by Rachel Kane
Worst Men
An Enemies-to-Lovers Gay Romance
Rachel Kane
Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Kane
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
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1. Sergio: Paradise Lost (Luggage)
2. Marcus: Getaway
3. Sergio: Declined
4. Marcus: Smile and Look Pretty
5. Sergio: My Dinner with Marcus
6. Marcus: Bedtime
7. Sergio: The Ice-Man Cometh
8. Marcus: Off the Cliff
9. Sergio: Chainsaw
10. Marcus: Into Town
11. Sergio: Frozen
12. Marcus: Ice Prince
13. Sergio: The Day The Stuff Arrived
14. Marcus: Most Wanted
15. Sergio: Making People
16. Marcus: Hurt Feelings
17. Sergio: So Many Wrong Things
18. Marcus: Rehearse
19. Sergio: Truth Hurts
20. Marcus: Break The Ice
21. Sergio: Pick Up The Pieces
22. Marcus: Best Men
23. Sergio: Worst Men
24. Marcus: Return of the Ice Prince
25. Sergio: Leap Of Faith
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1
Sergio: Paradise Lost (Luggage)
“Denver?” My hands tightened against the edge of the airline counter. “My bags are in Denver?”
The woman at the customer service desk gave me a sympathetic smile, after glancing down at my white knuckles. “I assure you, Mr. Taylor, the airline understands how inconvenient this is for you, and will make every effort--”
“It’s not just my clothes I’m worried about,” I told her. “One of the cases has my sculpting tools. You wouldn’t let me bring them on as carry-on. If I don’t have those--”
“I promise you, the airline will have your bags to you shortly.”
“How shortly is shortly?”
“Well, Denver is pretty far, but I’m sure within two or three days--”
“Two or three days?” I must have said it louder than I meant to; travelers were turning to look at me. I tried to control my tone. “Ma’am, you don’t understand. I need those tools. I’m supposed to be making an ice sculpture at my friend’s wedding, and without those, what am I supposed to do, cut the ice with a knife and fork?”
But that put her off. Suddenly her tone was cold and crisp. “Sir, I’m not sure what you are expecting me to do,” she said. “Sao Marcos is almost 3000 miles from Denver. I can’t drive there and pick up your bags for you.”
I hated to do this, but I was desperate; I put the rich guy tone into my voice: “I flew first class. I expect you to have my bags when I arrive. I didn’t even fly through Denver!”
She slid a form in front of me with an air of finality. She hadn’t liked my mentioning first class, I could tell. “If you’ll fill out the claim form, I can start the return process. Be sure to list your hotel’s address, and a phone number where you can be reached.”
“At least you didn’t lose my phone,” I muttered.
I thought about calling my friend Owen. It was his wedding I was here for, and the ice sculpture was going to be my wedding present. He and his boyfriend Nat had planned to have the ceremony here on Sao Marcos, and they were flying in friends and family to stay at the resort. But why worry them with a problem they couldn’t fix? They were probably out on the beach drinking things with pineapple slices and little umbrellas, celebrating their love.
“Wow, stranger, why are you scowling so hard?”
I looked around, and saw a familiar face smiling at me: Rhody, Nat’s good friend, was standing there with her bags. “Hey, Rhody,” I said. “Just sitting here thinking about love and lost luggage.”
She sat in the chair next to me. “Both topics to turn the stomach. Can you believe they picked a tropical island to get married? Love makes people so tacky. What’s that form you’re filling out?”
I showed her my luggage claim, and her eyes widened. “They lost everything,” I said. “My clothes, my sculpting tools...”
“At least you won’t require many clothes. I assume you guys will mostly be walking around in teensy Speedos, showing off your muscles to each other.”
“I don’t even have my suit with me!”
She gasped in mock horror. “You’re going to the beach naked?”
“At least Owen will have my tux for the wedding itself. So I won’t be the Naked Best Man.”
After I dropped the form off at the customer service desk, Rhody and I split a cab to the hotel. She was looking out the window. “So many beautiful unattached women,” she said. “It’s going to be a busy week for me. What about you?”
“Well, beautiful unattached women aren’t really my thing.”
“Yes, I know. But man-wise. I notice you didn’t bring anyone with you. Are you hoping to pick up some guys while you’re here on the island?”
I shifted a little in my seat. What an uncomfortable question. Hesitantly I said, “I haven’t given it much thought.”
She just hummed and looked back out the window. I was glad she didn’t question me further. To be honest, I’d given it a lot of thought. But there was no way I was ready to date again, not after my last breakup. Instead, I’d kept myself busy with work. I’ve always found sculpting to be mentally soothing. You get so busy with your hands, working muscles most people don’t even know they have, forcing clay into interesting new forms, or seeing a figure within a block of sandstone and carefully, patiently carving away everything except that figure.
Right before I left for this trip, I’d dropped off two pieces at the gallery. They called them harrowing and disturbing. Hearing those words together made me think I wasn’t doing a very good job taking my mind off my troubles. I liked to hear my work called serene and contemplative. I’d sold several pieces to a local meditation center. Maybe I was too tense to make happy, peaceful pieces right now.
“Not to wake you up from your daydreaming, but I think we’re here,” said Rhody. I offered to help her with her bags, but she just laughed. “It’s a resort, Sergio! You don’t have to lift a finger if you don’t want to!”
I stepped out of the shade of the porte-cochere, away from the line of unloading cabs, and for the first time since I’d gotten here, took a moment to actually look. The hotel itself was gorgeous, almost blinding white in the afternoon sun, but it was the landscape itself that truly caught the eye; off to the west, the dense green of trees, punctuated by tin and terra cotta roofs, gave way to a startlingly blue ocean. Back the other way, I could see the busy life of Sint-Pieter, the town we’d driven through on our way here.
Later, I’d have to walk down there and soak in the culture. The idea of the resort was nice, but it was also artificial. Perfect rooms, perfect beach, every need satisfied. I needed the refreshment of something real.
I shook my head at that thought. Quit being so damned serious! I told m
yself. I had a week away from my normal life, a wedding celebration to enjoy, an ice sculpture to create, friends to visit with, and a lush island to explore. This was going to be an incredible week, as long as I didn’t screw things up by being a mope. I turned back to the shining hotel, and went into the lobby.
The smiling man at the lobby desk took my name and said, “Ah, Mr. Taylor, we have you all set.” He glanced behind me. “No luggage?”
I shook my head. “Mix-up at the airport.”
“Surprisingly common. The airline is good about getting things back to you quickly.” He slid a keycard over the desk. “Your roommate has already arrived, and--”
“I’m sorry? Roommate?”
“Yes, he actually came in on the red-eye flight--”
“I’m sorry, I guess I don’t understand. Why is there a roommate?”
“Ah, shared rooms were booked for your entire party.”
Huh. Owen hadn’t mentioned that. I could understand...this wedding was an enormous expense for them, and most of our friends wouldn’t mind the economizing, as they’d be spending most of their time drinking out on the beach.
Still, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared a room with someone I wasn’t dating. College, maybe? I took out my wallet. “Sorry, I didn’t realize,” I said. “I’d like a room to myself, please. Nothing fancy is necessary, just whatever you have free.”
The man at the desk didn’t blush, exactly, but looked abashed and deferential. “I apologize, sir, but the hotel is fully booked.”
“Fully?”
I don’t like showing off. In fact, it’s the thing about my family I hate the worst. My brother with his Bentleys, my mother with her furs, it’s ugly and ostentatious. In a lot of ways, my career as a sculptor was a rejection of the way they spent money. But if I was going to be here for a week, I seriously did not want to spend it cooped up with one of Nat or Owen’s other friends. I reached into my wallet and slipped out my Black Card. I tapped it against the counter.
“Surely,” I said, “you have a suite available. Money is no object.”
Now he did blush. “I am terribly sorry, sir. I would be more than happy to give you a suite, but your party is not the only large gathering at the hotel this week, and at this moment, I would not be able...” He stared down at my card. I saw him taking in my Maitres du Temps watch, the shirring of my sleeve where it met the cuff. People who understand money notice things that others do not.
He stood up a little straighter. “Would it suffice if we were to contact you the moment a room opened up?”
“That would be appreciated,” I said.
“And of course I will call the airline right away to make sure they expedite your luggage.”
I thanked him, and went empty-handed upstairs.
After the trouble of the trip, I was ready for a nap. There would be plenty of time to track down Owen and let him know I’d arrived, and to meet everyone else who was staying for the wedding. Right now I just needed to relax and shut my eyes for a little while.
The rich carpet in the wide halls muffled every step, a lush silence that made me feel halfway to sleep already. I hoped the bed would be comfortable. Oh, that was an unworthy thing to think. If they’d had some palatial suite I could have rented, would the bed have been that much more comfortable than the one I was about to encounter?
Enough thinking! Time to sleep. I slid my keycard into the lock, and heard it click. The door swung open quietly.
I could see that someone had indeed already been here, as one of the beds had a suitcase sitting on it. But before I could so much as sit down in the room or kick off my shoes, the bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam billowed forth.
Out of the cloud stepped a wet, entirely naked man--toned, trim, a towel over his broad shoulders, with his thick cock swinging.
I tensed as I realized who it was. And the minute he saw me, his eyes narrowed and he scowled, whipping the towel down to his waist.
“Oh hell no,” said Marcus, my worst enemy.
2
Marcus: Getaway
The first time I ever got in a fistfight was with this kid named Batty Harper in sixth grade. He was a rough kid whose family moved to town about halfway through the school year. I think his name was short for Bartholomew, but we just called him Batty. The minute he got in our school, he acted like he had to mark his territory. We all hated him, the way he’d push around the smaller kids, the way he’d scowl at you while you were trying to take a test. Finally, one day at recess, he shoved my best friend, and I let him have it. Pow, bam. We hit the playground dirt, kicking and hitting, getting filthy but not too hurt. I got suspended for two days.
The second time I ever got in a fistfight was with Sergio Taylor, and it was over his gross boyfriend. That time was in the parking lot outside of a party I was a waiter at. It hurt like hell, I got my shirt ripped, and instead of getting suspended, I got fired off that gig. It was worth it, though, to punch that smug face once or twice. Okay, just once. And it was more his cheek than his face proper. I’m not a boxer or something. But still, so satisfying. I hated that guy.
And here he was, pretending like he wasn’t staring at my cock, as I walked out of the bathroom.
It wasn’t fair. Things had been going so well before that.
Going so well might be stretching it. The truth was, I was in trouble. About a week ago, the restaurant I worked in had to close down for health code violations, and I was having trouble finding anything new. I live in a town called Oceanside, where there are a ton of restaurants, but tourist season had come to a close, and nobody needed me right now. I knew I’d find something eventually, but things were tight in the meantime.
So when my friend Nat asked me to be a groomsman at his wedding, with a trip to a tropical resort, it couldn’t have come at a better time. Watching the world zip by under me as I flew south was like escaping all my problems. I’d only been here for a few hours, but in that time I’d gone for a swim in the ocean, hiked a couple miles up the shore, far enough to see some interesting cliffs I wanted to explore later, and had lunch at the hotel’s buffet. I could pretend I wasn’t unemployed, that I wouldn’t have to go back to Oceanside empty-handed.
I’m not the kind of guy that sits around thinking about his problems all the time. Usually I just blow things off, knowing good luck comes along again soon enough. I’m not sure why I was having trouble doing that back at home, but I really needed this vacation, needed some time away from everything.
I needed not to see Sergio Taylor standing in my hotel room.
“Oh hell no,” I said. I hadn’t meant to say it aloud; I saw his face color when he heard it.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” he said. If his voice had been any colder I would’ve gotten goosebumps.
I could’ve kicked myself. You couldn’t get confrontational with a guy like Sergio. He’d always win that kind of conversation, he was so smooth. Tightening the towel around my waist, I tried to keep my voice neutral and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I suppose I could ask you the same.” He held up his keycard. “Apparently we are roommates.”
I glanced around. He hadn’t brought any bags or anything. That was weird. You wouldn’t think an entitled trust fund boy would need to share a room, or arrive without luggage.
It’s not like every time we saw each other we were shoving shoulders and throwing punches. It wasn’t like that at all. But the memory of it was always in the air when we were together. Even though I was bigger than him, he had lots of pretty-boy muscles sculpted at his exclusive gym on the good side of town, but even though those muscles were all for looks, I knew from experience that he could pound me.
“Nat and Owen wouldn’t have put us in the same room,” I said.
“I’m sure it is a misunderstanding,” he agreed. He walked to the window and closed the curtain, shutting out the late-morning sun like he owned the place.
“I was kind of enjoying the light,” I
said. I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at him. Everything about him was stuck-up, from his perfectly tanned skin to his expensively cut hair. It set me on edge, the same way it did whenever we were in the same place.
He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the other bed. “There’s still plenty of light outside. But I need to rest. It has been an awful flight.”
“Maybe we should see about different arrangements,” I said.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He wasn’t looking at me.
“Well I’m not cozy,” I said.
“I’ve already requested another room. There aren’t any right now.”
Part me of me was actually offended that he’d already tried to get another room. I wasn’t the stuck-up one who was impossible to be around, it should’ve been me finding another room. “So wait, you knew I was here, but you still took the room?”
He sighed. “Come on, Marcus. In case my look of shock earlier wasn’t enough to communicate this, I had no idea you were the one I was sharing the room with. But don’t worry, I’m very motivated to get out of here.” He settled back onto the bed.
I rolled my eyes. Yeah, he looked pretty motivated. But curiosity got the better of me. “Are your servants bringing your bags up?”
He scoffed. “Dude, my stuff is 3000 miles away.”
“You forgot your luggage?”
He rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head. His voice muffled, he said, “I’m going to take a nap, before I have to go be sociable and explain to Owen why I can’t make him a nice ice sculpture like I promised.”
