A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  “Wow, this is really nice.”

  “Thanks.” Levi smiled. “She’s kind of my second home.”

  Carter snickered. “So you really did come to Bluewater Bay and buy a mobile home.”

  Levi rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

  Before long, they were out on the water, Levi steering while Carter watched the scenery go by. He’d been a little afraid he’d get seasick, but so far, so good. Even when the seas got rougher, when he had to hold on to the railing to keep his balance, his stomach stayed put.

  Levi glanced at him, eyes hidden by dark lenses. “Not getting sick on me, are you?”

  “No, no, I’m good.” Carter loosened his grip on the railing. “Still getting my legs under me, I guess.”

  “You’ll get your sea legs after a while. Everyone’s a little unsteady the first time out.” Either Levi had spent a lot of time on the water, or he had naturally perfect balance, because he moved around on the deck so easily, it looked effortless. Even when a large swell lifted the boat and dropped it unceremoniously, throwing Carter into the railing, Levi just casually braced himself with an arm against the cabin. It was like he didn’t even notice. Obviously someone had obtained his sea legs a long time ago.

  Carter’s head was light now, and his balance was all fucked up. He tried to blame the boat’s rocking—that was bullshit. The rocking didn’t help, but the seas were only part of the problem. If they’d been on solid, dry land, he would’ve been just as unsteady.

  Because . . . Levi.

  It was no wonder someone had thought to cast the man in an action role—he sure had the body for it. Though he didn’t have the bronze tan he’d had back then; a few years in the Pacific Northwest had that effect on everybody. Still, he obviously spent time out in the sun whenever he could, and he had some color on his powerful back and shoulders.

  Standing at the helm of his boat in a pair of low-slung shorts and dark sunglasses without a shirt in sight, he was every inch Chad Eastwick. The only thing that set Levi apart from his character was that eagle tattoo on his upper right arm. And the lack of blood, since Chad usually spent most of a film getting battered within an inch of his life.

  And as Carter stared, he couldn’t decide who was hotter—the mythical Chad Eastwick, or the man who played him.

  He looked away before he started openly swooning, and took a few slow breaths as he studied the rolling seas. He focused on the internal lecture that was rapidly becoming a mantra—we’re just friends, we’re just friends, we’re just friends—and didn’t let himself look at Levi for a moment.

  Carter held on to the railing and closed his eyes as the wind played with his hair. He was having a harder and harder time convincing himself he and Levi were, and could remain, friends. It wasn’t even because they’d kissed, or because of the tabloid rumors, or because he wanted so badly to tumble into bed with him.

  It was because he could breathe around Levi. Not always literally—Levi could make his breath catch like no one else—but when he was with Levi, Carter never felt like he needed to put on an act. No being on his best behavior like everyone was in the beginning of a relationship. No pressure. No stress. Here he was, hanging out with his longtime crush and idol, and he could just be. And wasn’t that exactly what he’d always craved in a boyfriend?

  But having Levi as just a friend was the next best thing. Better than not being around him at all.

  Right?

  A swell hit the boat, and Carter stumbled.

  Levi, of course, didn’t. “You okay?”

  “I’m good. Sea legs and all that.” Good enough excuse as any. “I feel like a clumsy idiot. It’s not like I’ve never been out on the water.”

  “Let me guess.” Levi’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. “Cruise ships?”

  “Yep.”

  “Totally different. You feel it more in smaller boats.” He faced forward again, fingers resting lightly on the wheel as he steered. “You’ll actually get sicker on a big ship. The rocking is more subtle, and when you’re inside, you can’t see the horizon, so your brain can’t find its equilibrium.”

  Carter smirked. “So you’re saying size does matter?”

  Levi opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. “I . . .”

  “Sorry,” Carter snickered. “I couldn’t resist.”

  Shaking his head, Levi laughed too. “I kind of walked into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Right smack into it.”

  Levi glared playfully at him, and they both laughed again. “Well, you’re doing better than Anna ever did.”

  “Yeah? She isn’t much for the water?”

  Levi whistled and shook his head. “No. Girl gets seasick just walking down the pier.”

  Carter laughed. “Anna? Seriously? She’s always seemed like the type who can handle anything.”

  “Well, her Achilles’ heel is the ocean.” Levi grimaced. “Boy, she tried, though. We rented a boat one weekend when we were kids, and she was practically mainlining Dramamine, but she was still miserable. After the third time, she gave up.”

  Levi? And Anna? Boating together?

  Carter studied him. “Three times?”

  “Yeah, we . . .” Levi hesitated.

  Carter’s stomach flipped. Right. He’d mentioned a history with Anna. “You, uh, don’t have to elaborate.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Levi tapped his fingers on the wheel. “When we were younger, Anna and I . . . we dated for a little while.”

  Carter stared at him. “Anna? Dated a guy?”

  Levi nodded, gazing out at the water. “Back in our student film days. That was, um . . .” His fingers tapped faster, and he turned toward Carter again. “That was when she figured out she was a lesbian.”

  Carter winced. “Oh, ouch. That must’ve been rough.”

  “Yes and no.” Levi shrugged. “The worst part was it almost ruined our friendship. But once we patched things up, it didn’t really bother me that she wasn’t into men. If anything, it explained a lot of the problems we’d been having, and putting that behind us meant we could be friends again.”

  “Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”

  “I, um . . .” Levi swallowed. “I haven’t told anyone about that in a long time.”

  “It stays between us,” Carter said softly, as if someone might overhear them even this far from shore.

  “Thanks.” A smile finally worked itself onto Levi’s lips. “I figured you wouldn’t broadcast it to anyone.”

  “No, definitely not. I mean, there’s always Twitter, but . . .”

  They both laughed, and Levi kept driving.

  After an hour or so, when the town was long gone but the coastline was still visible, Levi slowed the boat and brought it to a stop. He cut the motor, and just like that, the world around them grew silent. When they’d left the marina, there’d been the distant noise from the town and the highway, but out here, there was nothing. Even the squawking seagulls had stayed near the shore.

  Though the water was relatively calm, the waves continued to gently rock the boat. Carter’s sea legs remained questionable, but as long as he kept a hand on the railing, he was able to move around without much trouble.

  And still, Levi moved effortlessly, as if he was barely even aware they were on the water at all. Jerk.

  Levi took two fishing rods from behind the door. He eyed both of them for a moment, then selected one and handed it to Carter. “Here you go.”

  With anyone else on the planet, Carter would’ve been making jokes about using another guy’s rod. He suspected Levi would’ve done the same—the man had a wicked sense of humor, and appreciated juvenile jokes as much as Carter did.

  Neither of them made any comments, lewd or otherwise.

  “So, um.” Carter quirked his lips. “At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, how do I do this?”

  “You’re not an idiot. You’ve just never done it before.” Levi toed the cooler over to the side of the deck where a couple of weathered foldin
g chairs were tied. “First things first, a place to sit.” He untied the chairs and unfolded them on either side of the cooler. “And then . . . bait.”

  While Carter watched, Levi pulled what looked like a couple of herring filets from the cooler, and put them on the hooks at the ends of their lines.

  “So, we’re catching fish with other fish?”

  “Just showing ’em who’s where on the food chain.”

  “Right. Got it. And we’re fishing for what?”

  “Ideally, salmon.”

  Carter’s mouth watered. “Please tell me you know how to cook a salmon.”

  Levi snorted. “Know how to? Pfft. My salmon would make Gordon Ramsay weep.”

  “Awesome. Then let’s catch some.”

  “That’s the plan. Have a seat.”

  They both sat in the folding chairs, and Levi handed over the baited fishing line. “Casting is easy. Just tilt it back like this, throw it forward, and cast the line out as far as you can.” He demonstrated with his own, though he didn’t let the line go. “Try it.”

  Carter did a few mock casts to get the hang of the motion, and then under Levi’s watchful eye, he cast the line. The red-and-white bob landed with a plop in the water, and he reeled in some of the line to pick up the slack.

  Levi grinned. “You’re a natural at this.”

  Carter chuckled. “Doesn’t seem that complicated.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Levi cast his own line, which went about ten feet farther than Carter’s had.

  “Show-off,” Carter muttered.

  Levi laughed. “Now comes the fun part.” He lounged in his chair. “We sit back, enjoy the sun, and wait for the fish to bite.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Carter leaned back as well. “You usually catch much?”

  “Sometimes. Once in a while, you get lucky and snag a lingcod. They’re kind of terrifying the first time you pull one out of the water, but goddamn, they are good eating.”

  “Terrifying?” Carter glanced at him. “How so?”

  “You’ll know when you see one. They’re . . .” He made a face. “They’re big, and they’re fucking hideous.”

  “But . . . they look so good when they’re breaded and fried.”

  “Right? Not so much when they’re still alive, though.”

  Carter thought for a moment. “Now I’m not sure if I hope we catch one, or I hope we don’t.”

  “Let’s just keep our fingers crossed for a salmon.”

  “Good idea.”

  Levi reached into the cooler again. No surprise, he withdrew a can of Coke. “Drink?”

  Carter craned his neck to look in the cooler. “What? No beer? I thought that was a requirement for fishing trips.”

  Levi laughed, but there was a note of discomfort. “I, uh, don’t drink. I guess I should’ve asked if you wanted anything, though.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.” Carter freed a Coke from the bed of ice. After he’d popped the tab, he glanced at Levi again. “It doesn’t bother you that I drink sometimes, does it?”

  “No, no. Not at all. Besides, I’ve never seen you have more than one or two, so . . .” He shrugged.

  “Still. Some people who don’t drink have, you know, an aversion to people who do.”

  “I don’t like being around people who drink to excess.” Levi turned to him, and his smile fucked with Carter’s body temperature. “You don’t do that. Which is nice. It’s kind of refreshing, actually.”

  “Yeah, never been a big drinker.” Carter took a swig of Coke because he needed something cold right then. “Are you just not a fan of alcohol or—” He snapped his teeth shut. Hadn’t there been rumors about Levi being drunk when he’d wrecked his Vette? Levi had insisted that wasn’t the case, but the subject clearly touched a raw nerve. Shit. Way to make the conversation awkward. Again.

  “I was raised by alcoholics,” Levi said quietly. “Trust me, it was enough to put my siblings and me off drinking forever.”

  “Oh.” And didn’t that raise some questions about the car accident, but Carter didn’t go there. “You’re not missing much anyway. I like a beer now and then, but anything more than that . . .”

  “Eh, the odd beer never hurt anybody.” Levi picked up his Coke can and gestured with it. “Hell, this shit will probably kill me eventually.”

  “With as much as you drink? Probably.”

  Levi shrugged. “YOLO.”

  Carter just laughed. For the longest time, they sat there and fished, occasionally reeling in their lines and casting them again, and relaxed. Though this wasn’t the most exciting pastime in the world—Carter hadn’t imagined it would be—he could see the attraction. Sitting back, soaking up the sun, listening to the waves slosh against the gently rocking boat. What wasn’t to love?

  And as a bonus, his sunglasses let him steal a few surreptitious glances at Levi, especially when he was leaning over to pull some bait out of the cooler, or when he smoothed on more sunscreen.

  Thank God for those tinted lenses. After all, even if Carter couldn’t touch, he could still look. Right?

  He shifted his attention back out to the water. Get a grip, Samuels. Jesus.

  Goddamn it. There were so many reasons why they couldn’t be more than friends, and no amount of wanting would change that, but Carter couldn’t help fantasizing about him. About what it would be like to take him to bed and see what else he could do with his mouth.

  Or, for that matter, what it would be like to be here with him, just like this—fishing and soaking up the sun—but knowing that when the sun went down, they’d be tangled together. He loved that point in a relationship, when the novelty of sex had worn off enough that they didn’t have to be fucking all the time. He’d never specifically fantasized about being in that state before, but envisioning himself and Levi like that simply . . . made sense. It was like everything between them was perfect except this artificial distance. They wanted each other, and they both knew it.

  But they wouldn’t go there. They couldn’t.

  Damn it. I want us to be—

  Friends. We’re just friends.

  Carter had been so distracted by the man beside him, he almost lost his grip when something yanked at his fishing pole. “Holy fuck!”

  “Hang on to it.” Levi attached his own to the railing and then stood up. “I’ll get the net.”

  “What do I do? Just hold it?”

  “Start reeling it in slowly. Slowly.”

  Carter did as he was told. It had never occurred to him how difficult it was to reel in a fish. Either this was a big fish, or it was putting up a hell of a fight. Maybe both. “Holy crap, that’s heavy.”

  “I can see that. Whatever it is, it’s definitely not small. Reel it in nice and slow so the line doesn’t break.”

  Not that he had much choice. Turning the reel was surprisingly difficult, and “nice and slow” was the best he could do.

  Levi leaned on the railing and craned his neck. “Ah, there he is.”

  Below the surface, a slender white shape appeared, maybe two feet long and squirming and fighting against the hook. With another tug at the line and some splashing, the fish was out of the water.

  Carter did a double take at its distinctive sharp dorsal fin. “Is that . . . is that a shark?”

  “Just a dogfish.”

  “It looks like a shark.”

  “Well, it is, but—here, bring it in close.”

  Carter pulled the rod back and the fish swung toward the boat. Levi leaned over the railing and caught the wriggling fish—holy shit, it really is a shark—like it was nothing. While Carter would’ve cut the thing away and thrown it back as quickly as possible, Levi grabbed it and tucked it under his arm. And reached for its mouth.

  Carter blinked. The shark-thing squirmed.

  Then Levi swore, and a second later, the dogfish flew back into the water and quickly disappeared beneath the surface.

  “Damn it,” Levi muttered. He let go of the line—hook and bob stil
l attached—and stepped away, cradling his hand.

  Carter’s heart jumped into his throat. “You okay?”

  “I’m good. Be right back.” Levi returned a moment later with a rag, a roll of tape, and a couple of gauze pads.

  “Did you . . .” Carter eyed the small but distinct bloodstain on the rag. “Did you just get bitten by a shark?”

  “Well, a little one.”

  “Yeah, but still. A shark fucking bit you!”

  Dabbing at his hand, Levi chuckled. “It’s not that bad. He got me while I was getting the hook out.”

  “So I shouldn’t tweet that Chad Eastwick just got—”

  “Do it, and you’re swimming home.”

  Carter laughed. “And people say fishing is boring.”

  “It is when you’re sitting in a lake catching bass. Just be glad that wasn’t one of those damned lingcod.”

  “But we could’ve eaten that.”

  “And the lingcod would’ve thought the same about us.”

  “Good point.” Carter watched Levi trying to arrange the gauze pads on his hand. “Do you need some help with that?”

  Levi shook his head. “No, no. I’ve got it. It’s . . . damn it.”

  Carter propped the fishing pole against the railing. “Here. It’s easier with two hands.”

  Sighing, Levi gave him the roll of tape and gauze pads. Carter tore off a few strips, then set the roll aside. He steadied Levi’s wrist and quickly arranged the gauze so it would cover the wound without getting in the way more than necessary, and taped them down.

  “You really know what you’re doing,” Levi said.

  Carter shrugged as he carefully wound a piece of tape between Levi’s thumb and forefinger to his palm. “I’m the oldest, and my mom faints at the sight of blood.” He turned Levi’s hand slightly and taped the other end of the gauze. “Someone had to put my younger siblings back together.”

  “Practice makes perfect?”

  “Basically.” Carter met Levi’s eyes, and whatever he was about to say was gone as fast as the dogfish had disappeared beneath the waves. He hadn’t realized how close they’d been standing. And he hadn’t noticed that Levi had taken off his sunglasses.