by Beth Michele
Chasing the High
Copyright @ 2016 by Beth Michele
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
Cover Design by Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative
Editing by Chloe Giordan
EBOOK ISBN: 978-0-692-79359-6
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing by Beth Michele. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue – Part One
Epilogue – Part Two
REX
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Beth Michele
For all of you who believe, like I do, that love is love. This story is for you.
“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald
WHAT BETTER WAY to combat rejection than flying to paradise?
It sounded great in theory, but still it didn’t stop me from reaching under the cuff of my shirt and grasping at the leather bracelet surrounding my wrist.
“Enjoy your flight.” With blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face full of makeup, the stewardess looked more Barbie-like than human as she strutted down the aisle in her tight-fitting uniform. Maybe she was trying hard to entice men into the mile-high club. Fortunately for me, I wasn’t at risk of falling under her spell. I was, however, completely at the mercy of a glass filled with Jack and Coke.
I stared at the blocks of ice engulfed by amber liquid, wondering how I got here. Looking around at the luxurious cabin, I shook my head. My parents splurged for first class, bless their hearts. After all, sympathy went a long way in this situation. One glance at the devastation on my face and my mother burst into tears. My father, on the other hand, wanted to rip Glenn a new asshole. But it was impossible. Because he was nowhere to be found.
What a coward.
Still, the anger didn’t seem to outweigh the ache in my chest. The dulled pain started when he was five minutes late for the ceremony and kept tearing at me with every second that passed. I sighed, yanking at the bowtie around my neck, wanting out of this monkey suit. Now I was second-guessing my decision to come right to the airport. But I also knew going home would make me change my mind.
I would wallow.
My sister, Mia, giving me that extra shove had said, ‘You need to go on with your life. Get right back in the saddle.’ She laughed, of course, realizing the double meaning of her words.
But she was right. She would have come over a week later, only to find my recycle bin piled high with pizza boxes and scattered with beer bottles. Not to mention the smell of my unshowered body and the sight of five days’ worth of growth sitting on my chin. Of course, Glenn found that sexy.
Fuck Glenn.
I stand corrected. I won’t be fucking Glenn anymore.
The thought made me drain the rest of my drink and signal Barbie over to order another. By the time the plane took off, I’d be toasted. Lit. Smashed. Sounded like a pretty good plan to me.
After placing my folded bowtie in my carry-on bag and fastening my belt, I retrieved a magazine from the seatback and straightened the remaining ones while waiting for my salvation. When the flight attendant, whose name I learned was Veronica, finally brought my drink, I downed it in record time. As the numbness set in, I closed my eyes and tipped my head back against the seat, the events of this morning slipping from my mind.
I awoke at some point and looked out the window, discovering we were over a body of water. Turning my head to the left, I also discovered something else. I had company. And for the first time in the last several hours, I was grateful for it.
I studied my surprise travel companion, my gaze snagging on the strong angle of his jaw, the square of dark stubble trailing along his chin. From the side, his eyelashes were so long they curled against his cheeks, and his lips, well… they were full and perfect. The kind that would look glorious wrapped around—
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Brakes screeched across my brain, halting my dirty thoughts. This one was hostile. He glared at me with piercing blue eyes. They were incredible. Clear. Ethereal. Mesmerizing in a strange way. But nothing about his anger drew me in. “Did I stutter? I asked what the fuck you’re looking at.”
“Whoa.” I held up my hands in surrender. “We’re kind of in a small space, and I don’t have a lot of options right now.”
He ripped one of his ear buds out. “Try the window.” He pointed toward the small round opening in the plane. “It’s that way.”
Two could play that game. “So I guess a conversation is out of the question.” He flinched, as if he couldn’t believe I had the nerve to keep talking and not follow his directive. His eyes roamed over my wrinkled dress shirt, tailored black pants, and black leather shoes before he scoffed.
“What is it about me that gives you the burning impression I want to chat?”
I chuckled, because this guy was a piece of work. “Perhaps it’s your flowery sarcasm?”
“Good one,” he deadpanned, his tone as bland as his expression.
Curiosity drove me to prod where it wasn’t welcome. But, given my state of mind, I didn’t seem to care much. “How old are you?”
He huffed out his bitterness. “Excuse me?”
“Because if I were judging from your attitude, I’d say you were fifteen.”
He snorted a humorless laugh. “Well, if I were judging from your dress, I’d say you were a prick.” He looked away then back. “But just so we can end this delightful talk, I’m twenty-six.” I expected him to return to whatever he was doing, but instead, he pinned me with an unwavering stare. “Well?”
“Twenty-nine,” I replied, scrubbing a finger over my lip as I studied him.
He nodded, expressionless. “Good, we got that settled. Now I’d like some peace and quiet to enjoy my audio book.”
“What are you listening to?”
I swore the corner of his mouth was fighting for the chance to smile. “Hopefully
my audio book.” He put the earbud in, facing forward again.
My gaze darted around the cabin then out the window, restless and in need of a distraction. Since stimulating conversation was out of the question, I opened my laptop bag and pulled out my paperback so I could get lost for a while.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. As always, Stephen King’s words managed to lure me in to his distorted world—exactly what I needed. I was smack dab in the middle of an engrossing scene when a voice dragged me back to reality.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Now it was my turn to huff. I shifted toward my belligerent seatmate. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”
He jerked his chin toward my book. “Mr. Mercedes.”
I glanced down then over to him. “That’s right. What about it?”
His lips teetered into an almost grin. Imagine that. “That’s what I’m listening to.”
It took a second for his statement to register before I nodded my head. “Ah, quite a coincidence.” I tossed him a mock glare. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my book.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned away from me. I heard him mumble something under his breath. It sounded a lot like ‘prick’ but I let it go. At this point, I just wanted to exit the plane and get closer to my goal of a sandy beach and an ice-cold beer—and solitude. Because wallowing on a tropical island certainly beat wallowing in New Jersey any day of the week—and twice on Sunday.
I THREW MY bags on the bed and plodded over to sliding glass doors that led to a small terrace. Opening them, I caught a glimpse of cerulean sky and swaying palms. Breathtaking, turquoise water completed the view. I inhaled the air. It was fresh and glorious, and as I breathed it in, something loosened inside my chest. The hurt was still there, but a sense of peace reassured me this was the right choice. That as difficult as the past several hours had been, my life wasn’t over. It simply took a detour I wasn’t expecting.
Unwilling to waste any time, I unpacked my suitcase, organized my clothes neatly in the drawers by color and style then followed suit in the closet. This would be my home for the next two weeks, and I was going to be as comfortable in paradise as I could manage. It was already odd I had to try to get comfortable here. That somehow I didn’t fit in. Unfortunate circumstances made me a rebel. Now I didn’t have the first clue what to do.
After stuffing my tux in the small trashcan, I tugged on a pair of swim trunks and a t-shirt, and headed down to find an outside bar. On my way, I tried not to think of Glenn as I took in the beauty of the island. Sights that would have made me turn to him with a smile or tug his hand to show him something I knew he would love—like the straw huts or exotic flowers. Or water so transparent you could see clear through to the bottom. Visions of us in the ocean doing dirty things surfaced in my mind, but I pushed them back down. Dirty and Glenn were no longer in the same sentence.
Or the same hemisphere for that matter.
An enormous sigh left my chest. A weight of regret and memories that needed excavating. Glenn was already off God knows where, moving on without giving a second thought to my feelings. It was strange. I’d always considered myself a good judge of character. My mother used to say I had a ‘sixth sense’ when it came to people. I would’ve agreed with her—until now.
Maybe it was the gullible side of me. The part that always wanted to see the best in people. To believe the good, forsake the bad. In this case, maybe I had blinders on. Because it wasn’t until I was standing at the altar, checking my watch for the fifth time, that I realized Glenn wasn’t going to show up.
Talk about being blindsided.
I took a seat at the bar, relishing in the sweep of the deep green palms and the Maui breeze ruffling my short hair. There was something about being near the ocean that gave me a calm I couldn’t find anywhere else. Growing up in New Jersey, my family frequented the Jersey Shore. But nothing compared to the smooth, white sand, the pungent scent of lush plants, and the sight of the Hawaiian sea.
“What can I get you?” The bartender, a dark-haired girl wearing a skimpy bikini and a huge, welcoming smile drew me from my thoughts. I was due for a smile, and she made it hard not to return hers.
“I’ll just have a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”
She nodded, spinning away toward the end of the counter. While I waited, I fixated on a stack of tiny colorful umbrellas. They reminded me of my sister. Mia used to love those in her virgin daiquiris, always demanding the ‘extra parasol’ so she could add it to her collection. Warmth unfurled in my chest. Part of me wished I could’ve dragged her with me on this trip. We’d always been close, and it would’ve been nice to have her around. I wouldn’t have felt so alone.
But I was—alone.
Glaring reminders were everywhere; couples holding hands, kissing on the beach, hugging in quiet corners. And then there was me. The guy who was jilted on his wedding day.
I racked my brain, trying to remember if there were signs. We did argue for a month or so before the wedding. Something we hadn’t done often. But I chalked it up to pre-wedding nerves, while Glenn intimated during one of our fights I didn’t want to marry him. That I was comfortable, but didn’t love him in a soul-deep, passionate way. Naturally, I protested, and we moved past it. But was he right? Was that the reason he left me at the altar? Not because he didn’t want to marry me, but because he thought I didn’t want to marry him?
My head moved from left to right in disbelief as the bartender set my beer on the counter. I chugged half the glass, not wanting to accept that logic. It simply wasn’t true. There was only one truth—and I was living it.
In less than a minute, I drained the rest of my beer and signaled for another one. As I lifted my head, I caught sight of someone at the end of the bar. Someone familiar—the smartass from the plane. He was wearing Aviators, but that wasn’t what I noticed first. It was his lack of a shirt that snagged my attention. The lean-muscled chest making my eyes wander. A glimpse of a tattoo on his right arm had me continuing to stare longer than necessary. Luckily, he was deep in conversation and I averted my gaze, wondering what the hell I was doing anyway.
Pivoting on my stool, I stretched my long legs and glanced out at the sea. It was perfect and serene. The tide rocked back and forth, white-crested waves rippled against the shore. I closed my eyes and inhaled the salty ocean air, letting the tranquil sound wash over me in hopes of wiping everything away.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Mercedes.”
Apparently, not everything.
My eyes opened level to a sculpted chest and I cleared my throat. “If it isn’t Mr. Hostility. What are the chances?” I let my gaze drift into the distance before bringing it back to him. “Are you sure you should be talking to me?” My brow quirked high on one side. “You don’t seem like much of a conversationalist.”
A noise left his mouth that sounded like a chuckle, but I couldn’t be sure. “Okay, you got me. It was… a rough couple of days and I suppose I took it out on you.”
I tilted my head, folding my arms over my chest. “You suppose?”
“Don’t push your luck,” he countered, adjusting his glasses. His hair was slicked back and I wanted to see his eyes, check if they matched the small smile trying to overtake his lips. I barely knew the guy, but it seemed like effort for him. Something we had in common at the moment. “Finish the book yet?” he questioned, and that’s when I noticed the Kindle and set of ear buds he was holding in his hand.
“Not yet. I still have a ways to go.”
He hesitated, looking over his shoulder then back. I got the impression he was scoping for a better option, like talking to me was a form of drudgery. My spine stiffened. “You a Stephen King fan?”
“I’m not sure I qualify as a fan. But I enjoy his books, if that’s what you mean.” Another brief glance over his shoulder and my neck tensed. I suddenly felt like the least interesting person on the planet. “Don’t let me keep you.”
The words came out harsher than I’d intended and he flinched.
“No, it’s not that. I—”
“I have a beer waiting for me. Enjoy the rest of your book,” I cut in, before turning around in my seat and showing him my back. Now I was the one being an ass and didn’t have it in me to care.
Twenty-nine years old, on one of the most gorgeous islands in Hawaii, and what was I doing? Instead of fucking my husband in our hotel room, I was getting ready to order my third beer.
Ah, life.
WITH MY ARMS braced against the tile wall, I bent my head and let the hot water stream over my exhausted muscles. After three beers did nothing to numb the chaos inside my brain, I thought a run might take the edge off. Turned out I was wrong.
Twenty minutes later, as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist, I was still frustrated. The illogical part of me wanted to reach out to Glenn. But the rational part of me knew better. If he wanted to contact me, he would. He could find me via my parents. After all, this was supposed to be our honeymoon.
The words it couldn’t be more over raced through my mind and I collapsed back against the mattress, lacing my hands behind my head. As I stared up at the ceiling fan and felt the warm breeze blowing in through the sliding glass doors, I realized time was being wasted. And I also realized something else.
I needed to get laid.
As usual, the predictable side of me wanted to hold up in my hotel room and watch movies, maybe get some writing done. But that thought warred with the physical need that eventually won out. There had to be at least some gay or bi single men on this island. And I intended to find them. I was in desperate need of a distraction and refused to come back to this room until I had one.
For a brief moment, I considered rubbing one out. But I didn’t want my own hands—I wanted someone else’s. Wanted to get lost in loose limbs and sweat, the scent of sex and bodily fluids, the feel of hard muscles. My dick ached beneath my towel and I flattened my palm over it to try to relieve the pressure. But of course that didn’t work. I wanted something else. Needed something else.