Fresh Catch

by Kate Canterbary

  Owen

  The moon was high in the sky, a cool breeze was blowing in off the water, and a choir of cicadas screeched in the distance. My body was spectacularly sated and my man was wrapped around me, still purring from the pounding I'd given him.

  This life, it didn't get much better.

  Drunk on that milky afterglow, I stared at Cole's blond hair and sun-kissed skin and willed myself to withhold the declarations of love and forever I itched to give him. It was too soon for any of that, and if he didn't enthusiastically reciprocate, I doubted I'd recover from the blow.

  Instead, I dug into my plentiful stores of jealousy, asking, "What changed for you?"

  "What? When?" he asked. His words were rough, his voice raw from hours of begging and moaning.

  Lord, I liked that. I liked the marks I'd sucked into his neck, chest, thighs. I liked the beard rash between his legs. I liked the red, swollen shape of his lips. He'd be sore tomorrow, his body used in delicious ways, and I'd like that, too.

  For as much as I enjoyed the evidence, I enjoyed caring for him more. Soaping him up in a steamy shower. Rubbing him down with thick creams and herby balms. Kneading his tender muscles. Kissing it all better.

  I patted his backside. "You said you were slutty in college, but then you wind up in the Cove and you're a born-again virgin. What changed?" I asked.

  "Mmhmm." He nodded, his scruffy chin scraping my chest. "I founded a technology firm, one that gained a certain amount of ubiquity. Most people think it's all about hatching a new idea and then watching the cash roll in, but that isn't a tenth of the truth. That new idea has to stay new, stay fresh. It has to evolve faster than its users, and it has to anticipate needs. Shareholders expect innovation but they also demand robust earnings. There are always disasters. Every day, a new crisis."

  I nodded, but I didn't know what to say.

  "And I've…I've made some mistakes," Cole said. "Years ago, when I was just starting out, I trusted someone. I shouldn't have done that."

  I shifted to catch his gaze. "Who do I have to kill?"

  Cole offered a weak laugh. "It's in the past. It doesn't matter now."

  "The past has a way of staying present," I said.

  "Especially when there's litigation involved," Cole said. "We were close. Friends, then lovers, and then he was an essential member of my team. He took confidential information about my business—about me—and sold it to the highest bidder." He blew out a heavy sigh. "I've had a few hookups since then but nothing more than that."

  A surprised breath burst from my lips. I didn't know what I expected Cole to tell me, but it wasn't that. "Are you kidding me? Someone did that to you?"

  "That doesn't even scratch the surface, babe." He shook his head against my chest. "This can't make much sense without the full context," he said. "Silicon Valley is a complex place, and my firm—

  "Cole, stop," I interrupted. I wanted to know just enough, but not everything. "I understand what you're saying. You don't have to explain all the bits and pieces to me."

  He tipped his face up, his brow wrinkled as if he'd misheard me. "I don't?"

  I stared out the window for a long moment. When I was a kid, I believed all manner of sea monsters lived in the Atlantic's deep, cold waters. They were out there, swallowing up boats and fighting whales and sharks. In my kid brain, I convinced myself that I was safe as long as I could see the shoreline. Monsters never dared to enter the tidal zone.

  That was how I felt about Cole, and the life he led separate from me. If we stayed on familiar ground, we'd be safe.

  "You own a technology firm," I said.

  "Fifty-one percent of it," he added. "My founding team and the shareholders own the rest."

  "You own most of a technology firm," I started, "and a dickhead guy screwed you over. That's all I need to know."

  Even after all these years working the water, part of me still believed in the great, unknown sea monsters. Beasts that would sneak up and strike without warning.

  "Are you sure about that?" Cole asked.

  "I am. I want Cole, the lost sailor. The man overboard. The guy who intrudes on my jerkoff sessions," I said with a chuckle. "Let's not muck this up with too much reality. Okay?"

  Cole tipped his face up and stared at me, his lips folded in a tight line and his brows still wrinkled. For a second, I thought he was going to call me on my bullshit. Hold up my objections as illogical and unreasonable, and something I'd never accept if he tried to pull the same maneuver. But he pressed his palm to my heart, gave me a quick smile, and said, "Okay."

  "Okay?" I repeated.

  "Yeah, talking about corporate shit stresses me out," he replied. "I'd rather hear about you. Why hasn't some guy snapped you up? You're one helluva cook, you bathe regularly, and you have the baddest sex toy box. That's the full bear package right there."

  I dropped my head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling while a soft laugh rolled through my chest. "Maybe I don't want to be snapped."

  "Everyone wants to be snapped," Cole replied. "There's no one in the world who doesn't want it. We want it in different ways, at different times, but we still want it. Need it, even when we say we don't. We want to be accepted, cherished, adored. We want someone to recognize our messy, complicated souls, and love us for those messes and complications."

  "Maybe," I conceded. "But some people just want to get fucked while they're on vacation."

  "Are you talking about me?" Cole pushed off my chest and glared down at me. "You know I didn't even bring lube with me. I didn't come here expecting to get fucked."

  I hooked my arms around his torso and returned him to my chest. "No, I'm not talking about you, silly boy," I said. "But you're not the first guy to spend the summer in Maine. Too many times, I've fallen hard for some pretty young thing, only for him to leave at the end of the summer without a backward glance. It's vacationland for them, and vacations never last."

  Cole planted small kisses along my sternum, humming as he went. "I'm sorry, babe."

  "They always went back to their girlfriends, too," I grumbled.

  "I hate them," he hissed. "They didn't deserve you, or your gold-medal dick."

  I wrapped my arms around him as a laugh rocked through me. "Gold-medal dick? That good?"

  Cole snorted. "You know I'm not going to be able to sit for a week," he said. "Aside from those pretty young things, hasn't anyone else tried to keep you?"

  "I don't want to be kept," I said, immediately hating the tense of my words. Didn't want. Didn't. But I couldn't take it back now, and I couldn't color my relationship history to suit my purposes. "There's a vibrant queer community in Portland. The West End side of downtown has some great bars and restaurants, and I meet up with friends about once a month. Sometimes, I hookup with a fuck buddy. It's not a big deal."

  Cole was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Am I your fuck buddy? Is that what we're doing?"

  I sanded my fingers through his hair, hoping my touch could speak all the words I wasn't ready to say and he wasn't ready to hear. "No. You're my little prince."

  He nodded. "I can live with that."

  18

  Sextant

  n. A navigational instrument used to measure a vessel's latitude.

  Cole

  Cole: Another request.

  Neera: What do you have for me?

  Cole: Can you push an independent bookstore package for the homepage?

  Neera: Of course. Any other parameters?

  Cole: Good bookstores. Not pretentious, snotty joints but community-based, inclusive, representative. All that good stuff.

  Cole: Make sure Harborside Books in Talbott's Cove, Maine gets top billing.

  Neera: Should we mention you're a fan of that shop?

  Cole: Nope.

  Neera: Understood.

  Cole: If there's an opportunity to run some content on women entrepreneurs or female-owned businesses, get that one on the list.

  Neera: Consider it done.
r />   Cole: Thank you.

  Cole: And thank you for keeping the questions at a minimum.

  Neera: I apologize if this is too forward but…are you all right?

  Cole: Great. Why?

  Neera: It takes you days to reply to messages, and that's highly atypical.

  Neera: You're also calmer than I expected.

  Cole: Were you expecting me to give a ranty interview to Fast Company or show up at the campus with Dumbledore's Army to oust my replacement?

  Neera: Somewhat, yes.

  Neera: Are you planning something like that?

  Cole: No.

  Neera: That's it? No?

  Cole: Yeah. No. I have other things on my mind right now.

  Neera: Does that include some new programming?

  Cole: I'm staying out of trouble. You do the same.

  Cole: No. Forget that. You could use some trouble in your life.

  Neera: Pardon me?

  Cole: Do something fun. Get away from the Valley. There is a whole wide wonderful world outside the Valley.

  Neera: So I've heard.

  Cole: Get out of the office. It will do you good.

  Neera: Says the man who had to be forced onto a luxury sailboat.

  Cole: I never appreciated how good it is to get away until I was required to do it.

  Cole: Before you say anything, no, leadership retreats in Banff or Sun Valley don't count. Neither does the Appalachian incident. Those were all work. This place is different. It's good for me.

  Neera: Thank you for that clarification.

  Cole: It occurs to me that you might enjoy some forced time off. Should I fire you? Would that help?

  Neera: We've talked about this. It's not acceptable to threaten termination in casual conversation.

  Cole: That's right. My bad.

  19

  Heeling

  v. To be tilted temporarily by the pressure of wind or by an uneven distribution of weight on board.

  Cole

  The long summer days were giving way to later sunrises and earlier sunsets, and the woods behind Owen's house were turning fiery and golden. Autumn was right around the corner, and it dawned on me that I hadn't paused to admire the passing of a season since childhood. These days, I couldn't miss it. Everything about my life—our life—in this quiet town was tuned in to the nature's every turn.

  I used to think I knew what I wanted, and I knew where I wanted to be. The brightest, most forward-thinking mind in Silicon Valley. The dominant force in my industry. People hanging on my every word. Big house, fast cars, influential friends. More money than I'd be able to spend in a hundred lifetimes.

  Somewhere along the way, the operative features of my life lost their relevance.

  Being demoted had something to do with it, but losing my way in the North Atlantic and sailing to Owen and the Cove claimed a large share of the responsibility. After six weeks here, I knew it to be true. If I hadn't found myself here, I would've spent a few weeks on the water, raging my way from one seasonal town to another while I cooked up a plan to retake my company.

  I would've done it. Abandon the boat, fly back to California, storm into the office, and argue the shit right out of my replacement. I would've screamed, thrown things, caused a dreadful scene. And for several precious moments, I would've felt better, too. Vindicated, even.

  But that tantrum wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference. It would've only confirmed for my board of directors that they'd made the right call.

  Now, from the comfort of Owen's guest room, I was thankful for the upheaval I'd experienced this summer. I was no longer resentful of the board's decision to remove me as CEO. With my fingers flying over my keyboard as I blew through line after line of the best code I'd constructed in years, I appreciated their decision. They saw everything I wasn't willing to accept—my inability to care about every little financial indicator, my fraught relationship with strategic decision making, my curious management style—and enacted changes I never would've made on my own.

  Most of the time, I was the smartest guy around. I was used to that. It'd always been that way. There was nothing I couldn't accomplish if I worked hard enough, stretched my skills, learned something new. Knowledge was my belief system, and the one that convinced me I could do anything and everything.

  The only trouble with knowledge was that it never stopped to ask if I wanted to do everything.

  I didn't, and recognizing that truth was like taking my first deep breath in decades. My head cleared, my senses sharpened, and my heart pounded with the promise of my man's unyielding affection. This was where I belonged, and I wanted to celebrate that. Get out of the house, go places, see people, let them see me. See us.

  For all the time we spent joined at the hip, I wasn't convinced the people of Talbott's Cove saw us as a couple. I meant to change that tonight.

  I saved my work and yanked the noise-canceling headphones off. I pushed my glasses to the top of my head and stretched my arms out in front of me.

  Once I stowed my gear, I left the bedroom and went in search of Owen. I found him in the kitchen, his hands braced on the countertop while he stood, reading the local newspaper. Instead of standing beside him, I roped my arms around his waist, pressed my chest to his back, and nuzzled his neck. "Let's go out," I murmured.

  "You're rubbing your dick on my ass and you want to go out?" he asked. "Seems contradictory, McClish."

  "I want to go out with you," I insisted, my lips sliding under his ear.

  Owen barked out a laugh, the sound reverberating through his body and into mine. "You want to take me on a date?" he asked over his shoulder.

  I stole the opportunity to drop a kiss on his lips. "We enjoyed ourselves the last time we went out. Let's do that again."

  "Are we going on a date?" he asked, reaching back to grip my neck. "Or do you want to get naughty in the woods?"

  "Yeah, I want to take you out on a date," I replied with a purposeful roll of my hips against his backside. "And I want to show off my man."

  He chuckled, a rough, rich sound that went straight to my cock. "Show me off? Why?"

  "I want everyone to know you're off the market."

  "What would that involve?" he asked. "I don't think JJ at The Galley would put up with you blowing me on the bar."

  I rested my forehead between his shoulder blades, laughing. "I wouldn't blow you on the bar," I replied against his shirt. "I'd do it in a booth. Like a gentleman."

  "Good to know," Owen replied, a laugh ringing in his words. "So, we're doing this? We're going on an actual date?"

  "A real date with date-ish things," I said. "I'll pull out your chair for you, we'll engage in pleasant conversation, and maybe I'll let you kiss me goodnight at the door."

  "By 'kiss you at the door,' do you mean fuck you in the woods?"

  I slipped my hand between his legs, stroking him over his shorts. "I see no problem with that interpretation."

  He reached back and squeezed my ass. "Go pick out a shirt for me. I want to be presentable for my date."

  I nodded against his back but didn't let him go. "Are you sure about this?" I asked. "You don't mind being with me in the village?"

  Owen was quiet for a long moment, his fingers still gripping my backside. Eventually, he said, "No. I don't hide who I am, and I don't want to hide you."

  20

  Swinging the Lamp

  v. Telling sea stories.

  Owen

  We walked to the village, following the worn path through the woods. Fingers of sunlight cut through the canopy, turning the woods into a bright, breezy stroll absent of the dark seduction we'd shared all those weeks ago.

  "How's the project going?" I asked, shooting a glance at Cole as we neared the end of the trail. "It seemed like you were really focused today."

  He bobbed his head. "It's good. Really good. I'm making a lot of progress."

  I hesitated. I hated to tempt fate by inquiring about his work. "What happens when you finish?" I as
ked. "Does that mean—will you go back to California when you're done?"

  "That's the beauty of the internet, Bartlett," Cole said, a bright smile stretched across his gorgeous face. "I can do this from anywhere in the world."

  It was an answer but it wasn't. It didn't escape my notice that I was exceedingly sensitive about this topic, too. Any waffling from Cole, and I was bracing for impact.

  "As long as you don't mind," he added. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

  "I am getting free labor out of you," I said. "It's not good labor but it is free. I can't complain."

  "Such a grumpy motherfucker," he murmured.

  I held The Galley's door open and gestured for Cole to enter. "Isn't this the way we're supposed to do it?" I asked. "Since we're on a date."

  "If this is a date," Cole started, "you should check out my ass while I walk by."

  He walked through the doorway, glancing over his shoulder to verify I was ogling him. "I don't need an occasion to check out your ass," I said, sliding my hand into his back pocket. "But since you asked, you're looking fine as fuck in those shorts."

  I'd never stopped myself from touching him, not since I'd gained the right. I'd never given much thought to who might notice, but tonight was different. I wanted everyone to notice.

  He smiled over at me, preening a bit, but my gaze was on the woman tucked into the far corner of the bar with an open book at her elbow. It had been weeks since that exceedingly awkward exchange with Annette in the bookstore. We'd seen her around town, of course, but our paths hadn't crossed. Until now.

  Cole followed my stare, humming in acknowledgement. "She seems busy," he said. "We should leave her alone. If she wants to chat, she'll stop by."