Mystic Man

by E. J. Russell

  Aaron ran the tip of one finger down Cody’s cheek, eliciting a shiver. “Yes. Very glad. I’d go so far as to say thrilled. And as long as you don’t drown me today, there will absolutely be a next date.”

  Cody laughed. “All righty, then. Let’s hit the beach.”

  They walked through the trees to the narrow strip of sand bracketed by rocky outcroppings, the tiny waves of the Sound lapping at the shore.

  Aaron looked around him with wonder. “This is a beach? That’s the ocean?”

  “Notice the sand.” Cody spread his hands. “Notice the adjacent water. Definitely a beach. Although technically, it’s the Long Island Sound. It’s connected to the Atlantic, though. All you have to do is sail east for a bit and you’re there.”

  Aaron turned in a slow circle. “The trees grow almost to the shore. And the water.” He shook his head. “It’s so calm, more like a lake.”

  “Trust me, things can get a lot wilder during a storm. But that’s the advantage of the Sound, or of any kind of harbor really. The surrounding land protects it from nature’s worst excesses.”

  “I guess I’m used to the way the public beaches in Southern California are always butted up against parking lots and overpriced real estate. And they’re… um… a lot bigger and not nearly as empty.”

  “See? Even our beaches are a manageable size. Although this a bit different because it’s a private beach. The public ones can be larger and more populated.” Cody kicked off his deck shoes and spread out the blanket, stacking the towels in the corner where they’d keep the blanket flat in the breeze. When he stood up, Aaron had removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his pant legs. “Seriously, Aaron? This is your idea of appropriate beachwear?”

  Aaron shot Cody an exasperated glare. “Why would I have brought trunks? I was interviewing as a teacher, not a lifeguard. And last I checked, most libraries aren’t located in a swimming pool.” He balled his socks up and tucked them inside one of his shoes. “Anyway, you don’t need to see me in all my fish-belly-white glory.”

  Cody waggled his eyebrows. “How do you know that isn’t why I planned this whole thing? So I could see your fish-belly-white glory and revel in it?”

  “So you’re going to revel and regale?”

  “I’m going to revel. The regaling is your responsibility.”

  “Well, as it happens, there can be no reveling because I don’t have any trunks with me.”

  “Aha. You have reckoned without your host.”

  Aaron smiled. “So now we’re reckoning as well as reveling and regaling? Have you been reading the RE section of the dictionary as light bedtime fare?”

  “Nope. Strictly serendipity. I’d ask you to skinny-dip, but this is a shared private beach, so you never know who else from the church might show up.” Cody stuck his hand between the towels and pulled out a second pair of trunks. “Voilà!”

  Aaron burst out laughing. “I’m impressed. However, I think I’ll stick to wading anyway. That’s the most I’ve ever done in the Pacific. I wouldn’t want it to feel slighted.”

  “All right. I won’t push.” See? I’m learning. I can let him set his own comfort-zone limits.

  Cody stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it on his towel. When he looked up, Aaron was staring at his chest. When Aaron licked his lips, Cody’s cock perked up and said Hello, sailor. Yikes!

  He turned and splashed into the water. Even though the Sound was shallow here, the water was still cold—which was exactly what Cody needed to avoid embarrassing himself. He stopped when the water reached midthigh, though, because he didn’t want his balls to retract completely.

  “When we were kids, my folks used to bring us down here to go clamming. We’ve brought Kaya down since she could toddle.”

  Aaron strolled along the surf line, the wavelets occasionally foaming around his toes. “I take it she’s not afraid of the water.”

  “Are you kidding? I think she’s half fish.” Cody dug his toes into the sand. “Hold on. I think I’ve found one.”

  “One what?”

  “A clam.”

  “You can find clams with your feet?”

  “Sure. Using a rake is unsporting. I figure this way, the clams have an equal chance.” He held up his hands, fingers spread. “At least until I bring opposable thumbs into the picture.” He bent over, plunging his hand into the water and came up with a handful of dripping sand.

  “Impressive.”

  “Don’t be a smartass.” He swished his hand through the water and displayed a shellfish in his palm with a grin. “There. Steamer.”

  Aaron’s eyes rounded in horror. “What the hell is that?”

  Cody touched the fleshy protuberance at one end of the shell. “That’s its feeding tube.”

  “It’s kind of—”

  “Sci-fi freaky? Yeah, they’ve always reminded me of the face-hugger in Alien.”

  “Actually, my take was less PG.”

  Cody held the clam up between two fingers. “Heh. Guess they are a little lewd. Stick with me, baby. I’m all about the shellfish porn.” He flung it over his shoulder with a flourish, and it plopped back in the water.

  Aaron laughed again, a much freer sound than Cody had heard from him before. He gazed out at the horizon. “This is wonderful. And the weather is lovely.”

  Cody waded onto shore. “I’m afraid you’re getting a skewed idea of our weather.” He walked over and collapsed onto the blanket, patting the spot next to him in invitation. “This is my favorite time of year actually. Warm but not hot, days are still longer than nights, at least for a few more weeks, but the trees are starting to get sleepy. Yeah, between Labor Day and peak leaf season in the middle of October, when it starts to get colder? It’s the best.”

  “You’re not filling me with confidence here.” Aaron sat down gingerly, keeping his wet, sandy feet off the edge of the blanket. “What’s so bad about the rest of the time?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Cody added a snooty drawl to his tone. “You So Cal people don’t have seasons.”

  “We have seasons.”

  “Really?” Cody lay back and laced his hands behind his head, warm from the sun and from the heat of Aaron’s gaze. “How can you tell? If you look out your window in June, how is it different from the same view in January? Or October?”

  “Easy. By whether the women are wearing their Uggs with shorts or leggings, and whether the guys are wearing tanks or T-shirts.”

  Cody chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong. I like our other seasons too. Every month has something to recommend it. Except maybe February. February always sucks. Luckily, it’s short.”

  Aaron smiled down at him, the sun glinting off his glasses, and for a moment, Cody’s chest tightened with such tenderness and affection that he could barely breathe.

  He took a shuddering breath and blurted, “I have a confession to make.”

  Aaron’s smile faded, the now-familiar half-fearful expression creeping back onto his face. Damn it. I hate that. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I’ve concealed certain aspects of this date from you.”

  Aaron proceeded to give Cody a frankly appraising glance that took him in from chest to sandy toes. “I’m not sure where you could conceal anything in that outfit.”

  Erp. Including his rather noticeable reaction to Aaron’s once-over. “Mind out of the gutter, Mr. Historian. I’m talking about dinner.”

  “Are you taking me to another restaurant with a misleading name?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well then, what?”

  “I’d rather show you than tell you. Are you ready to go?”

  Aaron gestured to Cody’s sand-covered extremities. “I’m not sure I’m the one who needs to answer that.”

  Cody waved the question away. “My car can stand a little sand. It’s handled worse.” He stood and offered a hand to Aaron. “Let’s hit the road.”

  Aaron took his hand, and when Cody pulled him to his feet, he exerted a little too much forc
e—or else Aaron didn’t need quite as much help—because they were chest to chest, faces inches apart, close enough that Cody could see the dark rim around Aaron’s blue irises.

  His breath sped up, and his cock, which was already in a Yeah, baby! mode, got more insistent. No way was Cody having sex here, no matter what his genitals had in their heads. But kissing. Yeah. He could do that. They’d broken that particular ice a couple of times already, hadn’t they?

  “Hi,” he murmured.

  “Good afternoon.” Aaron’s smile was an invitation that Cody didn’t care to resist.

  He started to close the distance, but Aaron beat him to it, taking Cody’s lips, pressure and warmth and a hint of tongue, his fingers threading deep into Cody’s hair.

  Cody moaned and wrapped his arms around Aaron’s waist. Damn this polo. I want skin.

  But when his knees started to buckle, he remembered. Public private beach. A church group public private beach.

  He pulled away with a gasp.

  Aaron let go immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Hey. I’m totally glad you made another leap. It’s just….” Cody gestured to the water and the trees and the sky. “Not private. And sex on the beach is not what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Sex? Are we… are we headed there?”

  “I sure hope so. But only if you’re okay with it.”

  “God yes.”

  “Well then, hold that thought, because the day isn’t over yet.”

  Chapter EIGHT

  ALTHOUGH AARON’S brain was still in a lust-induced haze, he couldn’t mistake what he was looking at.

  “Cody. That’s a boat.”

  Cody grinned at him, his cheeks pinked by the afternoon in the sun and his wavy hair mussed by the breeze. Well, the breeze and Aaron’s fingers, if he were honest. Everything about Cody was so incredibly enticing that Aaron wanted to kiss him again.

  Except… a boat.

  “Yep. However, you’ll note that it’s somewhat more advanced than the Morgan.” Cody climbed aboard, standing between the two wheels at the stern—why the heck are there two steering wheels anyway? “Fossil fuel backup. Electronic navigation and communication equipment. The galley has a microwave, the head has a shower, and the cabin sleeps four.”

  “Four? Are we expecting a crew to join us?”

  “No, doofus. I’m just trying to reassure you about the amenities. Also, please note, we are docked. In a river.” He gestured to the familiar grounds behind him. “At the historic Mystic Seaport. It’s a calm night. No clouds. In other words, you are in no danger of drowning or being lost at sea.” He held out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Templeton. Your dinner awaits.”

  When Cody put it that way, the butterflies dive-bombing Aaron’s insides seemed ridiculous. He took Cody’s hand and stepped in, tensing for a moment when the boat dipped under his weight.

  “Steady there. She’s just adjusting to you.” The cockpit had wood-slatted benches on either side of a central drop-leaf table. “Won’t you please be seated? Port or starboard, your choice.”

  Port, left. Starboard, right. I at least know that much nautical terminology. Aaron sat down gingerly as Cody pulled a beer bottle out of a storage locker under the table. He pried the top off the bottle with an opener mounted under the table edge and presented it to Aaron with a flourish and a wink. “Your first drink of the evening, sir.”

  Aaron chuckled as he accepted it. Might as well get into the spirit. “Ah, thank you, garçon. A very fine vintage.”

  “The best. And may I offer you an hors d’oeuvres?” He produced a covered dish from the same storage area, whisking the lid off to display several dozen pretzels, garnished with a sprig of parsley.

  Aaron took one. “I see you haven’t exaggerated the amenities of this… er… noncruise.”

  Cody laughed and set the pretzels the table. “This is just to occupy you. I need to go below and get cleaned up. The rest of our dinner—our real dinner—is down there.”

  “Have you added magician to your other skills? How did you manage this?”

  “This is my aunt and uncle’s boat. I asked my cousin Kenny to sail it over here while we were at the Point.”

  “But docking here, at the Seaport?”

  “It’s totally a thing. People do it all the time, so don’t imagine I had to pull any strings. Or not many anyway.” He leaned down and kissed Aaron. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t go away.” He disappeared below deck.

  Aaron leaned back, nibbling on the pretzel, the peace of the deepening twilight doing nothing to ease his thrumming nerves. Sex. I’m going to have sex tonight. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for the nakedness—both physical and emotional—that sex implied. After all, he hadn’t slept with anyone but Wayne for years, and he obviously hadn’t met those expectations.

  I’ve known Cody for four days. How could the need to please him become so necessary so fast? Aaron didn’t leap into relationships any quicker than he made any other decision. It had taken Wayne a solid month to talk him into a date. Maybe that was because I knew we didn’t really fit.

  But did he fit with Cody? Cody was fearless and unselfconscious, secure in the love of his family and for his home. Aaron was… not.

  But maybe, with him, I could be.

  A new job. A new home. A new relationship. It could work. And it filled him with a joy and contentment that in no way diminished his excitement or his apprehension.

  Cody reappeared, halfway up the companionway steps. With his wet hair combed back against his head, he reminded Aaron of some sleek sea creature—and he looked absurdly young.

  He held out a large metal bowl. “Hey, can I hand off the salad to you?”

  Aaron scooted along the bench until he could stand, careful not to whack his head on the boom, and took the bowl. “Looks great. Not an iceberg wedge in sight.”

  Cody scrunched his nose. “Please. Iceberg is not lettuce. It’s a conspiracy by the military-industrial complex. Or maybe an invading alien species.” He backed down the steps, humming something that Aaron finally recognized as “Feed Me, Seymour” from Little Shop of Horrors.

  A moment later he returned and passed Aaron a stack of white ceramic bowls, a couple of rolled-up cloth napkins, and a trivet made of wine corks. “I hope you’re not one of those hoity-toity types who insists on china, crystal, and sixteen different kinds of forks all laid out on spotless linen.”

  Aaron arranged the new items on the table. “Usually I insist on Royal Doulton and antique silver for my salad and pretzels, but if I must, I’ll make an exception tonight.”

  “Keep your socks on, smart guy. I’m not done yet.”

  He vanished again, then returned wearing anchor-print oven mitts and lugging a steaming pot of something redolent of thyme and onion. “This noncruise isn’t upscale enough for lobster, but we’re keeping with the seafood motif since we’re, you know, on the sea. Ish.” He set the pot on the trivet and shucked off the mitts. “You were introduced to the primary ingredient of tonight’s main course this afternoon.” He ladled a generous portion into one of the bowls and nudged it toward Aaron. “Specialty of the house… er… ship. Clam chowder.”

  Aaron inhaled the steam curling up from the soup. “It smells fabulous, but I’ve never seen it with a clear broth before.”

  “It’s Rhode Island style.” Cody waved a hand. “I know, I know. Not exactly in keeping with our Connecticut theme, but it’s the kind I grew up on. George, my brother, was lactose intolerant as a kid, and Eliza hated tomatoes as ingredients for anything except ketchup.”

  “So that ruled out Manhattan style as well as New England?”

  “Yup. But we all loved clams and used to fight about whose turn it was to have their kind of soup, so my parents got this recipe as a survival measure.”

  Aaron tasted a spoonful. “It’s delicious. Did you make it?”

  Cody chuckled. “Not this time. Too busy untangling Hiran’s spaghet
ti code. Although to be fair, it was his new developer’s code, not his. No, I begged this from my dad.”

  Aaron’s chest tightened. Family again. “That was… really nice of him.”

  “He’s a nice guy, but it wasn’t a hardship. Whenever he makes this, he always makes the same vast quantity that he used to when all three of us kids were still living at home, even though he’s only cooking for him and Mom now. He claims—” Cody set the word off with air quotes. “—that it doesn’t taste the same if he tries to scale it down. So whenever he’s in a chowder mood, Eliza and I don’t have to stress about dinner plans.”

  “In other words, I shouldn’t feel special?”

  Cody raised his gaze from his bowl and grinned. “Oh, you’re definitely special. I don’t share this with just anybody.” He snapped his fingers. “Hold on. I forgot the bread.” He scampered below again, returning with a crusty baguette. “This is a rip-off-a-chunk kind of loaf, if you don’t mind.”

  “I think it’s all perfect. So why don’t you sit down and enjoy it with me.”

  Cody grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.” He collected a beer for himself and instead of flipping up the other table leaf and sitting on the opposite bench, he slid in next to Aaron. Their hips brushed, and Aaron could smell the clean scent of Cody’s skin and a hint of herbal soap despite the savory aroma of the soup.

  They ate for a while in a silence that felt comfortable, not strained, the quiet village in front of them, the river behind, and the stars winking in above.

  “This is nice.”

  Cody cocked his head, scanning the row of buildings nearest them. “I know. It looks different when there’s nobody around. I mean, I love it during the day when it’s busy and full of people. But I think I like it best like this. Quiet. Serene. Secret, almost.”

  “I get it. Way back in the day when I worked at Disneyland—”

  “Thousands and thousands of years ago?” Cody’s voice had a teasing edge.

  “Don’t exaggerate. It was well after the first Continental Congress. Anyway, in the summer, the park sponsored employee canoe races around Tom Sawyer’s Island. My stand fielded a team, and I got talked into joining it.”