by Xavier Mayne
Corey beamed. “It’s our pleasure,” he sang. Drew suspected that at least part of that pleasure was the idea of the use to which they’d be putting that bed.
Oh shit. We’ll be sharing a bed.
Why this thought nearly knocked the breath from his lungs he could not explain. But he figured that dropping to his knees and gasping for air would seem ungrateful, so he smiled and nodded and looked around the lobby as if he’d never seen anything so elegant. Which, in truth, he had not.
Corey tapped a last few keys, then walked back around the desk as a bellhop scooped up their duffel bags. “Let’s get you into your cottage so you can start enjoying… whatever activities you prefer.” He didn’t wink wolfishly at this, but it wouldn’t have made his implication any clearer to Drew. “But don’t exhaust yourselves too much, because you have our best table at eight.”
By reflex, Drew glanced at his watch. They would have an hour for… activities. An odd chill ran through him, but he shook it off and fell into step behind Corey. He led them out of the lobby, through double doors, onto a massive stone patio. To one side of the patio was a covered walk, with flowering ivies growing on both sides to give it the feel of a verdant tunnel. Tiny white lights crisscrossed overhead as they followed the sign to The Cottages. The walkway turned and ran along a bluff overlooking the sea, and every ten yards or so, a path wandered off toward a small cottage perched on the very edge of the bluff. At the end of the trail lay a significantly larger cottage, and it was to this they were bound.
Corey opened the door to reveal a bright but snug interior that seemed to Drew a textbook illustration of a craftsman-style beachside cottage. The interior was finished in wood, and nearly the entire side that faced the sea was windowed. Down the gentle slope of the bluff, waves crashed against a rocky shore. It was a beautiful view.
“I’ll put these in the bedroom?” the bellhop asked, holding up their duffel bags.
“Yes, that’ll be fine,” Fox answered, and handed the young man a tip after he had done so.
“Is everything satisfactory?” Corey asked.
“It’s so beautiful,” Drew said, still gawking at the posh furnishings.
“I’m so glad you like it,” Corey replied with a laugh. “We’ve taken the liberty of stocking the bar with your favorites, but please let us know if there’s anything else you’d prefer.”
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” Fox said.
“Well then, gentlemen, I wish you a very pleasant weekend.” Corey backed out the door and closed it behind him.
The two men stood in the silence of the posh cottage for a long moment.
“I can’t believe I’m standing here,” Drew said.
“Wait until you see this,” Fox replied. He walked to the row of french doors and opened the middle pair, filling the room with a sudden blast of sea breeze and the sound of breaking waves. He stepped out onto the flagstone patio, then leaned over the low stone wall that bordered it.
Drew followed into the bracing salt wind. He stood next to Fox for a while, mesmerized by the endless line of waves crashing against the rocks below. “Wow,” he said, inadequately.
“It’s pretty cool, right?” Fox said. “Now, let’s have a drink before dinner.” He turned and went back into the cottage.
Drew stood rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the majestic natural spectacle below him. A few minutes later, Fox returned to the patio, holding two glasses.
“What’s this?” Drew asked.
“An old-fashioned. It was my go-to drink right up until my last time here. They set up the bar with all the ingredients because, well, you know why.”
Drew sipped. “This is excellent. Why did you stop drinking them?”
Fox chuckled darkly. “Let’s just say after having not one but two thrown in my face—at this very resort, it so happens—I was ready never to drink another old-fashioned.”
Drew smiled. “And yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” Fox agreed. He touched his glass to Drew’s and took a long sip of the drink. “But promise me you won’t throw yours at me.”
“I can honestly tell you it never entered my mind to throw a drink at you. Because that would mean I wouldn’t get to drink it.” He took another sip. “And why in the world would someone throw not one but two drinks at you?”
“Long story.”
“We have the whole weekend.”
“I’m gonna need a few more of these before I’m ready to tell that dismal tale.”
“Then a few more we shall have,” Drew said brightly.
Fox laughed. “I’ll make another round. But then I think we’d better get to dinner while we can still hold a fork.”
They drank the second round, then got dressed for dinner. Drew wasn’t joking when he said he’d already worn his only decent outfit—aside from the very casual clothes that were the everyday wear of grad students everywhere, he had a couple of ridiculously conservative blazers he wore to conferences, panel discussions, and interviews. None of that would be appropriate for the kind of places Fox was taking him. If it hadn’t been for his cousin’s wedding last year, he would have nothing at all to wear; the wedding had been an evening affair hosted by the only branch of his family that had any money to speak of.
They walked the length of the covered path toward the main building, the trellises providing cover from the stiff sea breeze. Their table at the restaurant provided yet another breathtaking view of the ocean, and the food was every bit the equal of Table. They enjoyed a bottle of wine, followed by another, followed by a glass of port after their meal, and by the time they strolled back to the Founder’s Cottage they were walking a bit unsteadily. They leaned on each other at various points to steady themselves until they stumbled through the door.
Their arrival back in the snug cottage sobered them up—a little.
“So, uh,” Fox began. “Early morning tomorrow—made reservations for sea kayaks at sunup.”
“Better get to bed, then,” Drew said, trying to sound like he wasn’t desperately trying to keep the room from spinning.
“Yeah.” Fox staggered off toward the bedroom.
“I could sleep on the couch,” Drew called after him. “You know, so it wouldn’t be awkward.”
Fox reappeared in the doorway. He was already unbuttoning his shirt. “The fuck you talking about? Get in bed.”
Drew complied without a second thought—not that he was capable of even first thoughts at this point. He followed Fox into the bedroom, then walked to the far side of the bed. The last thing he remembered was trying to shuck off all of his clothes at once, though he could not remember how far he got before collapsing into bed.
Chapter THIRTEEN
FOX ROLLED over and grabbed at his phone. It was barely after three in the morning.
The first thing he realized was that he wasn’t at home. It was far too quiet for this to be his own bed, as the ventilation system in his condo made a constant low whoosh. Here he could just make out the low rumble of waves cresting.
The second thing he realized is that he wasn’t alone. He looked over his shoulder and saw the outline of a dark shape next to him. That would be Drew. The gentle rise and fall of the mound told that he was sleeping peacefully.
So, they were in bed together. This was all going as Chad had anticipated it would.
Fuck.
Fox edged himself off the mattress, then got to his feet. To his horror, he discovered himself to be completely naked. He strode purposefully toward the bathroom and grabbed a robe. As usual for hotel robes, there was too much of it for his trim waist and too little of it for his broad shoulders, but he managed to wrestle it on and tie it comfortably. He padded quietly out to the sitting room, where he poured himself a mineral water from the bar.
He turned off the light and stood for a long while staring out into the darkness of the sea. The last time he had looked out onto this coastline, he was headed for disaster and didn’t even know it—the blowup ha
d come at the end, when he’d thought everything was going so well. It was a brutal reminder that he didn’t know women as well as he thought he did, despite the extensive analysis he had done. The quantitative model indicated clearly that they were heading for long-term status, but the cold splash of an old-fashioned in his face—followed shortly by a second—had shown that to be a significant miscalculation.
He swore he’d never come back here. And yet here he was. Or rather, here they were.
He could hear, under the regular cadence of waves, the more intimate rhythm of Drew’s slow, gentle breath. Fox stood in the place where these two cycling sounds merged, sometimes unifying and sometimes syncopating. He tried to find sense in these natural rhythms, something beyond numbers and rationality. He tried to understand why he was here at all.
It was all a muddle. He finished his mineral water and felt his way in the dark back to the bar, where he set the empty bottle. Then he walked back into the bedroom and was startled to find that the moon had appeared through one of the high windows, casting a silver light into the room. The previously shapeless mound was now clearly Drew-shaped, and its soft rise and fall continued undisturbed.
Fox stood, again rooted in place by pointless introspection. It was one thing to crash, drunk, with a buddy into the only bed available. It was quite another thing to get back into bed with that buddy when one was sober and knew exactly what one was doing. Which was getting into bed with a buddy. Who was probably naked.
How long he might have stood there he had no idea, but then Drew grunted softly and rolled over. In the silvery light of the moon, the covers slid off as he turned.
Fuck.
If he had dared ask himself the question “Is Drew naked?” he would have had his answer now. Drew’s entire side, from his foot all the way up to his shoulder, was uncovered. At least he was facing the other direction, Fox thought. His relief was short-lived, however, because his second thought was to ponder how often Drew managed to get to the gym. His calves were rounded, his quadriceps and hamstrings were clearly divided, and… well, the evidence of time spent in the squat rack was clearly laid out before him. His shoulder was rounded with muscle, and his lats gave shape to his upper back.
It hit Fox like a brick: he was watching Drew sleep. He was watching all of Drew sleep. He had never done that before—watched a guy sleep, that is—since as a light sleeper he’d had opportunity to watch most of the women he’d slept with over the years. He had watched Miyoko sleep when they’d spent the weekend here. She was the most pacific sleeper he’d ever known, lying like an empress in state, flat on her back, arms crossed over her, eyelids without wrinkle or flicker. Not at all like Drew’s coiled strength—even as he slept soundly his sinews tensed and released in a rhythm Fox couldn’t make out.
And now he was just standing, watching his naked friend sleep.
Fuck.
Having held these two thoughts in his head next to each other, one a recollection of Miyoko sleeping and the other a present awareness of Drew, there was no way he could settle back into bed. He walked silently back toward the sitting room, pausing only to take a last look at Drew’s peaceful slumber. Why he did this he neither knew nor cared to wonder. He shut the bedroom door, then went to the bar to turn on the espresso maker. There would be no more sleep for him.
DREW STUMBLED into the sitting room at a little after four in the morning. “Hey, are you okay?” he whispered.
Fox, who was sitting on the couch with a coffee cup in his hand, turned and smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep is all.”
“I was worried when you weren’t there.”
“So that explains why you jumped out of bed and came looking for me before putting any clothes on.”
Drew, horrified, looked down to find that he, indeed, was not wearing a stitch of clothing. “Oh shit, sorry,” he said and darted back into the bedroom.
“Throw something on and we’ll head down to the kayaks,” Fox called after him.
“I don’t think I brought anything appropriate for sea kayaking,” Drew called back.
“No worries. Wetsuits are provided.”
Drew grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt out of his duffel, then returned to the sitting room. “Are you supposed to go kayaking in the dark?”
“It’ll be light soon. It’s pretty incredible when you’re out on the water and the sky starts to lighten. All of the birds start calling, and the sea comes to life.”
Drew smiled. This was a side of Fox he hadn’t seen before. “Sounds great.”
“Coffee before we go?” Fox held out a cup he must have made while Drew was getting dressed.
He took the steaming cup from Fox gratefully. “Thank you—that’s exactly what I needed. It’s like we’ve been matched up by a computer or something.”
Fox laughed as Drew bolted down the hot coffee. “Good to go, chief.”
A few minutes later, they were down at the boathouse that overlooked a protected marina. The energetic young man who staffed it jumped up when he saw them coming. “Ready for kayaking?” he asked.
“Yes, we are,” Fox answered.
“Awesome. Just between you and me, the place is pretty full of old golfers this weekend, so I didn’t think we’d have much action down here, and certainly not for a dawn paddle. Now, let’s get you suited up.” He sized up the two men, then grabbed a couple of wetsuits from the long rack behind him. “Here you go—the only two Clark Kents we have.”
“Clark Kents?” Drew asked as he took one of the suits.
“Wetsuits for tall guys who take care of themselves,” he replied. “We get people of all shapes here, but mostly they get rounder and rounder every season, so we keep getting fatter and fatter suits. We only have a couple of these—we call them the Clark Kents.” He paused and looked both Fox and Drew up and down. “I think you know why.”
“Thank you, Ryan,” Fox said in exactly the tone of voice Clark Kent would have used—modest but not disingenuously so. “Do we change in there?” He nodded toward the curtained area to the right.
“Yes, please go right in. I’ll get your kayaks set up. Come meet me out at the dock when you’re ready.”
Fox pulled the heavily brocaded curtain and gestured for Drew to precede him. Drew did so, but found to his surprise that there was only one room behind the curtain. It was tastefully appointed, with small lockers along one wall and benches through the middle. But there were no private booths, which Drew had expected to find. Not that he hadn’t already been naked in front of Fox, but he’d been barely awake at that moment, and he was concerned about where Fox had gotten to and couldn’t really be held responsible for that. And now he was standing like an idiot listening to an internal monologue.
“Better get moving, or I’m gonna leave you behind,” Fox taunted as he neatly folded his shirt. He dropped his pants next and folded those neatly as well before tucking them into a locker.
Drew whipped his shirt off, then his pants, and folded them quickly and without the practiced style that Fox brought to the work. He stuck them in an open locker next to Fox’s, then stood and turned around to find Fox fully naked and starting to step into his wetsuit. He was, from this awkward angle, as improbably handsome as ever.
Being an unflinching observer of humanity was something Drew prided himself on, as an academic and as a person. But at this moment, he wished he were more the flinching type. Before he looked away, the image of Fox’s flexing buttocks was seared into his memory, both his musculature as well as his flawlessly smooth skin. It was the first time Drew regretted his unusually detailed visual recall. It was useful in research, but it was hellish when it caught upon an image he’d prefer to let fade.
“Woohoo, these are form-fitting,” Fox cried, yanking the wetsuit up over his hips. It was no struggle to get the thick black material over his abs, but he struggled again when it came to wedging his arms and shoulders into the unforgiving fabric.
Drew flung his underwear into the locker and cl
osed the door, then grabbed up his wetsuit and started tugging. Aside from some momentarily uncomfortable compression of his balls, he was able to get it up and on relatively easily.
“Hey, little help?”
Drew turned toward Fox and saw that he was facing the other direction, his suit open from neck down to the upper curves of his round buttocks. It was only once Drew let his gaze drop to that lowest point that he saw the zipper pull dangling there.
“Oh, yeah,” Drew said, finally realizing what Fox was asking of him. He grasped the zipper pull and yanked upward. The neoprene tautened, allowing the landscape of Fox’s back to come into relief under the surface.
“Thanks,” Fox said. “Now turn around and I’ll do you.”
Though the double entendre wasn’t lost on him, Drew did as he was told. With one vigorous yank his entire upper body was as compressed as his lower. A couple of deep breaths settled him into the suit.
“These are really nice,” Fox said, smoothing the front of the suit. “Not too thick but enough to keep you warm out there.”
“I’ve never had a wetsuit on, so I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Drew said. “It seemed pretty tight at first, but it feels better now.”
“The ones for surfing in cold water are really thick. You can barely breathe in those things.” He took several deep breaths, which had the effect of revealing and then hiding his six-pack abs under the sleek black surface.
“Looks like you’re breathing just fine,” Drew said with a laugh. “Or you’re smuggling an actual six-pack under there.”
Fox looked down, then back up at Drew. “You don’t get to tease me about abs, mister,” he retorted, jabbing Drew in the belly with his finger. “You’re pretty fucking close to having an eight-pack. Studying your life away must involve eating no carbs.”
“Sometimes it involves eating not much at all, actually,” Drew replied. “Summers can get pretty lean if you can’t line up a summer class or a research gig.”