Off Plan

by May Archer

  In short, I. Was. Sprung.

  It was horrible. And I didn’t know how to stop it, or even if I wanted to.

  “Yo, Fenn.” An enormous hand waved in front of my face, and I jumped away from the clear plastic I’d been tying down over the open window, instinctively sinking into a fighter’s stance.

  “Jesus Christ, Beale! Don’t fucking sneak up on a person!”

  “Sneak up? I’ve called your name sixty-seven times.”

  I shook my head and stretched my neck from one side to the other.

  “Dad called your name twice, too,” Beale continued smugly. “But I think he just assumed you were ignoring him, ’cause he muttered something under his breath and left.”

  I looked around. “Left. But didn’t he—”

  “We finished locking everything down at least ten minutes ago.” Beale smirked. “While you stood here in your own little world, thinking about… what, exactly?”

  “I wasn’t… I didn’t sleep well last night,” I told him honestly. “I’m zoned out because I’m tired.”

  “Gotcha.” Beale knocked me out of the way, took the plastic from my fingers, and deftly finished my task. “So, what were you and Mason chatting about this morning?”

  “Chatting?” I snorted. “We weren’t chatting. He came out of his door the same minute I was walking past it. Coincidence.”

  “Ah.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Beale shrugged his enormous shoulders and shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “I thought he was a snob, that’s all. Or, no, prissy, wasn’t that the word? Aura as brown as his shoes? Thought you were a serial killer? Loafers?”

  I brushed my hair out of my eyes. “Your dad told me to be nice to him.”

  “Oh!” Beale nodded vigorously. “Of course! Of course. Silly me. You’re always so great about backing Dad’s plays. Obviously you’re being friendly with the doctor because Dad told you to! Because you’re a team player.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yep. So, where’d your dad disappear to, anyway? Gosh, I feel like we spend hardly any time together.”

  “Your changed attitude toward Mason is most definitely not because he’s got a tight body,” Beale persisted. “Or pretty eyes. Or because he’s so smart. Or because he doesn’t take your shit, and you find that irresistible. Those things are just incidental.”

  “Mmmm. Smells like lunch.” I patted my stomach. “Wonder what Lety’s got cooking?”

  “And this attitude change has nothing whatsoever to do with you spending the evening at the rocks last night, drinking.”

  I stopped in my tracks, heart racing. Of everyone on this island, Beale was the only one who knew how much I loved the rocks. As far as I knew, he was the only one who even remembered that spot was there. Had Beale seen us? I hadn’t even considered that last night, and fuck, Mason would not be happy if this got out.

  “I don’t know what you thought you saw, but you keep your mouth shut, get it?” I took a threatening step in his direction and lowered my voice. “I’m being very, very serious here, Beale. Do not tell your father, do not tell your brothers. Tell no one. Mason’s sorting through some shit, and he doesn’t need anyone up in his business.”

  A slow smile dawned on Beale’s face. “I didn’t see a damn thing last night, Fenn. But this morning, when I was running on the beach, I saw an empty bottle of your schmancy beer and two sets of footprints. In fact, at first, I was gonna give you shit about picking things up with Gerry—”

  I made a disgusted noise. “How many times do I have to tell you, that is a thing that will never be picked up? I can’t manage to have a conversation with the man while sober, Beale. Okay?”

  Beale held his palms up. “Yeah. Okay! Chill.” He rocked on the soles of his boots. “So, when you say Mason doesn’t need anyone up in his business, I take it you mean besides you?”

  “No.” I resumed walking. “I’m not up in his business either. Not like that. We’re friends. We decided.”

  “You realize that saying you decided to be friends implies that there were other choices besides friendship.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was digging myself into a hole, so I tried keeping my mouth shut.

  It didn’t work.

  “So is Mason into you? Did you hook up?” Beale didn’t look nearly as surprised by this development as I would have expected him to be.

  “What happened between us was none of your goddamn business.” I felt my face go hot. “Anyway, we’re friends. And he’s leaving here the second he gets another job, which could be tomorrow for all I know. It’s better if we just… don’t… discuss any non-friendship options that might exist.”

  Beale tilted his head to one side and assessed me for a moment. “Ahhh.” He nodded in understanding. “Yeah, no, I feel you, Fenn. If Mason is… how’d you put it? ‘Sorting through some shit’? That’s probably not a good situation for you. After Texas Thad fucked you over, it’s better if you stick to guys who’ve been out and proud a while, huh?”

  I scowled. “It’s not like that—”

  “But since you’re not interested, and Mason might be, I might as well up my flirting game! Set blasters to kill instead of stun.” He rubbed his hands together and wiggled his eyebrows.

  I whirled to face him. “No. You should not. Just leave Mason be.”

  “But why? If Mason’s taking some fledgling steps into figuring out his sexuality, he’ll need a guide,” Beale said mildly. “And I’m a great guide. Really gentle and patient—”

  Red mist covered my vision, and I thumped Beale’s shoulder, hard. “He doesn’t need you to be his gay sherpa!”

  Beale’s tongue traced the inside of his cheek as he regarded me, no trace of his customary smile in place.

  A new, disturbing thought occurred to me. “Wait. Beale, do you have feelings for Mason?”

  The air was heavy and close in the boat with the plastic down, which was obviously why I was sweating.

  Obviously.

  “Would it matter to you if I did?” Beale asked at length. “Would you be okay if I made a play for him, then?”

  “Ye—” I broke off with a cough. There was only one right answer to that question, but somehow, I couldn’t make myself give it. “I mean…”

  “Uh-huh.” Beale’s face split in a shit-eating grin. “Your aura is so freakin’ red right now, I can’t even handle it. I do not have feelings for Mason, Fenn. But you do.”

  “Do not.”

  “Jealousy is a feeling, buddy.”

  “I…” I opened my mouth and closed it again. Fuck.

  “Question is, what you plan to do about it—”

  “I already told you. Friends.”

  “—because if you don’t want him—”

  “I don’t.” Not… an unreasonable amount. Not an insurmountable… amount.

  “—that’s cool, but someone else will. Either on this island or elsewhere. So, like, he’s gonna do what he’s gonna do. Eventually. With someone. Who’s not you.”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck, angry at the world. “What do you want from me, Beale? This isn’t easy, you know?”

  “Right? I know. So imagine how hard it is for Mason.” Beale pursed his lips. “And just to say, and then I really will drop it forever before your talking-about-feelings allergy kicks in and you go into anaphylactic shock—”

  “Jesus—”

  “—one of the things that hurt you most about Thad when he fucked you over was that he made you think he was really into you, but every time he had a chance to prove it, pushed you away, right?”

  I swallowed. I hadn’t pushed Mason away. “Mason and I agreed.” It sounded lame, even to my own ears.

  “You know, Mason and I were talking the other day—”

  “Yeah, I heard all about your talks.” I made air quotes, even though I hated making air quotes, just on general principle.

  Beale didn’t even bother concealing his amusement anymore. “Anyway, he mentioned some
thing about his Instagram account, so I’ve been checking it every morning after my beach run, while I eat my oatmeal—”

  “I’m aware he has an Instagram account, Beale.” I was very aware. I also knew exactly which pictures made the cut and which did not.

  “Hmm. Maybe you should check it out. I have to say, I found his most recent post… highly educational.”

  Educational? “What the fuck would I want to do that for? Last thing I need is endless pictures of his stupid loafers, or the hashtag-mating habits of whatever hashtag-wildlife he thinks he’s seen.”

  Beale literally doubled over with laughter.

  “Have you finally lost your mind?” I demanded. “Is this how it ends?”

  Beale sobered somewhat. “Sorry! Sorry. Just… mating habits. That’s a good one.” He sniffed loudly like he was trying to compose himself and clapped my shoulder with one giant paw. “Anyway, I’m just saying, if you could see what Mason looks like when he’s looking at you… if you could see what you look like when you look at him… you might remember that he is not Texas Thad. And you might rethink your decisions.”

  He turned and strolled off, whistling.

  I narrowed my eyes and watched him walk, wondering what the hell he meant. How did Mason look at me? How did I look at Mason? What was so educational about Mason’s Instagram?

  Well played, Beale.

  I hurried after him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mason

  Per Toby’s advice, I’d woken up Saturday determined to be patient, to give things time, to not overthink. I had not checked my Instagram to see the fallout of posting my picture with Fenn, because that post had been an accurate representation of where I was for that one moment in time, and it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thought. I didn’t let myself replay the kiss over and over in my mind, because Fenn and I were going to be friends, and thinking about him sexually was counterproductive. I congratulated myself for evolving and maturing to the point where I’d mastered my own thoughts and regarded self-knowledge as its own beautiful reward.

  In short, it was maybe the most peaceful nineteen minutes of my life.

  And it had ended the literal second I’d crashed into Fenn on the balcony.

  I could not be friends with Fenn Reardon. What the hell had I been thinking to ever agree to such a stupid plan? It was adorable that Fenn wanted friendship, it really was. But that friendship was meant for some alternate-universe Mason and Fenn. An innocent universe. A universe where Fenn’s hand had never been on my cock and I’d never screamed his name while I orgasmed my spleen onto the Florida sand.

  Sadly, in this world, I was fairly certain that if I ever got close enough to breathe his air again, like I had this morning, I was going to molest the fuck out of him, despite him explaining very logically last night why that would not be good for either of us, and despite the fact that I very logically agreed with him.

  Mason Bloom Takes Charge of His One Goddamn Life was never meant to be a romance.

  So, therefore, I was putting a restraining order on myself. If I saw Fenn coming, I was going to walk away. If I knew Fenn was going to be hanging around the motel, working on his car, I would be elsewhere.

  If the man had managed to avoid me for an entire week, surely I could avoid him just as easily, right? Pfft. Of course I could.

  Which was why I found myself walking into town along the Godfrey Pass about half a mile north of the Five Star, sweating off all the water in my body as the midday sun beat down on me, just when the younger Rafe Goodman happened along in his Jeep, headed for the motel.

  “Morning, Doc.” Young Rafe rolled down his window and slowed his Jeep to a crawl. “Out exploring?”

  I took a step closer to the car, only because it would have been rude to stay away, and not at all because of the blasts of beautifully cool air-conditioning wafting through the window. I hadn’t spoken to the oldest Goodman brother very much, and I got the impression he didn’t approve of me, somehow, though I wasn’t sure if that was because I was new in town, or because I was a doctor, or because I was part of his father’s plan for Whispering Key. Or maybe, as Fenn would have said, “Smart money says a little of each.”

  Except, I wasn’t thinking about what Fenn would have said anymore.

  “Uh. No. Not sure there’s much here to explore?” I side-eyed the columns of palms lining each side of the road. “For me, I mean. I’m not much of a… tree person.” Trees meant bugs, and bugs likely meant geckos. Thus ended any desire I had to walk into the Florida woods.

  Rafe snorted. “Yeah, me neither. Beale’s the tree-hugger of the family. I’m happier on the water. And Gage… His natural habitat is air-conditioning.”

  “Hey! Nothing wrong with that!” I exclaimed, and we both laughed.

  Part of me was dying to ask what Fenn’s habitat was, but I would not.

  I was quitting him cold turkey.

  “You ever hear the story of Resolute Goodman, my great-great-times-a-billion-grandfather?” Rafe asked, eyeing me curiously.

  I nodded. “Of course. He was a quartermaster who took gold from the Esmerelda before it sank and wound up founding Whispering Key along with Jacob Godfrey, the captain.” I’d heard the story from… he who would not be named… and then I’d gotten several more earfuls from people in town. Every person had their own piece of Godfrey memorabilia and their own ideas about where the treasure was most likely hidden.

  “Jeez, we indoctrinate folks fast around here.” Rafe smiled ruefully. “Well, if you’re really hard up for something to do, the remains of the place the men stayed when they first came ashore after the shipwreck are right through those woods.” He pointed out his window. “We call it the Original Homestead. Not sure why, since it wasn’t much of a homestead and there’s hardly any of the original building left anyway, but that’s neither here nor there. See where the road dips and there’s a break in the trees? Walk back about two feet, and you’ll see the world’s densest, thorniest patch of blackberries, in a big ol’ rectangle marked off with white seashells, like they were attempting to cultivate them. Very domestic. Walk ten feet back from that and you’ll see hatch marks on a tree that mean… who the hell knows what? Probably communicating with aliens. Five feet back from that, a big stone fire pit where they’d roast their Sunday possum. Be sure to take pictures to share with your friends.”

  “Wow! Does the path dump me out at a gift shop where I can buy a book of traditional possum recipes and my very own hatchmark-making kit?”

  Rafe’s face split in a grin that made him look ten years younger and infinitely more handsome. “I’m gonna suggest that at the next Whispering Key town meeting.”

  “Please make sure you credit me.”

  He chuckled and his eyes softened in appreciation. “Oh, you bet I will. Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  I was tempted for a second, because it was really quite, quite warm for a walk, but I shook my head. “Thanks anyway, but I’m going in the opposite direction. Heading to town. Gonna treat myself to some lunch.”

  Beale had said he and Fenn would be back at the motel in the early afternoon. Therefore, I was resolved to spend the early afternoon elsewhere.

  “Yeah? Going to the Concha?” Rafe sounded surprised.

  “Yep. I love it there. Besides, not a lot of choice unless a new restaurant has opened in the last two days!”

  Rafe snorted. “Not that I know of. Though, to hear my dad talk about it…” He broke off and shook his head. “You know, he was telling me and Beale last night that he’s gonna be trialing food trucks next month for the Labor Day Extravaganza? You heard about the Extravaganza, right?”

  I nodded. “Hard to exist in this town and not. Literally everyone who comes by the clinic has had something to say. What do you mean trialing the trucks?”

  “Starting in a couple weeks, every Saturday, they’re gonna park in town down by the pier. The ones we all like best will get asked back.” He shook his head, more bewildered than e
xcited. “People are competing for spots. On Whispering Key.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  Rafe shook himself. “I guess. Dad’s been talking about the revival of Whispering Key for a long time. I didn’t take him seriously this time around.” His lips twisted up. “Anyway, enjoy your lunch. Beale and Fenn should be finishing up their tour in a half hour or so, so you might catch them on their way back if you want a ride home.”

  I waved a hand in goodbye as he drove off, very much hoping I did not catch Fenn… at all.

  My phone chimed with an incoming text, and I pulled it from my pocket.

  Unknown: Hey.

  It was from a Florida number I didn’t recognize, which was weird since I’d only given my number to Big Rafe, Beale, and Taffy. I ignored it.

  Unknown: It’s Fenn. Can we talk?

  Shit. I wished I could ignore the way my stomach jumped, just reading that.

  That feeling—that weird, jittery, fluttery feeling—had never happened to me before. Ever. Not in high school, when I took Celeste Nustlebaum to prom, or when I’d kissed Rory. Not when I’d dated the gorgeous Emily Lu in college, or sweet, funny Becky in med school. Not even in the earliest early days with Victoria, who I’d planned to marry. Apparently I was capable of feeling passion, I’d just been looking for it in the wrong people.

  This would have been a more comforting revelation if the one person I felt this way about had been capable of returning my feelings, but he wasn’t. And this overcaffeinated, anxiety-attack feeling was not compatible with friendship.

  I stuck my phone back in my pocket and decided it wasn’t hiding if you refused to acknowledge someone was looking for you.

  I also fervently hoped that one of the fourteen MedLister jobs I’d applied for would call me back soon.

  “Morning, Dr. Bloom!” a voice called from across the street.

  I blinked out of my daze and realized that I’d nearly reached the curve in the road where the town center began. It was a good thing there was hardly any traffic—Fenn Reardon was dangerous to my senses in more ways than one.