But then it got worse when I saw him reeling in a trap, and leaning too far over the starboard side while he did it.
Please, Jesus, don't let him fall in. I don't possess the strength for his bare chest today.
"Keep your feet planted, McClish," I called, jerking my chin toward the starboard side buoys. The sun was high overhead, and only here, miles from the shore, did the breeze extinguish August's humidity. "If you go for a swim, you're dragging your ass out of the water this time."
"Would you shut the fuck up?" Cole replied. "I got it."
I tossed several more traps into the water while Cole wrestled one up. The first time he'd hoisted up a trap filled with live lobsters by himself, he'd fumbled it back into the water with an uncomfortable howl. Today, he was better. He knew what to expect this time, and he didn't flinch when reaching in to sort the sellable lobsters from the ones who deserved more time under the sea.
He looked better, too. The bruising on his face had cooled to a sickly yellow-green shade, and he seemed relaxed. That first night, when his boat was stalled in the cove, probably wasn't the standard by which to judge Cole McClish, but the hard work and hot sun were doing him good. I could tell, and I couldn't help but look every chance I got.
After some time in Cole's company, I'd learned a few things about the curious stranger who'd drifted into my cove. He couldn't fish worth shit but I'd admit he wasn't the worst sailor. He just ignored his instincts in favor of the nav systems and sonar. It was as if he trusted the machines more than he trusted himself. We couldn't be more different in that respect. To me, the machines were unreliable. They were bound to fail, and they'd fail when I needed them the most. I didn't want to put my faith in anything I couldn't trust completely.
He also talked all goddamn day, and his approach to tidiness was distinctly untidy. It was a damn good thing he was hotter than the sun itself because there'd be no surviving his chaos otherwise.
He was avoiding something or someone but I didn't want to know. I wasn't asking any more personal questions. I cared but I couldn't go there again. I couldn't discover that he had a woman or a family out west, or even a home to which he was eager to return. I could only manage Cole the stranger, void of context or complications. Or cute stories about his hatred of desert climates.
When he set another trap and dropped it off the side of the boat without hesitation, my chest surged with pride. He'd learned all that from me.
"You didn't even cry with that one," I said as I traversed the deck. "We'll make a lobsterman out of you yet."
I clapped him on the back at the exact moment as he pivoted toward me, and that left us in an unexpected embrace. His chest was hard against mine and he was breathing heavy and I couldn't move. Wouldn't. Wouldn't for anything.
My hand continued patting his shoulder. How could I stop? How could I push him away when the only thing I truly wanted was to feel his skin under mine?
Cole's fingers were curled around my forearm as if he was bracing himself, but instead of maintaining a polite distance, he leaned into me. His shoulder was on my chest and his breath was on my neck, and I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone was on my tongue.
Neither of us made a move to break away for a long, confusing beat that twisted with more heat and affection than I could handle without embarrassing myself right now. He smelled good, like sunscreen and sweat. I wanted to memorize that scent, and everything else about the way we fit together.
I didn't want that to mean something, but it did. It meant everything to me.
Clearing my throat, I eventually drew my hand back and gazed at the water. "Need to make some deliveries up the coast," I said, still watching the waves as I stepped away from him. I wasn't ready to look at Cole, and I didn't. I returned to the controls without a backward glance because I couldn't trust myself to meet his eyes without revealing the depth of my desire for him. "Go put that catch on ice."
"This is an excellent burger," Cole said. "The last time I had a burger, it was made of mushrooms, lentils, and pumpkin seeds."
"That's a crime," I replied. "Tell me who did that to you. I'll make him pay."
Cole chuckled around another bite. "Plant-based eating is increasingly popular in my world," he said. "I'd forgotten that meat is delicious. I'm getting really spoiled here. And fat."
He patted the blue polo shirt over his flat belly, the one I'd seen bare too many times to forget. The afternoon sun was scorching, and once the day's catch was out of pinching range, he peeled those shirts right off. He was golden and sculpted, and I only allowed myself brief glances.
"You've been kind to let me stay here, Owen," he said. He shrugged, kicking the emotion out of this moment. "Much more of this home cooking and good conversation, and you're going to ruin your reputation as a pirate."
"Fuck off, McClish," I murmured.
A smile pulled at my lips. This companionship was nice. The domesticity, too. Looking after someone fed an urge that I'd otherwise ignored, and there were moments when caring for Cole satisfied me more than anything I could imagine between the sheets. I liked our dinners on the porch together, even his nonstop questions and chatter. We often sat out here long after the meal was over, drinking beer and admiring sunsets. I didn't mind that our evenings put me behind on my reading, even if I told my houseguest otherwise. Whitman could wait. Thoreau, too.
Cole tipped his beer bottle to his lips and shot an anxious glance at me. "You know…you don't have to wait on me. I won't get into trouble around here." He turned his attention to the cove before continuing. "I'm sure you have friends. A girlfriend, or you know, someone you like to spend time with. You don't have to put your life on hold because I'm hanging out at your place."
I reached into the ice chest between us and grabbed two more longnecks. It wouldn't be Maine if you didn't have beer available indoors and out.
"I'm still worried that you're going to accidentally shoot yourself," I said, knocking the bottle caps off. Another mouthful of cold beer washed down my internal debate. I wasn't ashamed of myself, and while I didn't hide my sexual orientation, it wasn't something I offered up. I favored gay bars, Pride events, situations where it was implied. Where I didn't have to hide. Where I was with my people, my family. Not my blood relations, but my true family.
Even after more than twenty years of comfort in my queer skin, I didn't savor coming-out conversations. But I'd done basically that this afternoon, with that hug. I was still feeling every spot where his body had connected with mine. There was no mistaking the heat between us, and I couldn't be the only one feeling it.
Here goes nothing. "No girlfriends. I'm not interested in women."
Cole cocked his head to the side as if he'd misheard me. "Does that mean you prefer men?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He looked like a puppy who couldn't find his ball. "Or do you consider yourself asexual? Not that a lack of interest in women is indicative of asexuality. You could identify any number of ways. It's a spectrum."
"I'm gay, if that's what you're asking," I replied.
Cole's mouth fell open as my words registered, but he rapidly schooled his expression. "That's cool," he croaked.
Fuck. Fuck it all.
"Is that going to be a problem for you?" I asked, studying his reaction.
"No," he said.
It was a little too forceful, as if he knew he was walking the line between acceptable responses and honest ones. It would be a real shame if he was a bold-faced homophobe. Couldn't have that. I gave no quarter to the haters.
"No," he repeated, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Not at all. You just caught me by surprise." He threw his hands up, then pressed his fingers to his eyelids. "Shit, that's not the right thing to say. I don't have to prepare myself to respect anyone's sexual orientation. No one should need an adjustment period to accept another human being. It's not like you're telling me you keep a bag of your ex's old hair with you at all times."
"No worries," I said. I meant that. Eventually, there'd be a time
when we led with curiosity rather than assumptions about sexual identity, race, faith, ability…all of it. But today wasn't that day, and considering I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and the sea in my backyard, I could cope with humanity's shortcomings. "Are we good?"
"No—I mean, yes—we're cool. Yes." He scrubbed his hands over his face and then picked up his beer, gazing at the bottle like sweet salvation. "If you're seeing someone, please don't change your routine on my account. You're welcome to bring, ah, him around."
I watched his throat bob as he guzzled his beer, and while I felt better that I'd cleared the air between us, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that he didn't offer up his own big gay announcement. That would have improved this conversation considerably. It also would've helped me understand the constant fizz and pop of tension I felt when he was nearby. It would've explained the way my body reacted to his touch today, and his starring role in all of my fantasies.
But this was the way of it for me. I was forever falling for men who had neither the room nor interest in their lives for me, then hating the world for a time. That was why I didn't do this. I didn't get to know men, and I didn't bring them home or let them into my world. I kept it clean and easy. A night in the city, a bar or club, a guy I'd never see again. A boozy weekend in Provincetown with a handful of bears who knew what I needed and expected nothing come Monday. It was better when it didn't mean anything to me. When I didn't care.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, the words rough as I forced them out.
"Come on," he said, gesturing inside. "The game is starting soon, and you're miserable if you miss the first pitch."
I shook my head at that, sweeping away my dark and broody thoughts. "I like to watch the entire game. That doesn't mean I'm miserable if I miss the first pitch," I said. "That you can live on highlights alone means you were dropped on your head as a baby."
"But the games are so long," he whined.
"Baseball is meant to be appreciated in its complete form," I countered. "You need to realize that life shouldn't be condensed down to a couple hundred characters, McClish."
He stopped gathering our plates to glance at me. "Wait. Was that a Twitter reference? I thought you were taking Thoreau's Walden approach to life, but you're a down-low Tweep, aren't you?"
Cole extracted a great deal of pleasure from ragging on my low-tech lifestyle. "That sounded like a gay slur, McClish."
"Not even a little bit," he said, laughing as he walked to the kitchen sink. He set the dinner dishes in the basin, stacking them just as I'd instructed. "I'll wash tonight."
"I don't know anything else about Twitter," I confessed, grabbing a dish towel off the oven door handle and slinging it over my shoulder while he filled the sink with water and soap. "I don't understand what all those internet things are about, or why anyone uses them."
"Ultimately, you don't need any of them," Cole said, his hands deep in the soapy water. "It's basically a study in herd behavior."
I accepted the plate he handed me and set to rubbing it dry. "Come again?"
"Yeah," he said, running a scrubbing brush over a handful of forks and knives. "Social media is inherently dehumanizing. Most platforms peel back the artifice of human communication and reduce people down to basic instincts. There's a reason the internet is filled with porn."
"Oh," I murmured. I'd heard that, about the porn, but I was old-fashioned. I liked my dirty DVDs, and the adult toy store I frequented in Portland had a hearty supply. "That's interesting."
"People on Twitter are like cats," Cole continued. "They knock shit over because why the fuck not?"
"Seems like a great use of time," I replied.
"People on Facebook are dogs at the dog park. They're running around in circles, looking for belly rubs, and barking when they're happy, sad, angry, and confused." He handed me another plate. "People on Tumblr are raccoons. They only come out when it's dark and they love trash. There are a few on Reddit, and they're toads. They make a lot of noise and then disappear when someone wants to interact with them on a meaningful level. And the people on Instagram, they're squirrels. They love shiny things and never stop fidgeting."
"Fascinating," I said. I dried another plate and then got to work with the utensils. "You're saying there's nothing good about any of it? It's all terrible people and toxic behavior?"
"No, of course not," Cole said. He was scrubbing the sink now, and he was only doing that because I'd given him a hard time about leaving the basin dirty a few nights ago. He hadn't noticed the bits of potato or salad dressing residue, but that shit annoyed the hell out of me. "People find each other, despite geographic distance and social factors that would've otherwise kept them apart. There are communities of support and affinity, groups mobilizing for important causes, and collaboration that would've never been possible before internet access flattened and condensed the world. There are moments when the very best of humanity is on display, but there are also moments of the absolute worst. For all the good, there's plenty of bad."
"And this is how you make your living?"
"It is," Cole said with a rueful laugh. "If not for the cats and dogs, and raccoons, toads, and squirrels, I'd have nothing." He looked up and hit me with a paralyzingly sweet smile. "I certainly wouldn't be here."
"To the cats and dogs," I said, raising an empty glass.
He reached across me for one of the upturned glasses I'd set on the countertop after drying, and his arm rubbed against my abdomen in the process. It was nothing much, just a quick touch not unlike many we'd shared while washing dishes every night this past week, but it was different now.
"To the cats and dogs," Cole repeated.
I choked back a groan before he lifted his glass and we toasted a world I didn't know.
We finished cleaning up in silence and shifted toward the living room when the kitchen was in good shape. There were a couple of minutes before the game started, and Cole was surfing through the channels. He had an aversion to watching the evening news, one I didn't understand but didn't mind indulging.
"You really should let me rewire your setup," Cole said, gesturing to the footage from football's preseason training camp. "Get a DVR, and some expanded access for games outside your market. You'll appreciate it come football season."
"Sit down and enjoy the damn game," I said, pointing at the sofa.
"Every minute of it," he said. "But—one more thing. You could fast forward through commercials, you know. I can't imagine you enjoy all the promos for Canobie Lake Park and Jordan's Furniture."
"That's where you're wrong," I said. "I love that shit, and it's no secret that Water Country has the best jingle."
Cole turned to me, stone-faced. "We're going to agree to disagree on that point."
We settled into an amiable banter of cheers, groans, and curses punctuated with comfortable silence. I'd been alone for years and rarely considered what it would be like to have a partner, but playfully arguing with Cole about the Red Sox showed me what I could have. What I wanted.
The game went into extra innings, and though I wasn't built for too many late nights followed by early mornings, I wasn't interested in abandoning my position on watching the entire game. I was a stodgy bastard like that.
But Cole's hands were folded low on his belly, right above his crotch, and through the thin fabric of his athletic shorts, I could make out the shape of him. And oh fuck, it was a nice-looking shape.
There was nothing overtly sexual about his position, yet I yearned for the right to reach over and take my man in hand. He was close enough to touch, and I didn't think I could endure extra innings tonight with that temptation.
When it was clear the Sox were taking home an easy win, I clicked off the television and stood, brushing my palms down the front of my cargo shorts. I'd never been one for spontaneous erections, but beer and too-thin athletic shorts and this proximity to Cole brought me damn close. My cock was heavy and aching, and I needed to find some relief far away
from my guest's watchful eyes.
"We'll hit the water early," I said, desperate to keep my mind on topics that didn't involve imagining the rasp of Cole's unshaven jaw against my inner thighs.
He nodded as he collected the empty beer bottles. He was meticulous about recycling, and had gone so far as to lecture me about the impact of plastics on marine life. Somehow he knew as much, if not more, about preserving the seas than I did.
"Yeah," Cole said. "That works for me."
He sounded distant, and not because he was busy tidying the kitchen. He was distracted. "Everything okay, McClish?" I asked.
He folded a dish towel into precise thirds and set it on the counter with a pat, and then glanced up with a forced smile. "Great."
I didn't know him, not well enough to read his every mood and twitch, but I had the distinct sense that he wasn't great. "Good," I said.
Cole patted the towel again and reached for a glass. "Yeah," he replied, watching me while he filled his glass with water. He drank it down, his eyes still trained on me.
Not unlike sitting beside him on the couch, there was nothing loudly attractive about drinking water but I couldn't save myself from the pull of his body. It was a vortex sucking me in. I wanted to touch him and taste him, and I wanted him to love it as much as I knew I would.
But that wasn't my life. That wasn't how it went for me.
"Listen, man," I said, gesturing toward him. "You can tell me if something's bothering—"
"Not at all," Cole replied quickly. "I'm preoccupied with some work issues. A lot on my mind." He tapped his temple as if to confirm the location of his troubles. They were not in his shorts as I'd hoped. "Things I'm trying to sort out. Problems, bugs. That's all." He nodded several times, and I was certain he believed the repetition was critical to convincing me. "I'm going to tackle some of that."
He patted the towel again.
"Yeah," I replied.
He moved around me, slipping down the hallway with little more than a hasty "Good night" as his chest brushed against my back. I didn't press the issue. I wanted to, but I didn't know what or how to press. And more importantly, I needed a very cold shower.
Fresh Catch Page 5
