The Shore Thing (States of Love)

by Barley A. R.

  Every instinct he had was screaming at him to slip out of his clothes and into the shower with Nico, but he forced himself to turn away.

  He didn’t even know if Nico was gay.

  At best, making a move would earn him a sharp right cross.

  At worst, he’d be taking advantage of someone who needed a safe place to stay.

  “I’m going to make dinner,” he said. “You allergic to anything?”

  “Fast food.”

  “Funny.”

  Nico was a waiter in Chicago. He was probably used to better than sloppy joes.

  Dale scratched at his jaw. There was still some shad in the freezer left over from the last time he’d gone fishing. Fried up with some butter and lemon it wouldn’t be fancy, but it would be damn good. He might even be able to find something green to serve with it.

  Beans?

  Spinach?

  He left the door between the deck and the kitchen open as he got down the necessary pots and pans. He grabbed the fish out of the freezer and started chopping up the onions. The actions were small and calming.

  It made him feel good.

  Centered.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made himself a real meal. It was something he needed to do more often. With Nico? No. He pushed the thought out of his mind. The boy wouldn’t be sticking around for long.

  Hell, a couple of nights on Dale’s rickety spare bed with the coils that dug into his spine and he’d be begging to go home.

  Dale finished making dinner. The water stopped a few seconds after the food hit the table. There was a moment’s serene quiet and then the bang of the shower door.

  “That shower’s amazing,” Nico said softly as he edged his way inside. “I don’t know why you’d ever shower indoors.”

  “You say that now, but then it’s winter, the cold air’s coming in off the ocean, and your important bits start freezing off.”

  “It’d be a pity if you lost your ears.”

  “Those too.”

  Nico stumbled over his own feet. Either that or he tripped on his borrowed sweatpants. The odds were about fifty-fifty. Either way it was adorable.

  Dale bit back a grin. “You want something to drink? I’ve got—” Six types of beer and some moldy orange juice. “Water. I’ve got water.”

  “Water’s good.” Nico picked the chair at the far end of the table. He balanced carefully, pulling his legs in tight against his chest. Dressed in borrowed clothes three sizes too big, he looked like a damn teenager.

  Twenty-three, Dale reminded himself. That’s how old he’d told the doctor he was. Even if his lanky limbs and bright eyes meant he’d be getting carded for at least the next twenty-three years.

  Crud, Dale really was old. It wasn’t the teenagers at work or the fact that he’d been a lifeguard for over a decade. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been carded except as a joke.

  The fuckers over at the Lazy Crab thought it was hysterical.

  He poured them each a glass and sat down across from Nico. They ate in silence. At least he ate and Nico picked at the fish. The time passed quickly. Then he went to put fresh sheets on the guest bed.

  When he got back, the dishes were stacked neatly beside the sink. They were gleaming. Clean. Nico had been a busy boy, even if it didn’t look like he’d moved an inch.

  Dale cleared his throat. “I don’t want to push you or anything, but if you need to tell someone something… I can listen.”

  “Sure you wouldn’t rather watch a movie?”

  “To be honest? I’d rather hit myself on the head with a two-by-four.” He waited a beat. Nico didn’t laugh. Damn. “Seriously, though, did something happen? Did someone hurt you?” Or worse?

  Gray eyes stared up at him blankly for a long moment. Then Nico blinked. Long dark lashes fluttered against pale skin, and those same eyes went dark with pain. He stood up. His fingers traced the cracks on the battered kitchen table. Bare feet padded across the tile floor.

  When he stopped, they were close enough to touch. Hair stood up on the back of Dale’s neck. Electricity sparked between them. Nico’s tongue darted out to moisten his full bottom lip.

  Blood rushed downward. Damn, Nico had better be gay, because he couldn’t wait to feel those lips pressed against his or—better—wrapped around his cock. He needed to wait a few days for Nico to catch his bearings.

  “I asked my girlfriend to marry me.”

  Shit. Emergency sirens sounded in the back of his head. Not gay. Not gay. Abort. Abort.

  Dale shifted back on his heels before he could do something stupid, like call Nico buddy and ask if he wanted to go pick up chicks. The thought was enough to wilt his erection. “Girl troubles, huh? She say no?”

  “She—she said I was—”

  Nico’s lips clamped shut. His skin went pale. He swayed… once… twice… and then he went perfectly still. The clean scent of suds and sunshine filled the air along with the sandalwood shampoo Dale kept in the shower.

  His spine straightened. His head tilted upward. The spark was back in his eyes. Excitement mixed with determination.

  Clearly he’d come to some sort of a decision.

  Then they were kissing.

  Nico was fast. Dale hadn’t even noticed him push his way onto his tiptoes. One second they were standing there, and the next he had an arm full of twink.

  So he was probably gay after all.

  KISSING DALE probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. It didn’t even rank in the top hundred. Nico didn’t ever want to stop. The kiss was… it was hot and sweet, like his first sip of whiskey and the last purloined bite of a double fudge cake.

  He’d never felt this way with Erica, not in the eighteen months they’d been together. Their kisses had always been more tepid than sizzling.

  Dale didn’t do much at first. He just stood there, smiling into the kiss. His body big and hard. Like a statue carved from marble by a Renaissance master. Then his lips opened. Warmth flooded Nico’s mouth. Dale’s firm hand pressed itself against his back, dragging him in close.

  And then Dale was kissing him back.

  Perfection.

  “Oh, God,” Nico moaned against his mouth. A powerful shiver wracked his body. Lightning danced across his skin and buried itself low in his groin. His erection tented the borrowed sweatpants.

  His breath was coming faster. Fuck. He needed to focus. Now. If he didn’t watch out, he’d be humping Dale’s leg like a dog in heat. Worse, he’d be coming without even a hand on his dick.

  It would be freaking embarrassing.

  Then the hand on his back slid downward to palm his ass, and he stopped caring. Nothing else mattered. He pushed his hips forward, thrusting himself against Dale’s hard thigh. His heart was slamming against his chest. The world was spinning out of control, and….

  Dale’s mouth broke away from his. “Guess that explains why it didn’t work out with your girlfriend.”

  “What?” Nico stared up at him blankly. It took a moment for his brain to reboot and the words to sink in. His girlfriend. Blood thundered back into his head. His erection wilted. He had a girlfriend. Erica. At least, he’d had a girlfriend right up until he got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife.

  “Want to talk about it?” Dale asked.

  “Nope.” Heat flooded his cheeks. If he could take the blue pill and go back to his normal life, he would.

  Except then he’d never have driven to Delaware or seen the ocean.

  He’d never have met Dale.

  It had been only a few hours. Nico pushed the thought away. He refused to be that attached to the man already.

  “I don’t want to talk about anything,” he said.

  “Want to go to sleep?”

  He didn’t think it was possible. Not with all the pent-up energy thrumming through his body. At least not without taking his cock in hand. Jerking off in the spare room might be satisfying—he’d be lucky if he didn’t come as soon as the door clo
sed—but it didn’t seem polite.

  “Yeah.” Dale adjusted his waistband as he took a step backward. “How about a movie?” He led the way over to the living room. The battered blue-and-white couch was older than Nico. The flat-screen TV seemed brand-new.

  “You got any preference?” Dale retrieved the remote. A few seconds later, the mammoth screen was glowing with his Netflix queue. “Sci-fi? Romance?”

  “Anything but romance.”

  “Statham?”

  “Is that a category?”

  “Fast cars, lots of explosions, British accent.”

  “Fuck yes.” Nico perched gingerly on the edge of the couch, as far away from Dale as possible. The absence of a black eye, broken nose, and bruise on his ass where he’d been kicked out the back door meant odds were good that Dale was at least bi-curious.

  That didn’t mean he was interested in Nico.

  It definitely didn’t mean Nico had permission to jump the guy.

  Crunch. On-screen the movie began with two cars slamming into each other. Dale settled onto the couch beside him. Heat radiated out from his body. Nerves made Nico stiff. It took more than twenty minutes of Jason Statham racing across the screen for his body to finally settle.

  Ten minutes later Dale’s arm dropped across Nico’s shoulders.

  It didn’t mean anything, Nico tried to remind himself, but that didn’t stop him from turning into the motion. The scent of salt and sand enveloped him.

  Dale’s body was a furnace. His heartbeat was suddenly audible. Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.

  The steady sound eased Nico’s tension. His eyelids flickered. The darkness weighed down on top of him. Jason Statham threatened the bad guy. The idiot wasn’t impressed. It ended with Statham sucker punching the guy before jumping through a glass window… and then….

  Nico’s eyes finally closed. His breath steadied. The world stilled.

  “Don’t worry,” on-screen Statham was reassuring some woman who’d only appeared in two scenes. “Everything is under control.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  Nico never found out.

  Chapter Four.

  SUNLIGHT EXPLODED in front of Nico’s eyes. He blinked twice. A tiny troll was jackhammering his temple. His skin felt stretched and thin.

  Fuck. He rolled upward and looked around. The bed he was on had a faded blue comforter. The walls were the wrong shade of yellow. There was a door open to the hallway on his left side and on his right… sunlight.

  The wall was full of glass. There was a small side yard and then the sun rising up over a sea of resort homes. Regimented architecture in varying shades of tan. His lips pursed.

  Time to get up.

  He stood carefully. Every muscle in his body screamed. It felt like he’d been hit by a steamroller. He edged his way around the side of the bed.

  Bacon was sizzling somewhere in the house. The scent made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. Dale was cooking—

  Dale.

  The lifeguard who’d dragged him out of the surf and hustled his sorry ass to the emergency clinic. Big and blond with blue eyes that pierced his soul.

  Muscles—Nico swallowed—if he worked out every day for years, he’d never have the muscles that Dale wore casually under his sand-worn skin. God, he was so freaking beautiful.

  And Nico had kissed him.

  He—Nicolas Michael Gabriel Travelli, named after three great-uncles and two archangels—had kissed another man like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be gay. Except all the silent mantras he’d repeated to himself through the years couldn’t wipe away the certainty that kissing Dale had been better than sex with women ever could be. They’d all been right—Erica, his parents all those years ago—he was definitely gay.

  That didn’t mean he could go around jumping every hot guy. He should apologize to Dale for violating his personal space. He should beg his forgiveness and thank him for the place to stay.

  He should do a lot of things….

  He wanted to run away.

  It would be so easy. He glanced backward, but it didn’t look like the wall of glass opened. Not that easy after all.

  The only way out was through the hallway. To get out of the house, he’d need to walk past Dale… and the bacon.

  Fuck.

  Two pieces, he promised himself. Two pieces of bacon and then he was going to get out of the house. He’d probably have to ask Dale for a ride. He didn’t remember the female lifeguard dropping off his car the night before. The old Volvo was still at the beach parking lot.

  Then again, maybe she’d dropped it off while he was sleeping. If he could sleep through Dale carrying him off to bed—like some kind of latter-day King Kong—then he could sleep through someone dropping off his car.

  If his car was at the house, then he could leave. Fast.

  He crossed his fingers as he crept through the house. One foot in front of the other. His joints moved a little easier the farther he got from the bed. Everything was going to be fine. He straightened his back, and pain flared across his spine. Maybe not.

  “Painkillers are on the table,” Dale called from the kitchen. “Take them with water.” His gaze scraped across Nico’s skin. “Lots of water.”

  “Right.” He fumbled his way over to the table and downed the painkillers. Tiny fireworks exploded in front of his eyes. He grabbed the glass of water and drank it quickly. “How’d you know?”

  “That you hurt like a sunnabitch?” Dale chuckled. “You’re not the first guy to wipe out on the beach. Hell, I spent most of my twenties in traction trying to perfect my body surfing.”

  “What’s body surfing?”

  “I’ll get one of the kids to teach you.” The metal spatula banged down against the side of the frying pan. Ceramic plates chimed together, and Dale started plating the food.

  Damn, it smelled good.

  “Kids,” Nico said. “You’ve got kids.”

  “Fuck, I’m talking about the lifeguards. Richard’s got a knack for bending into the wave—even if he is an asshole. I’m not that old. Plus….” Dale’s features crumpled up like last week’s homework. “Girls. God, love ’em. They make great friends, but I wouldn’t want to find one in my bed.”

  “So, when I kissed you last night… you weren’t offended?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh.” Nico didn’t know whether that made everything better or worse. Embarrassment swamped him. Erica had compared his lips to dead fish on more than one occasion. Except Dale wasn’t critiquing his style. He was standing there, his lips twitched upward into a sly smile. “Did you like it?” Nico asked.

  There was a pause. Muscles bulged under a clean white shirt with a red safety cross in the middle. Dale picked up the full plates of food and carried them over to the table.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I liked it. You?”

  “Like’s not exactly the word.” The plate landed in front of Nico. He snagged the accompanying fork and loaded it up with eggs and bacon, shoving it in his mouth before Dale could ask any more questions.

  Dale must think he was an idiot.

  Two pieces of bacon and then he was going to take off. He swallowed. “Thank you so much for letting me stay last night.” The polite words seemed formal and heavy on his tongue. “I’m sorry if I ruined your plans.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair as soon as possible. I promise.”

  Dale’s blue eyes flickered across the table. “You’re leaving?”

  “I’ll grab my clothes—”

  “They’re in the washing room.”

  “Oh.” He glanced down at his borrowed T-shirt and sweatpants. Dale would probably want them back. “Okay, I can wait.” It’s not like he had anywhere to go. “It’s a long drive back to Chicago.”

  “Worried about being late for work?”

  He snorted. “I d
on’t have a job anymore.”

  “I thought you worked with your family. They’re not going to hold your job for you?”

  “Just because you’re family doesn’t mean you’re special.” He recited his grandfather’s words. “I no-showed, no-called. I’m out.”

  “Then why go back?”

  His throat was dry. It took everything he had to swallow back a fresh wave of emotion. There was no reason for him to go back. What was there for him in Chicago? No job. No home. No family.

  Not after he’d spent so many years lying to them.

  “I’ve got nowhere else. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I only wanted to see the ocean.”

  “Could have been worse,” Dale said. “You could have wanted to see the mountains. Painkillers and water aren’t going to fix you if you fall off a cliff.” He finished off his bacon. “You never saw the ocean before last night?”

  “Does Lake Michigan count?”

  “Does it have waves?”

  “Not like these.”

  “Doesn’t count.” Dale grinned at him. “You’re lucky you ended up in Delaware. You go north of here, you’re in New York, Rhode Island, the beaches are all rocky and shallow. The waves suck. Plus, they’re crowded.”

  “And if I went south?”

  “There’s not much until you hit North Carolina.” He pulled a face. “Barrier islands. Hard to get on. Hard to get off. Too many private beaches.”

  “And I suppose Delaware’s perfect?”

  “No place is perfect, but the waves are pretty damn good.” He nodded at Nico’s plate. “Finish your breakfast, and I’ll run you over.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said you’ve never seen the ocean.”

  “I saw it yesterday.”

  “Yesterday doesn’t count. You’ve never seen the ocean.”

  The painkillers had kicked in, but that didn’t mean Nico was feeling 100 percent. Every time he picked up his fork, he was reminded of his encounter with the waves the day before. “I’m pretty sure the ocean saw me.”

  “Not the same thing.” Dale was already getting up and moving around the room. His plate clattered into the sink. “What size swimsuit do you wear?”