. Clean and his boat being gone.
Before he had too much time to talk himself out of the disappointment, he heard a loud thump and felt a jar as if something had hit the floating docks. He put his coffee down and stuck his head through the companionway door, looking in all directions. The rain was falling so hard it was almost impossible to see through the clear vinyl surrounding the cockpit. He heard another thump and felt the dock shake again. It sounded and felt like a boat was trying to dock, not having much luck and slamming into the pier. No wonder in this wind. Only a fool would try and dock a boat in these conditions. He squinted against the pelting rain, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw the stern of ReelCrazy trying to get into her slip. He’s not gone.
As elated as he was, he panicked at the thought of Mr. Clean trying to get the boat into the slip in these weather conditions. He quickly dug through his gear until he found his two-piece rain slicker, suited up, pulled the hood up, and headed outside to try to help.
Garner didn’t think it was possible, but it felt like the rain was coming down harder than it had been earlier. When he reached ReelCrazy’s slip, Garner saw a shaved head sitting atop a yellow rain suit. Mr. Clean was on the flybridge, and two guys on the lower stern seemingly petrified from fear and not offering any assistance at all. Mr. Clean waved, obviously relieved to see someone there to help him, but didn’t acknowledge Garner in any recognizable way. Garner felt a little stab of sadness, but then remembered his head was totally covered by his rain hood.
It appeared Mr. Clean was trying to line up for another approach, but Garner could clearly see the problem. The boat was taking the wind on her starboard beam, which meant that each time Mr. Clean would line up the stern and attempt to back into the slip, the wind would take the bow and pivot it to port, creating an odd angle that prevented the boat from maneuvering successfully into the confined space.
Watching the next attempt, Garner was very impressed. Mr. Clean compensated appropriately for the force of the wind by positioning the stern upwind of the slip with the bow hard to starboard. By doing this, he was aiming to allow the wind to push the stern into position and give him time to gun the engines and back into the slip before another gust blew the bow too far to port. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing way too hard for even the most competent sailor to outwit.
Garner got an idea. He ran down the starboard finger of the slip and yelled to one of the guys to go up onto the bow and throw him one of the bowlines already secured to the cleat in preparation for docking.
But much to his surprise, neither man budged or even seemed willing to venture out onto the bow. Knowing Mr. Clean wasn’t able to leave the bridge, Garner yelled to the guys again, this time with a more authoritative tone. “The only way you’re gonna get into this slip is if you throw me a bowline so I can secure it to the piling to keep the bow from pivoting! Now do it!”
One of the guys looked at him, and Garner nodded for reassurance and then yelled again. “Just follow the gunwale until you get to the bow and get me that line! And hold on!”
The minute the guy stepped onto the gunwale, his friend made a mad dash and hurled over the other side of the boat. When Mr. Clean lined up for his third attempt, Garner signaled and the guy tossed the line. Catching it on the first try, Garner immediately secured it to one of the pilings, and Mr. Clean gunned the engines. ReelCrazy pitched backward into the slip, and Garner tightened the line as the boat rushed in, preventing the bow from pivoting. That did the trick.
He yelled again, instructing the passengers to throw him the other lines, but again neither of them moved. With the boat now successfully in the slip, Mr. Clean scurried down the flybridge stairs and threw Garner the lines one by one until the boat was secure.
Without saying a word, Mr. Clean climbed back up to the flybridge and shut down the engines and electronics, then returned to the cockpit to take care of the passengers, both of whom were now hurling over the side. Not knowing what else he could do, Garner rechecked all the lines. He knelt to readjust the last line, and when he stood and turned, he was looking straight into mesmerizing slate-blue eyes.
“I really appreciate your help,” Mr. Clean said, offering his hand.
Garner accepted the outstretched hand and, after shaking it, removed his rain hood.
Those slate-blue eyes immediately widened as he recognized who had helped him dock. “Garner Holt,” he said, barely loud enough for Garner to hear over the howling wind.
He knows my name. “Wait! You know my name?” Garner asked.
Mr. Clean flushed. “Saw you at the Crystal Room Cabaret last night before….”
“Before I went to Aqua?” Garner asked hesitantly.
Mr. Clean opened his mouth to speak, but both men turned simultaneously when the boat’s passengers roared as they vomited over the side. Mr. Clean looked at Garner and rubbed his shaved head. “Fuck! They started this about an hour ago and haven’t stopped.”
“That sucks for all of you” was all Garner could think of to say.
In the wind and pelting rain, the two men stood, looking at one another like it was sunny and calm and there weren’t two guys right next to them in agony, spewing their guts out.
“About—about last…,” Mr. Clean stammered.
But before he could finish his sentence, his shaky voice was interrupted again as both guys roared in unison, even louder this time, one slapping the side of the boat.
Mr. Clean turned toward the intrusion and then looked back at Garner with an expression that could only be described as frustration.
Garner laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you get these guys taken care of and then come over to my boat?” he suggested. “We can talk more then.”
Mr. Clean nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, turning to leave.
Garner wrapped his fingers around Mr. Clean’s bicep, stopping him midturn. “Before you go, please tell me your name?”
Mr. Clean stopped and ran a hand over his shaved head again. Garner made a mental note that it was something Mr. Clean did when he was nervous.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m Hawken, Hawken Bristol. My… my friends call me Hawk.”
Garner smiled, relieved to no longer have to refer to the man as Mr. Clean. “Good to meet you, Hawk,” he said, squeezing Hawk’s bicep before releasing it. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Hawken Bristol. Hawk,” he said to himself. “What a great name.”
Garner hopped onboard AquaTherapy, stripping down to his underwear in the cockpit before he went below. He took a hot shower and dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeved red T-shirt, made another pot of coffee, and waited for his visitor with anticipation.
HAWK WAS totally distracted as he helped the fishermen to the dock and then walked them one by one to solid ground. As soon as they stopped throwing up, he loaded them with more Dramamine and, an hour later, sent them on their way.
“I can’t believe they talked me into going out in these conditions,” he huffed, mentally kicking himself in the ass. “Although in all fairness to them and me, the marine forecast wasn’t near as bad as the current conditions.”
Hawk walked back to his boat, attempting to block the sheets of rain stinging his face and unprotected head. He climbed aboard and started to remove his raincoat. “Look at the bright side, Hawk. At least you don’t have to wash down the boat.”
Stepping under the protection of the cockpit roof, Hawk was now safely out of the direct line of fire. He removed his boots and poured at least a couple cups of water out of each, before taki
ng off his rain pants. Not the least bit surprising, when he got down to his underwear, he was soaked through and through, not to mention being a little chilled from the wind. He stepped into the refuge of the dry cabin and headed straight for a hot shower.
He stepped under the hot stream of water and allowed the jets to soothe his stressed-out body, massaging the nerve endings one by one like steamy liquid fingers.
With all the tension of the day running down the drain along with the hot water, Hawk was feeling more relaxed by the minute. The sight of Garner Holt removing his hood in the pelting rain, his palm pressed tightly against Hawk’s arm and their eyes locked on to one another’s yet again, flooded his mind. “Garner Holt,” he said under his breath, liking the way it rolled off his tongue. Hawk had hoped to see Garner today to apologize for startling him and to get a handle on this thing between them, but he’d had no idea it would be under these circumstances.
Hawk squeezed body wash onto his hands, rubbed them together vigorously, and started lathering his entire body. When his hand dropped down to his groin, he lathered his dick and allowed his hand to slide up and down his shaft. The sensation brought a mental picture of Garner pounding his ass like there was no tomorrow, and he forced himself to stop, not wanting a fantasy as much as he wanted the real thing. He was suddenly very anxious to see Garner again. Hawk finished his shower and, deciding to go commando, dressed in a pair of comfortable button-fly Levi’s, his favorite black vintage Henley, and a pair of flip-flops.
Hawk opened the cabin door and stepped into the cockpit. He was now warm and dry, but he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself against the howling wind and pouring rain. He looked at his wet slicker suit hanging on the boathook and just couldn’t fathom putting it on again. He grabbed the golf umbrella he’d used to shuttle his fishermen to shore and decided to take his chances. He looked over at Garner’s boat and a chill ran up his spine that he knew had nothing to do with the wind and rain.
