Jock Row, #1

by Sara Ney

  Sand. Shells.

  A tiny guppy scuttling by.

  It’s unremarkable and remarkable all at the same time, and I bask in the water, cooling my body as it drifts listlessly. Face down, I kick, on my way to anywhere. Deeper still, until finally, I see signs of more marine life: a gray horseshoe crab drags its shell through the infinite space. The smallest of starfish lies still, half buried in the white sand.

  I scan the ocean floor, paddling, paddling, until I see Sterling nearby, watching me under the water, rear almost hitting the bottom as he buoys. He gives me a little wave, bubbles rising from his snorkel to the surface of the tide.

  I swim along in his direction, smiling, the tight goggles distorting my mouth. Reach him and rise, feet hitting the sand, pushing myself high enough so my shoulders feel the warm air. As he emerges in front of me, I pop the snorkel out of my mouth piece and remove the goggles, pressing against him. Drape my legs over his squatting form at the same time I wrap my arms around his neck.

  Plant a wet, salty kiss on his lips. It’s slow and soft, and would be considered sweet if my tongue hadn’t just slipped into his mouth. God I love his lips, undemanding and pliant and eager for me.

  His hands grip my waist, holding me firmly on his lap, blanketed by the tide, while my greedy, selfish fingers remove his goggles so I can rake them through his wet hair.

  “You said you didn’t want to make out in public.”

  I nibble his full bottom lip. It’s salty and warm, and tastes so fantastically like him. “I changed my mind.”

  “You’re powerless to resist me—I like it.”

  “You’re powerless to resist me.”

  “Careful now,” he intones quietly. “Or you’ll drown us both.”

  Rowdy

  “Having a good time?”

  Scarlett and I slough up the sandy shore toward my parents. They’re lying in lounge chairs under a cluster of shady palm trees, watching us approach, Mom with a book in her hands and sunglasses on her face.

  She takes them in her index finger and thumb, drawing them down a notch to inspect us over the rim.

  “It sure looks like it.”

  “The water is fantastic. Thank you again for inviting me, today has been a dream,” Scarlett enthuses, dripping wet in her bright yellow bikini. I will my eyes to stay off her ass, but they sneak a peek at her curvy backside to spite me.

  Dart to the pair of tits that sway when she stops and scoops up a beach towel.

  “I can’t convince your mother to dip her toes in,” Dad adds in, lying flat on his back, a worn Iowa baseball hat covering his face.

  “Sterling did enough flapping around in the water for all of us, Don.” She rakes me up and down with her lips pursed. “You’re like a walking hormone—give the girl a break.”

  Beside me, I hear Scarlett laugh, running the towel over her damp limbs. Down her arm and over her stomach, patting it dry.

  I feel my skin getting hot—and not from the sunburn I’ve already acquired being in the hot, tropical sun. The hollow of my neck, rising to my cheeks and coloring my ears—goddamn guarantee they’re hot pink.

  Scarlett turns to look at me. “You’re not blushing, are you?” she teases, poking me in the ribcage, making my face burn hotter.

  She sweeps her towel across my chest, soaking up the beads of water on my pecs then handing it to me.

  “Scarlett, sweetie, listen to me—take some advice from the boy’s mother: make him work for it. Everything always comes so easy to this kid.” She sets the book on her stomach, pointing at Scarlett with the nail of her finger. “Make him sweat a little.”

  “Mom!”

  “Oh, calm down, I’m just making an observation.” She reaches for and grabs the white chair next to her, pulling it close.

  We sidle up to my parents and I straddle the lounger, resting against the back of it, leaving plenty of room for Scarlett. She joins me, facing my mother.

  A waiter walks past, and we order two drinks—what it is, I don’t care, I just want something in my hands. My freaking mother is making me nervous; I have no idea what’s going to come out of her mouth next.

  “So, Scarlett,” she begins. “Sterling never really told us the entire story of how you two met.”

  “Oh. Well…” Scarlett looks at me helplessly, shrugging. “I guess it was at a party?”

  “Ah. At the house?” Mom makes a face.

  “Yes, and our first meeting didn’t go very well.”“There was an incident,” I add drolly, taking two blended piña coladas when the waiter comes back. Give him fifteen bucks, tell him to keep the change. Pop the cherry off the top and suck it into my mouth, chewing.

  “What incident?” Dad has his neck craned, suddenly interested in entering the conversation. “You boys better not be doing anything suspect in that place.”

  “Dad, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Mind if I tell the story?” Scarlett touches my thigh. “I was at the baseball house with a few of my friends, and you know how it is in those places—wall-to-wall people.” She sips from her plastic cocktail cup. “Anyway, my friends were…chatting up two players, and…I don’t know, they weren’t very friendly to me.”

  “And then Sterling stepped in and set them straight?” My dad peels back the hat, squinting at me in the sun.

  “Not exactly. The players wanted me out, mostly because I was being—” She turns to me for help filling in the blanks. “Would you say I was being a buzzkill?”

  “No, babe, you weren’t being a buzzkill.” I shake my head, irritated, turn toward my parents. “She was giving Ben Wilson shit because he’s a straight-up liar, and Ben got pissed and wanted her kicked out of the house.”

  “And then you stepped in and set them straight?” my mom asks, leaning forward, completely immersed in the story.

  “Well no. I kicked her ass out.”

  “Sterling!” My mother is appalled—totally appalled. “Stop it, that’s not even funny.”

  “He’s not joking Mrs. Wade, he did indeed kick my ass out.” Scarlett laughs. “He spent the night policing me, and we kept arguing, and…then I went back the next weekend.”

  “And he let you in, obviously.”

  “Nope.

  “Sterling!” Mom practically shouts, sitting up in her chair, book falling to the sand. “I raised you better than that! How utterly unromantic!”

  “Mom, relax. I couldn’t shake her no matter how hard I tried. She was like a bad rash.”

  Scarlett rolls her eyes. “It actually was kind of romantic. He would wait for me on the front porch every Friday, and one night I went to dinner with a bunch of my friends and I didn’t show up—I think he was jealous he wasn’t invited along.”

  “I don’t think that’s what I was feeling that night—I was worried, not jealous.”

  “Don’t lie, you were a little jealous.”

  Yeah, fine—I was a little bit jealous of her friends.

  “So you became friends first?” My mom draws out the words, and I can see an idea taking root. “Friends to lovers. Frenemies. I like it.”

  No, not lovers—not yet.

  But soon.

  “To entertain ourselves, we sat outside and played games—”

  “And she fed me.”

  We’re finishing each other’s sentences now? Barf.

  “What kind of games?” Dad asks, flat on his back again, eyes covered with his cap.

  “Never Have I Ever.” I clear my throat. “Would You Rather.”

  “Drinking games, Sterling? Where did I go wrong with you?”

  “We were sober every night, Mom, relax. There was no alcohol involved.”

  “Well, except for that one time…” Scarlett mutters.

  Ah, that’s right—the night I went to her house, had her ass cheeks filling the palms of my giant hands, my tongue down her throat, and her back against the wall.

  That was a great fucking night.

  It wasn’t the night I realized I loved her, but i
t’s when I knew I could.

  “It was good for us, I think,” Scarlett finally says. “We learned a lot about each other.”

  And ourselves.

  “Did you know Sterling was once slapped by a guy?”

  Mom looks at me, brows raised. “No, I did not.” Her tone is clipped.

  Scarlett laughs, reaching to brush my hair back. Takes a drink of piña colada. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “Did he tell you he used to wet the bed until he was eight?” My dad’s voice is half dazed, half asleep.

  “Jeez Dad! Go to sleep!”

  “Oh that’s right!” My mom cackles. “And he was a big kid, too, so it was a lot of pee.”

  “Okay, yeah—now I’m embarrassed. You guys can stop.”

  We sit here a little longer, laughing and talking beneath the palms, until eventually, Scarlett readjusts herself on the lounge chair so she’s in a position to rest her back against my chest.

  “It’s so nice out here, I could stay in the sun all day. The weather is so gross back home.”

  She closes her eyes, and I drape the towel over her lower half to blanket her. Stroke her hair. Kiss her shoulder when my parents aren’t looking, resting my mouth there.

  Eventually I lean my head back and close my eyes, too.

  Rowdy

  Ironically, it was my parents who skipped dinner.

  Scarlett and I went the ship’s formal dining room and when we arrived at the empty table, I immediately craved room service—specifically fresh sushi I could eat off Scarlett’s naked body—but she was hungry and didn’t have the patience for the forty-five-minute wait.

  So, we stayed. Had the entire table to ourselves and ordered practically one of everything off the menu. After dessert, there was no pretense of doing anything but going back to our stateroom.

  I flop down on the bed when we get back, legs spread, watching as Scarlett removes her shoes, silky leg propped on the desk chair, fingers expertly unclasping each buckle.

  Suddenly, she’s four inches shorter.

  “We have one more day tomorrow—what should we do?”

  “Beach day?” she suggests. “Or we could bum around town?”

  “I could do another beach day.” I’ll do whatever she wants, all damn day, and not complain. “Do you mind, though, if I get up early and hit the gym for a few hours? I’ll be back before you wake up.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  I lie back, balancing on the mattress, propped up on my elbows. Watching.

  She removes her earrings, setting them on the desk, then her bracelets. The three gold bangles jingled all during dinner like a tiny chorus of bells.

  “I’m going to take my makeup off real quick.”

  While she does that, I kick off my shoes. Peel off my black polo shirt, pull my brown leather belt through the loops of the dress pants Mom made me pack.

  Now I don’t know what to do with myself or my hands until Scarlett comes out of the bathroom. I could peel these pants off, but would it be weird if I was just sitting here on the bed in my skivvies?

  The bathroom door clicks open and Scarlett pushes through, stepping down into the room, fresh faced and beautiful, her skin a little darker than when we left home.

  She stops and stares at my bare chest when she sees me, eyes dropping to the flat of my stomach. It’s rippled due to the way I’m positioned, the muscles hard as a rock.

  “You took your shirt off.”

  And my socks, and my belt.

  My brow lifts. “Should I put it back on?” Better yet, should I take yours off?

  “No.”

  I reach for her hand, giving her a gentle tug toward me. Position her between my legs, hugging her waist, arms wrapped around her middle. Kiss the underside of her jaw, brushing away the hair falling over her shoulder.

  “We’re totally alone,” she observes with a brow raised, dimple pressing into her smooth cheek.

  “True.”

  “It’s still early.”

  I kiss her in reply, and this time my lips brush her collarbone. “Also true.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go do something? Play checkers perhaps?” Such a little tease.

  “Want to play cards?” I call her bluff. “Or we could find a shuffleboard game on deck twelve.”

  “Shut up,” she mumbles as she laughs.

  “I’m just throwing out ideas—I didn’t say they’d be any good.”

  “You’re really sweet, do you know that?”

  No.

  Not a single soul has ever told me I’m sweet, largely because I’m not…or they’re too busy using me for social gain to actually get to know me on a personal level—the way Scarlett has.

  “Thanks.”

  When she kisses my forehead, my eyes slide closed. When the tips of her fingers brush my cheekbones, I sigh, kissing her palm when it skates past my mouth. Her thumb drags tenderly along my chin, over my lips.

  “You’re beautiful,” she whispers.

  Hot. Handsome. Sexy.

  Those are terms I’m more familiar with.

  “I love your parents. They’re adorable.” Scarlett’s fingers rake through my hair, and I lean forward, burying my face in her cleavage.

  “My parents are not adorable,” I mumble.

  “I can’t decide if you look more like your mom or your dad.”

  I’m a healthy mix of both—Dad’s height and Mom’s green eyes.

  “Can we stop talking about my parents, please?”

  “Sorry.” She chuckles, not sorry at all. “Thank you for this weekend.”

  I angle my head toward her and she frames my face, cupping my jawline in her palms. “You’re welcome.”

  Scarlett lowers her mouth. Presses her lips to the corner of my mine, first one side, then the other, kissing those tiny divots she seems so enamored with.

  My lips fall open, wanting.

  But she only settles her kiss on my bottom lip, brushing gently across the sensitive skin and creating a zing! down my spine like I’ve never felt before.

  It’s not the same as being horny; this sensation is because I care about someone other than myself for a change. I’m in love with my friend and it’s giving me the goddamn chills, sitting here like this. In the quiet of this room, with the sound of the ocean beyond our door, the dull ache in my dick finds its way to my heart.

  Squeezes.

  I breathe in and out, unsuccessfully trying to control my heart rate.

  I know where this is going to lead.

  I thought I was ready. I’m not a virgin; I’ve fucked plenty of women, all of them more than willing, most of them the aggressors.

  I can count on one finger how many times I’ve been nervous when I was about to have sex with someone, and this is that one moment.

  Which is why the hands around Scarlett’s waist are fucking afraid to move. Physically, my body knows what to do; it’s my brain that’s giving me problems.

  “Want to help me with the zipper of this dress, hmm?” Her murmur is as soft as her skin.

  “Turn around.”

  Slowly, she turns, presenting me with her back, pulling a mass of her dark hair forward so it doesn’t get caught when I drag the zipper down her spine. Waits while I give the metal pull a light tug, guiding it down the track as I’ve done for her several times before.

  But never like this.

  This time, I know where this is going to lead.

  The light blue dress has spaghetti straps, and she shrugs those off her shoulders, baring her entire back. She’s not wearing a bra, but she is wearing underwear, the white fabric playing peekaboo above where the zipper stops.

  Scarlett delicately shimmies, the dress sliding past her hips and thighs of its own accord, and settles on the floor in a dry puddle of blue material. Her feet are rooted to the ground, and for the briefest moment I consider not touching her, consider placing my hands on the top of my thighs and
leaving them there.

  But anticipation strums our nerves, a chorus to the waves drumming the hull of the ship, and I’m determined to control it.

  “Why aren’t you touching me?” Scarlett whispers, still facing the opposite wall. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I don’t know where to put my hands,” I admit to her back, eyes drifting south, down the curve of her spine to the round globes of her butt.

  As if warring with herself, she stands, presenting me with her rear end for another few seconds, deliberating. Waiting. Breathes in and out, short intakes of air, unsteady. Her skin? Covered in goose bumps.

  I grip her left hand, tugging so she’ll face me.

  And time fucking stops when she makes the full rotation, tits at eye level, and I can’t decide where to look first.

  So I look everywhere, starting with her…

  Nipples.

  Goddamn they’re perfect.

  Flat stomach and a belly button I want to press with my finger.

  Nipples.

  Scarlett’s underwear is sheer; I can see clear through them to the neatly trimmed dark patch between her legs, the area I had in my mouth last night.

  That same mouth waters.

  “I think you should take your pants off so I’m not the only one standing here naked.”

  I rise, unbuttoning my khakis, shoving them down my hips and kicking them out of my way with one quick motion.

  Fucking pants—who needs them?

  Falling to my knees in front of Scarlett, I let my forehead touch her stomach as my trembling hands skim up her calves.

  Knees.

  Thighs.

  Tentatively, her fingers stroke the top of my head, twisting a few strands of my hair. Gently tugging before her hands drop to my shoulders, lightly stroking the sun-kissed skin there.

  I pull back a few inches so I can kiss her abs. Kiss the warm valley between her breasts, inhale the perfume she must have sprayed on while she was in the bathroom.

  My fingers toy with the waistband of her underwear, forefingers creeping inside, giving them a diminutive pull. We both know they’re coming off; why prolong the inevitable?

  I tug again, working the flimsy material down over her slender hips. She spreads her legs a tiny bit to make the job easier, and my mouth waters when the panties are past her pussy.