by Eden Finley
“Then you’ll be finding the nearest unemployment line.” He’s joking, but I’m seriously not in the mood. Noah must pick up on it, because he immediately apologizes. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s one interview in one magazine that hardly anyone will read anyway.”
I scoff. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. One photo ruined my career, but it’s going to take a shit ton of positive press to fix it.”
With the largest sigh known to man, Noah moves to the minibar and grabs out another beer. It’s like the never-ending, bottomless pit of fridges. The housekeeping staff on the boat are like ninjas and restock the second anyone leaves the rooms.
“Fine,” he says, his tone defeated. “Let’s bore each other to tears with as much information as we can cram in, but if we’re going to do this, we should at least make it fun.”
“Is it impossible for you to be in the same room as me without a drink in your hand?”
“Not impossible, but it makes it more tolerable.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mumble. “Note to self: what does Noah like to do in his spare time? Drink.”
Noah leans against the wall of the small cabin and takes a long pull of beer. “I can think of another way to make this more fun, but you’ll hate that one even more.”
I don’t even need to ask what it is, because his hungry gaze traveling over me gives it all away, and I’m not even going to dignify his innuendo with a response.
Instead, I stand, because suddenly being on a bed is too tempting. I want to kiss that mouth again, press myself against him, and— “I think you’re right. This isn’t going to achieve anything. We’ll go catch that show.”
Noah’s smugness isn’t lost on me, and I realize I’ve played right into his hands. He didn’t want to do this stupid question prep, and he pushed all the right buttons to get both Damon and me to back down.
I don’t know whether to be pissed off or impressed.
Chapter Six
Noah
For the second day in a row, I wake up being spooned by a giant. Matt’s body heat makes my back sweaty, but I can’t help enjoying the warmth and sense of ease before I snap out of whatever temporary craziness it’s causing. I can’t like cuddling. Nope. No way.
I push him off me. “For someone who’s never had a boyfriend, you sure do like to cuddle.”
“It’s my body’s fault,” Matt says through a yawn. “I’m not in control of it when I’m asleep.” He rolls over and stretches that long torso of his as the sheet drops to his narrow waist.
“What time’s the photoshoot?” I ask.
“As soon as we dock.”
I amble out to the balcony. We’re still moving, but if I stick my head out as far as I can lean over without falling, there’s land visible in the distance.
“I’m going to shower,” I say. “Rub one out while I’m at it. Unless …” I drop my boxers to the floor and my cock juts out, pointing toward my stomach. “You want to join me?”
I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Do I want him to say yes, or am I messing with him? I don’t know. Knowing me, I’m trying to fuck with him, but I can’t be sure I’d admit to joking if he accepted the offer.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Huh. Didn’t even get a rise out of him. My eyes travel down his hard stomach to the tent in the sheet. Okay, so I got a rise out of him physically, but he’s not biting.
“Fine, but it might be an idea for you to do it too. Just saying, we’ll most likely be hanging around in our underwear all day. Oiled up, rubbing against each other. Do you want a hard-on in a magazine?”
“You still don’t affect me, so I’ll manage.”
I cough in between saying “Bullshit.”
“Still chemical. Your mouth ruins it for me.” He smirks but tries to hide it.
“I could totally show you how good my mouth can be.”
For the tiniest, miniscule second, I swear interest flickers across his face, but then he schools his features and it’s gone. “Still pass.”
“Suit yourself.”
A quick shower later—all I had to do was think about waking up next to Matt and I came within thirty seconds of touching myself—I find Matt dressed in board shorts and a black sleeveless shirt.
“Should’ve jerked it,” I sing at him.
“How do you know I didn’t?”
I’m hardening again. This guy drives me crazy. “We should fuck.”
Matt sighs. “Here we go again. Why, exactly?”
“Hear me out. We’re in this relationship until you get a contract, and after that, you might need me to make appearances so your teammates don’t think you’re hitting on them or whatever. Because everyone knows all us gay boys want to do in life is hit on straight guys.”
Matt laughs. “Right? Not to mention football players are head cases. No way would I go for one.”
“You realize you’re calling yourself a head case?”
He lets out a humorless huff. “You haven’t been paying attention, have you? I’m fucked up.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Look, it’s not happening. We proved crossing that line makes things weirder, not better like you said it would.”
“True, but now it’s super weird. There’s no going back. All you have to do to get me hard is … well, breathe. Even your shitty attitude is starting to turn me on.”
“Way to get me into bed,” Matt says.
“You want candlelight and flowers?”
“Fuck off.”
“We don’t have to like each other to make each other come.”
“I bet you say that to all the guys.”
He’s frustrating me to no end.
“It was just an idea,” I say. “We both get off, your fake relationship becomes semi-real so we’re not entirely lying, and we both know it’s temporary. We won’t fall when we can’t stand each other.”
Matt stares at me, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. “Do you really think I don’t like you? I’m pissed at the situation, not at you, but it’s better if we keep this professional.”
“Why?”
“I need this strategy to work, and it’s not going to if … sex gets involved. I haven’t gone there with other guys, so I won’t—” His mouth slams shut, and he winces as if he’s said something wrong.
I run his words over in my head and step closer. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Nope. Never mind. Never said nothin’.” Is that why his accent is reappearing?
“Matt, how many guys have you been with?”
The tips of his ears turn red. “Heaps.”
My mouth quirks on one side. “You top or bottom? I assumed Mr. Asshole was a top, but now I’m not so sure you’re either.”
Matt cracks his neck. “We should go get somethin’ to eat before we’re due at the shoot.” He tries to walk away but I grab his arm. Damn his tattooed biceps being all hard and mouthwatering under my hand.
“Are you a virgin?” I ask, my voice gruff.
“No.” He averts his gaze. Matt’s so a virgin. “I’ve done plenty of … stuff. It counts.”
“No, it doesn’t. Have you ever had anal? Given or received.”
“That’s not the defining criteria for sex, you know.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“What’s it to you?” he snaps.
“Well, before when I said we should fuck, it was only an idea. Now I really think we should.”
Matt throws his head back and looks at the roof. “I swear if you don’t drop this, the next headline will read Matt Jackson Murders Boyfriend.”
“Catchy. But someone as hot—and as old—as you shouldn’t be a virgin. We need to rectify that immediately.”
Matt grits his teeth. “I’ll see you out there. I need some food to stomach your bullshit.”
He leaves before I can take the time to realize I’ve messed up by running my mouth as usual. Only, this time I di
dn’t mean to do it. The foot lodged between my teeth won’t budge an inch.
In my defense, how the hell is someone like Matt a virgin? If he could pull off blowjobs in nightclubs when he was closeted, he could’ve easily taken someone home—or back to the guy’s place for complete anonymity. I’ve even seen guys having sex in clubs like the one he was caught in.
But if I were a twenty-three-year-old virgin, I probably wouldn’t want that rubbed in my face.
Wow, I really am an asshole. I need to go apologize. I hope he has a recording device, because Noah Huntington doesn’t apologize. Normally.
Matt’s not in any of the billions of onboard restaurants when I go looking for him, and after I’ve checked every one, it’s time for the photoshoot.
I hope to find Matt when I go back to the room, but instead, our keeper is there.
Damon follows me into the cabin. “What did you do to him?”
“Tattle on me, did he?”
“He’s refusing to do the shoot.”
“Ah, I don’t think that has anything to do with me. It’s a stupid shoot.”
“I thought you’d be sympathetic. You know what it’s like to have paparazzi follow you.”
“I am sympathetic. That’s why I think a shoot with Out and Proud Magazine is a dumb idea. Yes, he should embrace the fact he’s gay and not hide it, but flaunting it isn’t going to work either. You should’ve booked Sports Illustrated or Football is Life for his big, gay interview.”
Damon laughs. “Football is Life? That’s not a magazine.”
“Do I look like the type of guy who knows titles of sports magazines? I just mean any interviews he does should be about football, not his sexuality.”
“Did you go out and get a PR degree while I wasn’t paying attention? And you still haven’t told me what you did to piss him off.”
“I’ll fix it,” I say. “I may have accidentally antagonized him. I’ll get him to the shoot. I know we can’t get out of it, but you might want to re-evaluate the schedule once we’re back home. Have us doing normal stuff and quit with the LGBTQ poster boy routine. Had Matt come out on his own, it’d be different, but the world knows he was forced out of the closet, so now it looks like he’s trying too hard.”
Damon smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“You like him.”
“He’s a cranky asshole.”
“You really like him.”
“Are we in high school? I’d fuck him, for sure, but we all know I’d fuck anyone with a dick and a pulse.”
Damon cocks his head to the side. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
His teasing strikes a chord, and I’m getting defensive. I’ve known Matt for three days, and he’s been angry for most of it. I don’t like him. I don’t.
“Don’t be self-deprecating to cover up how you feel,” Damon says.
“Get a psych degree while I wasn’t paying attention?” I throw his own words back at him. “I’ll get dressed and go apologize and we can get this show on the road. The sooner it’s done, the sooner Matt and I can go to our separate corners of the ship.”
I’ve known Damon for eight years. He’s the closest thing to a brother I have. That means, when he nods once with a smug smile, I can practically hear his thoughts.
“I don’t have a thing for Matt,” I argue.
“Mmhmm.”
Jackass.
When we get to Damon’s room, Maddox and Matt are nowhere to be seen.
“You better hope Maddox knocked some sense into him and they’re already onshore at the photoshoot site,” Damon says.
“Or what, you’ll fire me? Not pay me? Oh wait, you’re not doing that in the first place.”
Damon pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have a headache.”
“From your concussion?”
“From you.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, you’re welcome. Come on, I’m going to fix this.”
Damon narrows his eyes. “What exactly did you do to antagonize him?”
Yeah, not going to tell Damon about Matt’s virgin status. I’m not that much of a dick. “I told him we should fuck.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a compliment.”
“The way I figure it, we’re stuck with each other for the next few months. May as well get some while we’re at it.”
“And you say you don’t like him,” Damon scoffs.
“My cock likes him.”
“Yes, well, we all know your dick’s not discriminatory.”
“Oh, so you can make jokes about me, but when I do it it’s self-deprecating?”
“Yup. Pretty much the definition of self-deprecating. Need me to buy you a dictionary? I thought you graduated from college.”
We go through the ship checkpoints, scanning our room keys that keep track of who’s onboard or not when we’re at port.
“Where’s the shoot?” I ask.
“Half a mile up the beach. There’s a private residence the magazine has rented.”
I follow him down the docks and onto the sand. The sun seems hotter in this part of the world, and I break out into an immediate sweat. The humidity doesn’t help.
My shirt sticks to my back immediately, so I take it off and tuck it into my waistband.
“Thirty whole seconds before you took your damn shirt off,” Damon grumbles.
“I need to give these people some sort of gift.” I point to my abs.
“I’d ask for a refund if I were them.”
I shove him. “It’s hot as balls out here.”
We walk past families and couples spending their day at the beach, and I wish for Matt’s sake that he could join them instead of endure this interview.
“Would they have really gone without you?” I ask Damon. Maybe Matt made an escape.
“I texted Maddox the address and told him to get Matt there if he could.”
“Our phones work again?” Mine is still off and in the cabin somewhere. Sorry, Dad, still can’t return your calls.
“Yup.” As if on cue, Damon’s phone buzzes. “Heads up. Paparazzi are lining the property.”
I shake my head. “This is getting out of hand. They followed him to Bermuda?”
We round a corner and paparazzi crowd outside a gated beach bungalow.
“Actually, I think these guys are here for you,” Damon says. “We probably should’ve considered your dad’s political position when we matched you up with Matt.”
I did. “Yeah. That might’ve been an idea.”
Damon’s smirk matches my own. “You said yes to piss your old man off, didn’t you?”
“Me?” I mock gasp. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Liar. Well here you go. Here’s your spotlight.”
Now that I’m getting what I originally set out to do, it doesn’t boost me up as I was expecting. It makes me feel cheaper than a rentboy in one of the seedy nightclubs Matt got caught in. My attention-seeking actions against my father seem childish compared to what Matt’s going through.
“You okay? You look … nervous, but that can’t be right. You’re Noah Huntington the fucking Third.”
“I’m fine. I just didn’t expect them to follow us here. I didn’t realize the extent in which these people will go to make Matt’s life a living hell.”
Damon does that smug thing again.
“Shut up,” I grumble and push on ahead.
“I didn’t say anything,” he says, his ex-baseball playing legs keeping up with me easily. “I definitely didn’t mention the whole having a thing for Matt again.”
Kill me now.
We walk through the throng of media, and my ears prick up at Damon’s name being called out too. These guys have done their homework. Damon was almost famous once—before he blew out his shoulder.
In the safety of the property, I turn to him. “They must be desperate if they’re recognizing your washed-up has-been ass.”
“There’s the Noah I love to hate. Or is it hate to love? One or the other. Missed you for a minute there while you were pining over Matt.”
“Fuck you.”
“I have Maddox for that. Thanks for the offer though.”
Damon knocks on the door that’s on the side of the house, and some PA lets us in.
“Ah, good, the other one is here,” she says and runs off.
“Go find Matt and grovel,” Damon says. I go to take a step when he pulls me back. “And don’t apologize by offering to blow him. That’s why he’s pissed off at you in the first place.” Not quite, but Damon can believe whatever he wants. “And”—he stops me again—“I don’t need to remind you this is your first test. If you guys fail this, we may as well have not bothered at all.” He lowers his voice. “Everyone has to believe you’re a couple.”
“No pressure.”
The PA woman appears again, just as flighty and flustered as before. “Here.” She hands me a pair of swimming trunks, and not the long boardshorts kind. “Wardrobe is this way.”
I mouth “You owe me” to Damon as the little woman drags me away.
He gives me a thumbs-up. Why am I friends with him again? Oh, right, he’s one of the few people who puts up with my bullshit.
Matt avoids eye contact with me as he stands with his arms and legs spread out in the middle of a bedroom while some woman rubs him down with oil. As hard as I try to drag my eyes away from his bubble butt in his tight, really small Speedos, I can’t. At least I’m not alone in the attire we have to wear, but keeping my dick contained could be a challenge.
Matt still refuses to look at me.
“Can we have a minute?” I ask the two assistants.
They glance at each other, then at Matt, and then back at me before shuffling out the door.
“M—”
“Not here, Noah.” His eyes dart behind me where the girls left. I guess anyone could be listening.
I step closer until I’m pressed against his back. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. I truly am sorry. If you haven’t figured out by now, my mouth likes to speak without my brain’s permission.”
“Let’s just get this done.”