Chapter 3

Eric

 

It was the second day of the cruise, and the ship was at sea. Tonight, we’d dock in Palma de Mallorca, but for now, we sailed through gorgeous Mediterranean waters—vivid blue as far as the eye could see—while people explored the boat and settled in.

I did some exploring myself. After my morning workout and a nice breakfast at one of the buffets, I wandered from deck to deck, bow to stern, checking out all the amenities the website had advertised. I’d been skeptical that they could even fit that much onto one ship, but I’d been wrong. The vessel was enormous, and it was packed with everything from a library to a movie theater. There were enough restaurants, I could eat every meal at a different one and never visit the same place twice.

The scenery wasn’t bad either. Plenty of eye candy among both passengers and crew. Some were even promisingly queer—at least enough to exchange some suggestive glances and grins. Yeah, I was getting laid before this cruise was over. And after that I’d have two weeks in Rome to get my fill of hot Italian men, which was especially promising after I’d spent some time on a hookup app last night. Three nibbles already. Fuck yeah.

So why did my mind keep drifting back to the guy who’d crashed into me by the gift shop yesterday? From the moment I’d made eye contact with him, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

Okay, to be fair, I’d also ogled the hell out of two flight attendants, a concierge, at least half a dozen waiters, and a couple of stupidly hot cops at the Barcelona Sants train station. I was newly single and I was horny. Hot men were turning my head. There was a reason I’d set like six reminders so I wouldn’t miss that LGBT mixer down at the Starlight Bar.

Cruise ships were massive, and there were thousands of people on board, but a friend had told me that whenever she’d gone on a cruise, there’d be a dozen or so passengers she couldn’t not cross paths with. They’d wind up at the same restaurants, on the same excursions, at the same blackjack tables. Seemed like she was right, too—I’d started noticing some familiar faces already, like the elderly Greek couple across the hall from me and a pair of stunningly gorgeous black women who never seemed to wear more than string bikinis.

And wasn’t it just my luck—that crash in the hallway wasn’t the last time I saw that hot guy.

The second time was down in the Neptune Lounge that evening. I had just finished dinner, a meal spent trying to ignore the fact that I was the sole occupant of a table for two because there was nothing depressing about that. Particularly not on a honeymoon cruise.

As I put down my fork, I groaned at my own thought. So help me, I was going to install a revolving door on my stateroom and get as laid as it took to scrub my maudlin, pathetic thoughts out of my skull before I—

That’s him.

My heart skipped like it hadn’t done in years. He was with an older couple, but it was just the three of them, though. No spouse? I sat up a little. Well that just made him more interesting.

I doubted he saw me, and that was just fine. It meant I could check him out without making things weird.

He sat facing the window, and the heavily tinted glass made the sunlight rich and warm on his fair complexion. When I’d seen him yesterday, he’d been dressed down, and more than a little flustered. Now he had on a charcoal gray suit, and his light brown hair was perfectly arranged. He seemed calmer, too. Maybe not relaxed—there was some tension in the grooves between his eyebrows and the way he sat. From his body language and the woman’s, there were some sparks flying, and not the good kind. More like they were both just restraining themselves from making a scene.

And from the resemblance between them, I’d have laid money on them being mother and son. Still no partner in sight. No tan line on his finger. Possibly promising?

Surreptitiously, I studied him from a distance. God, he was so attractive it was ridiculous. I had a feeling he was roughly my age, or maybe slightly younger. Like in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a little bit of a baby face. Not overly round, but soft in places where guys that age tended to be a bit sharper. He had more scruff than he’d had when we’d first run into each other. Like he hadn’t bothered shaving this morning. It suited him, too. I didn’t know why and didn’t question it—I just liked it.

When he’d walked in, I’d gotten a better look at how he moved than I had during our crash. He had a certain…grace about him. A way of moving that pinged my gaydar hard. A certain subtle flourish that most straight men schooled out of their mannerisms for fear of being pegged as queer. Or maybe I was wrong. Wishful thinking and all that. It didn’t necessarily make him gay, but it sure made him sexy as—

“Here you go, Mr. Schofield.” The waiter set my bill on the table, jarring me back into the present. Oh shit. Had he busted me staring at the other guy? If he did, he didn’t let on. His expression was completely pleasant and neutral. Good. I didn’t need anyone noticing what a drooling dork I was tonight.

I signed the receipt and left the table. Naturally, I stole one more glance at the cute guy.

And he picked that moment to steal a glance at me.

He turned his head—barely—and cut his gaze toward me as he sipped his wine. For a second, our eyes locked, and for the second time since I’d boarded this boat, he nearly knocked me off my feet.

I recovered—barely—and made a quick, semi-graceful escape.  As soon as I was clear of the restaurant door, and sure I was out of his sight, I let out go of a relieved breath. Not that I was relieved to get away from him, but at least my momentary lapse in dignity was behind me now.

Damn. I wasn’t used to tripping over my own feet at the sight of an attractive man. Though to be fair, I’d been facedown in work for the last few years, not to mention monogamous with the man I’d intended to marry. He might’ve done some tripping over his own feet, which might’ve been what had led him to tripping, falling, and accidentally putting his dick down his coworker’s throat in our bed, but what did I know?

Whatever the case, I decided my idiocy in the restaurant just meant I needed to get laid on this trip.

Ideally by that guy in the gray suit…

 

***

 

I saw him again the morning after the ship had pulled into Palma de Mallorca. It was early, and I was in a lounge chair beside one of the pools, enjoying some sun while I read. There were people moving in all directions, especially as hordes of them left for excursions and the rest headed to breakfast at one of the millions of onboard restaurants. With my nose in my book and Linkin Park screaming into my earbuds, I barely noticed anyone or anything around me.

Until I did.

For reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, I felt the need to look up, and moved only my eyes behind my dark sunglasses.

He stumbled a bit, and the woman I’d decided last night was his mother snarled at him. They exchanged a look, and then his attention shifted back to me. It was only for a second, though. Two or three steps. Then he scowled, said something to the woman, and kept going.

And just before he disappeared, he looked back.

Our eyes locked for a heartbeat. Fleeting but unmistakable.

Then he was gone.

And so was my breath.

Relaxing back against the lounger, I willed my heart rate to slow down. What the hell?

The whole exchange had lasted all of ten or fifteen seconds, but between that and the last two times we’d crossed paths, he was clearly imprinted in my mind. As if I needed more fodder to get myself off tonight. Hadn’t I done enough of that last night?

An image flashed through my head of my mystery man strolling into the restaurant in that gray suit with scruff darkening his jaw, and my toes curled. No, I had not done enough of that last night.

I shook myself. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. It was clearly because I hadn’t had sex in weeks—more like months at this point—and I wasn’t used to going that long without.

I totally should’ve done something about that before the cruise. I still regretted not at least trying to flirt with the cops who’d been standing around looking bored outside the Sagrada Familia. Sure, they’d been on the clock and working crowd control at the massively popular cathedral, but they had to clock out eventually, right? And did cops take siesta? Because I would have happily spent siesta with one of them. Or both. Definitely both.

My own ridiculous thought made me laugh. Oh, wouldn’t that have been a story to take home?

So it all started when I met these two Spanish cops outside the cathedral…

I masked a laugh with a cough. Well, the cops were in Barcelona and I was here in Palma. The object of my affection—or at least masturbation—was currently on his way off the boat. Damn. I kind of wished I’d decided to take one of today’s excursions, if only because I might wind up in the same place as that cute mystery man.

But there was time to cross paths again. And anyway, I’d spent enough time wandering around Barcelona that I was ready to embrace the utter laziness of being on a ship. I’d get to some excursions eventually. Plus, I still had Rome ahead of me.

So for now, I was indulging in the sin of sloth and doing as little as humanly possible.

The only problem was the pool and the deck around it were getting crowded enough that even my earbuds weren’t drowning out the noise anymore. After the fourth splash of cold water landed on my legs and narrowly missed my book, I sighed, gathered my things, and wandered back to my stateroom to find something else to do.

 

***

 

One of the first things I’d done when I’d scheduled the cruise was book a massage. It was at two-thirty, and by the time the tiny Middle Eastern woman had finished working her magic, I was both sore as hell and felt like a million bucks. I hadn’t even realized how much tension I’d been carrying until she’d brutally released it one knot at a time. When it was over, she encouraged me to come in for more between now and the end of the cruise.

“You need it,” she’d said sternly, wagging a finger at me. “You’re tight all over.”

More massages on a cruise? Twist my arm.

Pleasantly aching, I went back to my stateroom.

I checked the time. It was almost four here, so eight in the morning in Seattle. My assistant would be at work by now. And the boat was in port, which meant I was more likely to get some signal than when we were underway. Might as well take advantage of it.

I took the phone out to the balcony. Two bars. Good enough, so I speed-dialed my assistant.

“Schofield Limited, this is Kelly,” she said in her perfectly professional voice. “How may I help you?”

“Hey, Kelly. How are things going?”

The voice turned a bit more stern. “Nothing is on fire, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Come on, just humor me. What’s going on?”

“You’re on vacation,” she insisted. “You’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“And I’ll relax much more easily if I know—”

“Eric.” Her voice was firm and non-negotiable. “Everything here is fine. You know your brother will be in touch if there’s a crisis. And you need a vacation so badly you can’t even remember that you’re not supposed to work on vacation.”

I scowled even though she couldn’t see me. “At least tell me if Cory is making headway with—”

“He’s got it under control. I promise.”

I still scowled but relaxed a bit. Kelly was emphatic about me taking some long overdue time off, but she was nothing if not pragmatic. If there was an emergency—like my brother butting heads with one of our biggest clients again—she’d tell me. “All right. All right.”

“That’s what I thought.” A note of playfulness entered her tone. “So have you scored yet?”

I burst out laughing. “Really?”

“Oh please. You’re on a ship and you were in Spain, for God’s sake. I’d be swimming in dudes by now.”

“You’re swimming in dudes anyway.”

“Yeah, but not hot tan dudes in Speedos.”

“Fair enough. And no, I haven’t yet.”

“Yet?” She perked up. “So you’re on the prowl?”

Chuckling, I rolled my eyes. “You know, I’ve heard there are bosses out there who have professional conversations with their assistants.”

“Hashtag fake news,” she said dismissively. “We all know I’m the platonic Pepper Potts to your gay Tony Stark, so I have to keep you in line.”

“And pry into my sex life?”

“I take my entertainment where I can get it.”

“I’m touched.”

“Not nearly enough from the sound of it.”

I chuckled. “All right, Ms. Potts. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“So you can go get laid?” She sounded so hopeful I couldn’t help smiling.

“Yeah. We’ll see.”

“Okay. Go enjoy your cruise. I promise it’s all fine here.”

“All right.” I exhaled. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“See you then.”

We ended the call, and I rested my forearms on the railing. Gazing out at the gorgeous city of Palma de Mallorca, I released a long breath. Kelly was right. I needed this. I needed to disconnect, recharge, and get my head together.

And between her comments and the charcoal-suited guy in my mind, I really, really needed to get laid.

What time was that mixer tonight?