The Shore Thing (States of Love)

by Barley A. R.

  Instead, he’d met Erica.

  The itch in his fingers turned into an ache deep in his bones. His head dipped toward the heavy pile of clothes in his arms. The store’s carpeting caught against his borrowed shoes.

  “They really let you carry trays of food?” Dale steadied him by the elbow.

  “Only on days that end in y.” Nico finally made it up to the register. He dumped his pile in front of the counter and smiled weakly at the girl standing on the other side.

  Pink hair. Nose ring. Adorable freaking freckles. Nico catalogued her without really thinking. Her name was Sally according to the name tag pinned to her shirt.

  She wasn’t moving.

  “Excuse me.” Nico waved his hand in front of her face.

  She didn’t seem to notice.

  She was too busy staring at Dale, her eyes bright, her mouth open in a gaping half smile. Like he was Prince Charming come to slay her dragons.

  Dale grinned sheepishly. “Sally Hastings, right?”

  “Right—” Sally’s head bobbled. “You went to high school with my cousin Robby. My parents are friends with your aunt—” Her words turned into a strangled cough. “My parents know your family,” she finished up lamely. “Can I help you with something? Do you need me to open the dressing room?”

  “I’m here with my friend.”

  “Right. Of course.” Sally’s head finally swung in Nico’s direction. The look of awe and wonder didn’t leave her face. If anything, it intensified as she rang the clothes up. “Let me give you my employee discount—”

  “That’s not necessary,” Dale said.

  “Really, I insist.”

  “It’s not necessary.” The laughing tone was gone from his voice. Dale retrieved his wallet. He pulled out a credit card.

  Sally glanced back and forth between the two of them. For a moment, it looked like she was about to say something. “I’ll give you the discount.”

  Dale’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word as she put in the code for the employee discount and ran his credit card through the machine. His body seemed disjointed. He bounced from foot to foot, but this time there was no rhythm to his motions. Nervous energy filled the store.

  Sally didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy making sure the clothes were folded to her satisfaction. A manager at the best boutique in Chicago couldn’t have been more attentive. Her silver-painted nails smoothed a snag in the sweatpants, and she refused to put them in the bag until everything was properly arranged.

  “If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.” She grinned at Nico. “Really. Any friend of Dale’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Right.” Dale grabbed the bag of clothes. “Time to go.” He hustled Nico out the door.

  Outside the sun was bright overhead. Heat reflected off the sidewalk. A haze gathered over the asphalt street. After the air-conditioned cool of the clothing store, it seemed to sizzle and pop.

  “Sorry about that.” Dale tossed the bag of clothes into the back of the truck.

  “I guess I’m not the only person in your fan club.”

  “Guess not.” His lips weren’t twisted up in a smile or down in a frown. If anything, his face seemed dull and expressionless. That was even worse.

  After a few seconds, he perked up again. “Let me give you a tour of the town.”

  Chapter Six.

  FIRST THEY had to stop at the town bathroom for Nico to change into his new clothes. “Are you sure this okay?” Nico called over a tall door.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “There’s a sign.”

  “Ignore it.”

  “It says no changing. It says I could be arrested.”

  “It’s a printout.” Dale crossed his arms and leaned back against the building’s cool cement wall. “If they meant it, they’d order real signs.”

  The door to the stall banged open. There was a sign on the inside. It wasn’t a printout. It was plastic—two tones with raised letters.

  Nico glared at him. “They mean it.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” Dale reassured him. “There are four policemen in town—six if you count the guys they bring on for the summer months. Right now they’re all sitting out on the coastal highway waiting for some asshole to drive down the median.”

  The door slammed shut again. Nico snorted. His swim trunks hit the floor, followed by a damp T-shirt. Naked.

  Blood disappeared from Dale’s brain and rushed straight to his erection. Clearly he hadn’t thought his plan through. Not if any part of it involved him standing in the town bathroom with its cement floors and gray walls while Nico stood—naked—on the other side of a dented metal door. Around him stall doors clanged open and shut as men and boys came in off the beach and out of the sun to go to the bathroom.

  All of his attention was focused on Nico’s bare feet and muscular calves. Cloth rustled as he pulled on fresh clothes. The door opened and Nico walked out in a pair of gray cargo shorts and a green shirt. It had sleeves. A henley. Dale filed the word away for future use, concentrating instead on the way the dark fabric clung to his lean abs and nicely defined forearms.

  “You sure you’re not going to be hot in that?”

  Nico shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

  Right. Dale forced himself to take a deep breath. “What do you want to do first? Ice cream?”

  “It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “Okay, miniature golf, then ice cream for lunch.”

  Gray eyes peered up at him curiously. “Miniature golf? Like in Happy Gilmore?”

  “Exactly. You ever play before?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.” Dale rubbed his hands together eagerly. He took the lead, maneuvering out of the bathroom, across the crowded boardwalk, and back toward the center of town. “We’ll have to bet on the game.”

  “Big stakes?”

  “You bet your ass.”

  Nico’s new shoes caught on the cement. He swayed twice. Underneath his swarthy complexion, his skin was pale. His mouth was half-open—in fear? Or anticipation?

  Dale didn’t have time to find out. Not with Nico crumpling like a cheap suit. Hell. He bit his lip as he reached out to steady his new friend. Had someone really let him cart around a heavy tray of dishes on a regular basis?

  “I didn’t mean it.” He backtracked quickly. “That offer I made earlier—a place to stay—that was no strings attached. Staying in my house doesn’t mean you have to stay in my bed.”

  Nico took a small step to the side, separating from Dale. He pulled his limbs in tight against his body. His salt-stiff hair was sticking out from his head. His lips were pressed together in a shy smile. “And if I end up there anyway?”

  “Then it’s not going to be because of a damn bet.”

  It would be because Nico was sexy as hell and smart to boot… because he was ready and willing and begging for it… because Dale wanted him….

  Hell, because they wanted each other.

  Dale’s eyes slammed shut. He might be a rebel without a hope or a prayer—capable of jaywalking, illegal parking, and painting his house non-HOA colors—but that didn’t mean he wanted to walk through the center of town with a chubby.

  He needed to think about something else—anything else.

  Baseball.

  Politics.

  Aunt Shirley doing the hula. Her lip pulled up in disgust as she glared him down. Her bony hips shaking in time to luau music.

  That did the trick.

  They turned left under the old arcade and slipped down the narrow walkway to the threadbare miniature golf course. Out on the highway there was dragon mini-golf, Viking Putt-Putt, and one place with a spaceship crashing into a volcano. Dale preferred the classics, the same eighteen holes he’d been playing since he was a kid with the ripped Astroturf and the rickety windmill.

  Austin Danvers was working the booth at the entrance, handing down kiddie clubs to a group of tweens in brightly colored shorts.
He waited until they’d started their round before waving Dale over. “It’s still hot out, so I know you’re not here for some brownies.”

  “My friend and I want to play a round.”

  Austin’s gaze slid across to Nico. He blinked twice before his lips tipped up in a wolfish grin. “Nice friend.” His tone was a little too appreciative. “You want some brownies, friend? It’s my own special blend.”

  Nico shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “You got a golf club up your ass, or are you worried about the price?” Austin asked. “Because we could definitely work something out.”

  “Any friend of Dale’s is a friend of yours?”

  “Dale definitely has a golf club up his ass—at least during the summer. He doesn’t get a discount. You?” Ginger eyebrows waggled. “You’re damn cute, and if you’re hanging out with Mr. Doesn’t Fuck Locals, then you play for my team. Play with me.”

  “I have straight friends,” Dale objected.

  “Not summer people, and I don’t know your boy… but I’d like to.”

  Dale’s nerves jangled ominously. Nico couldn’t seriously consider going out with someone like Austin, could he? Except, why wouldn’t he? He was young, sexy, and newly aware of his own sexuality.

  The world was his big gay oyster; he didn’t need to settle for the first piece of bivalve spit who pulled him out of the ocean.

  Why did that thought have sweat pooling in the small of Dale’s back and his stomach churning like a paint can in one of those Home Depot shakers?

  “Give us the damn clubs.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed the first bill he came across onto the counter. It was a hundred.

  “Thanks, big spender.” Austin grabbed the bill before he could correct himself. He snorted. “Not like you can’t afford it.” He handed over two balls, a pair of clubs, and the change. The change was begrudging.

  He leaned out of the shack to call after them as they headed for the first hole. “Sure you don’t want to leave a tip?”

  Dale didn’t bother saying anything in return. Whatever he said to Austin would also be audible to the touristing tweens and half a dozen passersby on the street. That didn’t stop him from thinking—angry, twisted thoughts. Two of them involved pointed objects. The other four were anatomical impossibilities.

  He dropped the first ball into position and took a deep breath. “Putt-Putt’s just like real golf.” He took a deep breath as he settled his shoulders into position. He took one practice swing—testing the club’s balance—and then tapped the pink dimpled ball. It rolled forward ten feet, down a narrow ramp, and across the green before stopping less than a foot from the hole. “Except, that’s all about power, and this is all about how you use it.”

  “You want to tell me what that was about?” Nico asked. “With that guy back there?”

  “Austin’s an asshole, but… people in town like him. His ex-boyfriends don’t have a bad word to say about him.” Every word was like a knife in his gut, but he couldn’t stop now. “In case you were considering his offer.”

  “I’m not considering it.” Nico bent over with his own club. His form was awful, and his practice swing ended up slamming against his back ankle.

  “Maybe you should. You could do worse.”

  “Dale, he’s—” Nico’s cheeks flushed. His gaze was glued to the ball, but that didn’t help his shot. The ball went sideways and slammed into the rail. It bounced back three times before ending up almost exactly where it started. “His brownies,” he finished lamely. “I’m pretty sure it’s not parsley in his special blend.”

  “He’s good-looking, smart—a med student up in Wilmington—and he’s a whole lot closer to your age.”

  A guy finding his way out of the closet could do worse.

  Nico’s jaw had dropped. His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were wide. He was staring at Dale like he’d lost his ever-flipping mind. “You need better standards.”

  He took another swing at the rented golf ball. This time it bounced three times before—miraculously—skidding down the ramp.

  “Nice work.” It was still pretty far from the hole. He waited patiently before Nico hit it in on the lucky seventh stroke. Then he tapped his ball in.

  Nico rolled his eyes as they headed for the second hole. “You’re a ringer.”

  “We don’t have to keep score.”

  “And have you deny my inevitable victory? Not a chance.” Nico got into position. Dale was willing to bet dollars to donuts that he’d never played golf before—real or Putt-Putt—and the closest he’d ever gotten to a green was flipping through the channels on a Sunday morning. Still, Dale had to admire his bravado….

  And the way his cargo shorts hugged his apple-shaped ass.

  Pity he didn’t have a chance.

  “Wait—” Clearly Dale had lost his mind. He dropped his club and stepped up close behind Nico. All that hot flesh and tight musculature. He swallowed hard as his frame covered Nico’s. He dipped his head to rest against the tender skin of his neck, breathing in crisp cotton and Nico’s own indefinable scent.

  They fit together perfectly, like two pieces in a puzzle. Only two light layers of fabric separated them, and—fuck—Dale’s erection nestled right in place.

  It wasn’t Dale’s usual position, but that didn’t stop it from being absolutely perfect… except for the tension radiating off Nico’s body. Shit.

  Dale ran a hand over his hip, steadying him. “It’s okay. We’re just playing a round of Putt-Putt.”

  “I guess that’s a club in your pocket.”

  “Something like that.” Dale bit back a laugh. When he’d taken him home the night before, Nico had been desperate and tired. Scraped thin by his own emotions. Now, he was putting himself back together… and Dale liked what he saw.

  Underneath his calm expression and soft smiles he had a lively personality, a sharp mind, and a wicked sense of humor.

  The heat he’d been feeling since their kiss the night before was slowly becoming an unquenchable wildfire, but it was more than that… more than lust.

  He liked Nico.

  A lot.

  It was a weird sensation, something new and different. Dirty dancing with summer guys at late-night clubs might get him off. It might get him blown in back rooms and alleys. It might even get him the occasional invitation to a rented beach house or hotel suite.

  It didn’t lead to a lot of conversations… and liking the other guy wasn’t required.

  Most of the time, he ended up hating himself when it was over.

  Nico was different. He was awkward and fumbling—like a baby bird trying to pry its way out of the nest—but he was also real.

  Icy tendrils of fear curled down his spine and made him dry in the mouth. If he screwed this up, Nico wasn’t the only one who was going to get hurt. He swallowed away the thought as he arranged Nico’s tidy body into formation.

  “This game is super easy. Keep your eye on the ball, relax your body, and swing.”

  “Relax?” Nico made a little snorting noise like that wasn’t going to happen—ever—but he did as he was told. The movement was sharp and sudden. There was no preparation. Just a rush of air and then his ass ground back against Dale’s erection.

  The friction was fast and furious.

  It made him forget everything that was going on.

  Sparks danced in front of his eyes. The noise from the street fizzled and disappeared. The world condensed down to a single point. All of Dale’s awareness was focused on the heat from Nico’s body, his singular scent, and the flex of muscle.

  “Damn straight.” Nico’s excited yelp made Dale’s head bob up. The scene flickered for a moment before he finally focused. The ball had skittered through a series of odd corners and ended up less than three feet from the hole.

  Not bad for a beginner.

  Nico stepped away, cooler air rushing in to fill the space he’d occupied. Dale half straightened, then thought better of it. He had a feel
ing he was going to be thinking about Aunt Shirley and the hula for a good portion of the day.

  He dropped his own ball while attempting to hide his oh-too-active erection, got into position, and—missed?

  With Nico’s head in the game—and Dale distracted by a hundred erotic chickens coming home to roost—the score started to even up. Every time he finally thought he’d gotten his body under control, Nico pulled out a feather.

  Whether that meant a wiggle of his nose, a coy look from under shaded lashes, or a groan when he missed a particularly difficult shot.

  Would he make the same kind of noises in bed? Soft and desperate, writhing against Dale’s every touch, or would he be hard and in control?

  Dale’s breath caught in his throat. He botched the last two holes and couldn’t get his ball into the clown’s mouth. It was freaking embarrassing, but that didn’t make Nico’s victory dance any less enjoyable.

  “What’s next?” Nico hip-checked him as they handed in their clubs.

  Home.

  Bed.

  Sweet nothings and crazy sex.

  “Ice cream.” There were twelve different ice cream parlors on the main street—and two candy shops that also sold ice cream—but Dale’s favorite place in town was a frozen custard place off the main corridor. Back in high school, he’d cozied up to dates in their courtyard with the undersea mural on the wall. Times had changed. The mural was long gone, along with the previous owners, but the store was still his favorite. He led the way—nodding to familiar faces as he walked. Two women with sunburned faces herding a pack of kids. A man in a too-tight speedo. A pack of hungry-looking teenagers.

  “Do you know everyone in town?” Nico asked.

  “And most of the regulars.” Dale gave a little three-fingered wave to a leggy blonde. “It’s a great place to spend the summer. We get a lot of the same people coming back every year.”

  “And the winter? What do you do then?”

  “A little of this. A whole lot of that.” Dale turned to point out an old man in a white linen shirt and a bold blue fedora. “Harold’s a snowbird. He used to come down from New York City. Now, he spends his winters in Florida and his summers in Delaware.”