Owen
Where our first week of sleeping together was an overwhelming rush of new, urgent and rough in the best ways, we'd now eased into the lazy indulgence stage. There was no rush, no awkward moments. We had a feel for each other now, and we knew this wasn't ending at sunrise. That made all the difference.
Also, several nights of flat-out fucking combined with unrestricted touching throughout the day took some of the edge off. I could curl around Cole while our breathing eased and our bodies cooled, and not lose myself in another heady swirl of lust. It was a good thing I found that restraint, too. The afterglow left him chatty, but it wasn't his usual noise. He confessed his desires, shared secrets, told stories I was certain had never before seen the light of day.
It was another piece of Cole I was fortunate enough to claim as my own, and I relished these dark, quiet moments when we could shed everything and be the most raw versions of ourselves.
In all this glorious honesty and openness, a few critical details were missing. The reason for his extended summer vacation never came up. Details about his life in California were off the table. He rarely talked about his work, and when he did, it was to vent his hatred for corporate culture.
I knew I shouldn't but I preferred it this way.
I loved the fantasy of Cole. The version of him that came without strings or complications. That version didn't have a life and a business waiting for him on the other side of the country. That version wasn't going to gather up his pastel polo shirts and sail away.
If I could hold onto the fantasy, I wouldn't have to cope with the reality that I'd fallen for a man who could never be mine. Not really. I didn't need to know the inner workings of his world to know it wasn't mine. He could enjoy the hell out of a summer in Talbott's Cove, but that didn't mean he had any intention of permanently relocating here. Just another one of my sandcastle dreams. I was getting ahead of myself, planning our future together when I didn't know if he shared a fraction of my feelings.
I knew I was good for a fun time in the summer. That was how it went for me. I went starry-eyed and lovesick, and they went back to their lives in the city. Summer loves only led to autumn heartbreak, and that was why I needed the fantasy.
I blinked that thought away as I stared at the ceiling. It was another hot, humid night and the ceiling fan only moved the oppressive air around. By all accounts, it was too hot for sex, for cuddling, for anything more energetic than lying flat on the bed and breathing. But none of that registered. It was as if my body didn't care to process anything but the feel of Cole's fingertips sliding over my hip. His head was on my chest, his arm around my waist, and his legs tangled between mine. The quilt was in a heap on the floor and the sheets were clinging to one corner of the mattress.
This, right here, was my heaven.
"Have you ever been with a woman?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. Came close once," I admitted. "After that situation, it was pretty obvious I wasn't interested in the hetero scene." I brushed his damp hair off his forehead. "You?"
"Not…quite," he said.
"Go ahead and explain that one," I said, laughing.
Cole dragged his hand up my belly to the center of my chest and drummed his fingers there. "I was a little slutty in college."
"Slutty or experimental?" I asked.
He bobbed his head for a second, humming while he considered this. "Slutty," he replied with a laugh. "But also, experimental. Sluttily experimental, I guess."
"Was it fun?" I asked.
Cole hesitated. "Yeah, most of the time. Going away to college was a big change for me. I didn't know who I was back then, or how to be comfortable with myself. I was out then but I didn't know how my sexuality fit into my identity. I didn't know what it meant to embrace the feelings I'd had for so long, and then experience them with someone else. I didn't how to accept and embrace myself as a gay man. There were days when I struggled with it. I mean, I didn't walk around with a Pride pin on my jacket."
"You don't do that now," I said.
"And neither do you," he argued.
I stared at Cole, willing him to meet my eyes, but he didn't. "Fair enough," I replied. "Where does the experimentation come in?"
"College was like an all-you-can-eat sex buffet," he said. "Most of the time, it was with men, but there was one time with a woman. Sort of. Not completely."
I didn't want to hear this. I didn't, but I did. The thought of Cole with other men—a buffet of men, no less—twisted my gut. Cole with women was a different form of pain. I could hold my own when I was competing with gay guys for his affection, but I was powerless when it came to women. "All right. This woman. What's her story? Were you out with her?"
"I wasn't, no. I was still figuring out how to say it, believe it, own it back then. I made some mistakes along the way." He hesitated. "We were friends though it was clear she wanted to be more. She flirted with me all the time and always had a reason to touch me—"
"That's fantastic," I grumbled. This jealousy of mine, it knew no reason.
"She was all the right things—nice, funny, smart—but I wasn't into her," he said, ignoring me. "Not at all. Objectively, I knew she was beautiful and sexy—"
"Of course she was," I said under my breath.
He speared me with an amused smirk. "She was beautiful and sexy but I still wasn't into her," he continued. "She started seeing a guy. I figured she'd shift her attention toward him but it didn't work out that way. Instead, she wanted the three of us to hang out."
"Because they both wanted to fuck you," I said, not at all surprised by the bright streak of possession racing through my blood. "Right? Isn't that the way it worked out?"
Cole continued tapping his fingers against my breastbone, studying my skin without responding.
Eventually, he heaved out a sigh and said, "I didn't recognize that to the be the case at first, but yeah. That's what happened. Basically." He sanded his fingers through my chest hair. "It was just one time. I didn't do anything with her. Not really. The guy, though, he wanted to play. He was pretty enthusiastic about me introducing him to his prostate. She was cool with that but I'm certain she imagined herself as the star of the evening rather than the minor player. Looking back, I think she wanted to start a stable." He layered his hands over my heart, dropped his chin there, and met my eyes. "That was my first and last time with a woman. If you can even call that being with a woman. She went out of her way to avoid me after that. The guy hit me up every time he was lonely and drunk."
"I hate her," I said. "I'm not fond of him either."
Cole rolled away from me as he shook with laughter. "You shouldn't," he said between gasps. "It was several lifetimes ago. I hadn't thought about her in years."
"Yeah, well, I'm still not happy with her." I reached for him and caught hold of his backside. "Get back here," I ordered, pinching until he yelped.
"That's going to leave a mark," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Remind me to never activate your jealous side."
"I'll kiss it better," I promised. "Sorry. I didn't expect you to tell me about a threesome with a side story about you fingering some virgin ass."
"Tell me about the time you came close with a woman, and I'll excuse it," Cole said, returning to his spot at my side. "Was it Annette?"
I clapped my hand over my eyes. "God. No," I said, groaning. "Not Annette." I shook my head and indulged in another groan. "I took one of Annette's best friends to the prom, Jenna, and then made a valiant effort at engaging in post-prom traditions. It was a disaster."
"I didn't even go to the prom," Cole said. "Never mind the after-party."
"You didn't miss anything," I promised. "I didn't want to go. My mom forced me. She picked out the tux, the corsage, the girl—"
"Wait a damn second," he interrupted, holding up his hand. "What did you just say? About your mother and the girl and the picking out?"
I pulled a pillow out from under my head and pressed it to my face. "My mom set me up,"
I replied, hoping the pillow would suffocate me quickly.
It didn't. He plucked it from my hands and tossed it across the room. "Why?" he asked.
"Let me ask you this," I said, sitting up against the headboard. "When you came out to your family, how'd that go? How did they react?"
"We're going to do that?" he asked. "We're going to trade coming-out stories now?"
"Answer the question, Cole."
He shifted to sit beside me, blinking at the sheets while he considered my question. "I didn't come out, not exactly," he admitted. "My dad and I were stuck in traffic one afternoon. He asked if I had any questions about safe sex, and whether I'd thought about my sexual orientation. That's why he said. Sexual orientation. At first, I was too stunned to say anything. No one had ever been that direct with me. Plenty of kids teased the shit out of me, and there was no shortage of bullies in school, but no one had ever stopped to ask me about my identity. They'd always made assumptions. Once I recovered from the shock, I told him I had thought about it, and I was attracted to men. He nodded, and lectured me on the limitations of condoms for twenty minutes."
A grim smile pulled at my lips while I bobbed my head. "And your mother? Your sisters? How did they take it?"
Cole shrugged. "My mom ordered a bunch of books about Stonewall, the AIDS crisis, and gay memoirs. She insisted we read and discuss them together. We watched And the Band Played On. That all sounds depressing, but it wasn't. I mean, not too depressing." He folded his hands in his lap. "My sisters baked me a Bundt cake."
"Yeah, that wasn't my experience," I said with a rueful laugh. "My dad was cool but my mom was convinced I was going through a phase. She said I was confused, and I didn't know what I wanted because I'd lived in this small town for too long. I didn't like the girls here because I'd grown up with them, and viewed them as sisters."
"That's terrible." He reached over and took my hand. "I'm sorry."
I shrugged off his words but laced our fingers together. "Honestly, I believe she meant well. She didn't see how I could know my sexual identity when I was a fifteen-year-old kid who'd never kissed a girl—or boy. She thought it was an exposure issue, and once I got some exposure, my outlook would change. That's why she was always setting me up on dates and telling girls I was just shy. She meant well," I repeated. "She just didn't understand."
"That doesn't make it any easier to swallow," Cole said. "Good intentions do not erase or excuse harmful actions."
"It's okay. I don't walk around with that rain cloud over my head," I said. "I might have Annette chasing after me, but I'm not deeply traumatized or anything."
"Hang on a second," Cole said, holding up a finger. "You've dated in this town, right?"
I barked out a laugh. "No," I said. "Never. This place is far too small for me to hook up with the locals. Hell, no."
"And that, my darling, is why Annette thinks you're free game," he said. "Think about it. Your mom told everyone you were confused, you don't date locally, and you're a gentleman of a certain age. Knowing all that, I'm not surprised the vagina vultures are circling."
"Gentleman of a certain age," I repeated. "Not sure how I feel about you calling me old, McClish."
"Shut up. It looks good on you," he said, dragging his gaze over my chest. "You need to shut it down with Annette. I see it from her perspective now, and you really need to shut it down."
I groaned. "Yeah, that sounds wonderful."
Cole shifted to face me. "Does she understand now? Your mom?"
I held my hands out as if I was weighing my thoughts. "Yes and no," I replied. "She was a guidance counselor at the local high school—"
"And she called it a phase. I'm dying a little inside right now," he murmured.
"After she retired from the high school, my parents moved to one of those master-planned communities for active adults not far from Miami," I replied. "She says she's learned a lot about 'the gays' living in south Florida. She recently asked if I had a drag name, and whether I liked twinks. Apparently, her hair stylist would be perfect for me."
"I'm dead," he murmured.
"She means well," I said, as much for Cole's reassurance as mine. "Even if she should've handled it differently when I came out, she didn't throw me on the streets. She didn't send me away to conversion camp. Talking about drag names isn't the best entry point but it's her way of reaching out. If there's one thing I've learned in my time on this planet, it's that I can't wait for people to be perfect. I can't reject them because they don't know the best way to open a discussion on my queer life. I can want more and demand more, but I'm not going to refuse them when they're trying."
"I wouldn't have expected that much tolerance from such a grumpy guy," he said.
I hooked my arm around his leg and yanked him closer. "What are you talking about? I'm not grumpy."
Cole snickered, bumping my ribs with his elbow. "No, of course not. You're salty. Surly. Moody. Curmudgeonly."
"Now you're just being mean," I said with a huff.
"Hardly," he quipped. "You don't like people."
I planted my hand on his chest and pushed him down to the mattress. Rising to my knees, I straddled his thigh. My cock was thick and heavy, and pulsing as I rutted on him. "I like you."
His abs dipped as a laugh moved through him. "Oh, what a relief," he replied. "One last question for you."
"It's never the last question," I grumbled.
He ran his knuckles up my arm with a soft laugh. "Maybe not," he conceded. "But are you into twinks? I want to know if I should be worried about this hair stylist. Or dieting."
I smiled down at him, all rippling muscles and golden skin, and shook my head. "No," I said, flattening my palm on his trim waist and dragging it up to his broad shoulders. "I'm not. I like my man thick," I said. "I'm gonna keep you that way."
16
Snarl
adj. The condition when two or more lobster lines become tangled.
Cole
Neera: Could we schedule a check-in? Phone or video?
Cole: What would you like to discuss?
Neera: The usual. Goals, accomplishments, issues.
Cole: Nope.
Neera: Pardon me?
Cole: I'm not doing that. I don't have a work plan so I don't have goals, accomplishments, or issues to report back.
Neera: I thought you were developing something.
Cole: I am. But I'm not tying myself to timelines.
Neera: I see.
Cole: You say that when you don't see at all and just want to throw something at my head.
Neera: I wasn't attempting to imply that. I apologize.
Cole: No need to apologize.
Neera: Is there anything I can do to support you?
Cole: Not really. I'm being innovative. Isn't that my new job?
Neera: You're still dissatisfied. Still understandable.
Cole: If that's what you want to call it, that's fine.
Neera: What are you calling it?
Cole: I'm not. I'm just going about my life without agonizing over titles and hierarchy. There are more important things.
Neera: Such as?
Cole: Now that I think about it, there is something you can do.
Neera: I see you haven't lost your skill for deflection.
Cole: I'm going to send you a list of NGOs in need of some signal boosting. Some oceanic conservation nonprofits. Make it big but not connected to me.
Neera: I'll get right on it.
Owen raised a hand toward the setting sun, waving at a passing lobster boat. The captain returned the gesture.
"That's the O'Keefe boat," he said, tipping his chin toward the green and white vessel. "They live north of town."
He ran his hand over my shoulder and I leaned into his touch. It was different now that we weren't working our asses off to avoid each other as a poor form of lust concealment. I enjoyed the easy affection he offered, and the freedom to reach for him whenever I wanted. It was a weightlessness I'd never bef
ore experienced, and it forced me to realize the ways in which I'd narrowed my life back in California.
I didn't date, I didn't flirt, I didn't have sex. There was no romance, no intimacy. I'd convinced myself I needed it that way. My existence was far too complex to add any human variables, and I was hardened by the fear of betrayal. Books featuring the sordid details of my company's inner workings—and my colorful leadership style—routinely landed on bestseller lists. Click-baity blogs went crazy every time I dined at a restaurant, splashing photos of me and my party. They'd make ridiculous comments about the people I was with and analyze the hell out of my meal. If they were lucky, they'd get a quote from a server about how much of an asshole I was that night.
There was no room in my world—the world I left in Silicon Valley—for a simple relationship. I couldn't determine whether I could change that world, make room. Whether Owen would be able to carry the weight of that world on his broad shoulders.
If I indulged in fanciful thoughts, I'd allow myself to believe I was meant to find Owen, and Talbott's Cove. I was meant to lose my title, leave California under the cover of PR bullshit, and nearly crash my boat on Maine's rocky coast.
If any of that was true and not merely the thing of fairy tales and dreams, I was also meant to tell Owen the truth about me and trust that his feelings wouldn't ebb. All this time in this cozy seaside town, all that had changed between us, and I still hadn't put my cards on the table with Owen. Not the ones that mattered, the ones revealing my true identity.
But it wasn't for lack of trying.
There was always something. An important ball game. A town council meeting. A breakthrough on one of my projects. A debate about nothing. A devious grin that turned into blowjobs behind the boat's bridge. Of course I could've put a stop to everything and forced him to listen but I didn't. With each passing day, it became more difficult to speak the truth when I'd let it linger in the shadows all this time.
When I was in college, one of my professors liked to say, "The longer you put off a task, the harder it is to get started." I couldn't remember the class but that adage stuck with me. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and watching the interest compound on this long overdue conversation.
Fresh Catch Page 11
