Owen

I slammed the refrigerator door shut and moved to the pantry. "Too late to make chili," I said to myself. "Too late for good chili."

"There's a whole haddock packed in ice," Cole called.

He was perched on the countertop, his legs hanging loose and his arms braced behind him. His skin was glowing from another sunny day on the water and his hair wind-blown. He looked like an offering, and I could only shoot quick glimpses in his direction or suffer a full-body spasm of need. Again.

I didn't know what the hell had happened last night. One minute I was lusting over athletic shorts, the next I was pressed flat against my bedroom wall and racing to keep up with Cole's strokes. Then there were his sounds and my sounds and oh my God. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel after masturbating with my presumably straight houseguest, so I felt a bit of everything. Excitement, anxiety, affection, amusement, shock. All of that, and a little bit of shame.

Shame wasn't an emotion I allowed myself but I couldn't think about last night without simmering in embarrassment. How did I let it go that far? What was I thinking? That was just it—I didn't think. Not with the head on my shoulders.

And now I'd spent the day trying to look Cole in the eye and talk about lobsters like last night was nothing more than a weird dream. Wasn't that the truth. I didn't even know this man, not really, and I was allowing myself to build these sandcastle feelings. It was dangerous, and I knew better. Summer love wasn't for me, and neither was this man. He wasn't here to stay, and he wasn't here for me. He was running away from something I didn't want to explore, but I couldn't help myself from wanting to care for him. Ease his troubles.

I snorted at that thought. His troubles weren't the only things I wanted to ease. I was in it with this guy, and it wasn't just me. Cole had participated too. He didn't instigate it but he certainly took an otherwise excusable situation to another level.

Even as evening settled down around us, I didn't know where I stood—we stood—after last night. I had an educated guess, of course. We'd shared some beers with dinner and a few more while watching the game, and liquor often blurred sexuality's not-so-tidy boxes.

Liquor was a champ when it came to taking the blame.

Not that there was much blame to go around. Jerking off with a wall between us wasn't arrow-straight, but it wasn't a subscription to the Bear of the Month club either. There was room on the rainbow for everyone.

And now I was rationalizing. Might as well explain it away before my hopes climbed all the way up and started planning some kind of future with Cole. How fucking ridiculous was that? There wasn't going to be any of that. His boat would be fixed soon enough, he'd set sail, and then I'd be right back where I always was—wondering why I'd given everything to someone who couldn't spare anything for me.

Not this time. No future, no us.

When I woke up this morning, hard, mortified, hungry for more, I decided I'd handle this the only way I knew how—hunkering down in my foul mood. I'd pushed Cole away with grouchy scowls and short-tempered barks all day. Avoided discussion of last night so hard I started to wonder whether it actually happened. Feigned disinterest in his chatter though I was silently soaking it all up. Busied myself with the radio, the engine, the maps—anything to keep my eyes off him. I pushed him away before he could push me.

And that approach had worked well enough while my hands were busy hauling in traps and navigating the coastline, but the sea couldn't save me now. The house seemed impossibly small, the walls and ceiling pressing in close, and I couldn't escape Cole.

Thus I was taking my sweet-ass time in the pantry. I hoped he'd get bored soon enough and leave me in peace, but that didn't appear to be happening.

"Do you want me to get it?" he called. "The haddock?"

"Not in the mood," I called over my shoulder. "For haddock."

Important clarification. With a sigh, I pawed at a jar of preserved tomatoes from last summer, and I considered the dishes I could throw together with them. It saved me from thinking about stepping between Cole's legs and demanding his attention. I could do that. I could run my hands up his thighs, grab his waist and jerk him close. Force him to look me in the eye while my dick was pressed against his belly. Force him to account for his actions, and then beg him to give me more.

I could. I wouldn't.

"Is that allowed?" he asked. "Aren't fishermen honor-bound to eat fish all day, every day?"

"No," I said as I emerged from the pantry. "Some of us are vegetarians."

"I doubt that," Cole replied.

I did too but I enjoyed baiting him like this. Real talk—I enjoyed baiting him in all situations. Last night came to mind. But he was adorable when argumentative, all furrowed brows and aggressive gestures. Couldn't get enough of it.

He had an unshakeable belief that he was always right, and it didn't matter whether he knew anything of the topic at hand. He walked on miles-deep layers of confidence and arrogance, but I suspected I was among the lucky few to have witnessed his vulnerability too.

And then I reminded myself—once again—that he was leaving soon. He didn't have to say it. I knew. Work on his boat was coming along, and as soon as some high-tech piece of equipment came in from California, he'd set sail. I couldn't deal with the prospect of losing my new friend and the subject of my desire, and I wouldn't allow myself to ask him about it.

Avoidance, my coping mechanism of choice.

"It's true," I said. "There are entire coalitions of vegetarian fishermen—and women, of course—and they're gaining in popularity. I imagine they'll outnumber the carnivores within a decade." I gave him an earnest nod. "It will make catering at the conferences a real challenge."

Cole's forehead wrinkled as he scratched his chin. He'd taken to letting his sandy beard grow out for several days before trimming it down to scruff, and that beard had a starring role in my favorite fantasies. I'd imagined it on my neck, my chest, between my thighs. Fantasies vivid enough to wake me with an erection that seemed to throb his name.

Cole held up his hands, shaking his head. "I'm not buying it this time, Bartlett," he said. "I've gone along with one too many fish tales. I'm calling horseshit—no, fish shit—on this one."

"Look into it," I replied with a stiff laugh.

I set several jars and cans on the counter beside him. My fingers itched to stroke his thigh. See if it was as taut as I'd dreamed. Instead, I tossed a can of black beans from hand to hand. "Since we didn't make it to the market this morning, we're low on provisions," I said. "I can whip up—"

"Let's just go out now," he said, shrugging.

There were many things Cole still didn't understand about my world. Most notably, the closest twenty-four-hour grocery store was an hour away. "The market in town is closed," I said.

"I know that," he replied impatiently. "We'll hit the little tavern instead. It's a short walk, right? It's just through the woods. Come on, you deserve a night off from cooking. Let me take you out. My treat."

A surprised laugh bubbled up from my chest. "Are you asking me on a date, McClish?"

Cole blinked at me and then glanced away. I forced another laugh as the question went unanswered for longer than I could manage.

"I mean—" I started.

"Yeah," Cole said at the same time, a devilish grin pulling up the corners of his lips. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed him. My heart was pounding away, frantic and filled with cocksick hope. It required substantial effort to keep my expression neutral. "Couldn't if you tried."

Cole hopped off the countertop. "Now I can't let that challenge go unanswered." He glanced down at his t-shirt. "Give me a minute to make myself presentable."

"You're gonna need more than a minute," I said to his back as he walked away.

I had to curl my fingers around the edge of the countertop to restrain myself from following. I wanted, with every ounce of me, to watch him strip his clothes off. I'd sit on the edge of the bed, staring while he revealed more and more of his perfect California surfer boy skin. I couldn't imagine sitting there for long. Once he was bare, I'd drag my fingertips up his thighs, over his hips, around his backside. I'd press my chest to his back and nudge my cock between his cheeks. Make it clear what I had for him. And I had so much.

Without thinking, I thrust my hips forward, slamming hard into the cabinets. I cried out in a messy mix of pleasure and pain. The drawer handle speared into my balls, deflating my erection and driving an uncomfortable shudder through my body.

"Aw, fuck," I said, groaning. With a hand between my legs, I rubbed away the ache. I couldn't erase the fantasy behind my eyes—and the reality of it down the hall—but it helped. Closing my eyes, I pushed a breath past my lips and imagined Cole's hand caressing me.

"Hey. Are you okay, Bartlett?"

My eyes popped open and I put both hands up. "What?" I snapped, staring at him on the other side of the kitchen. "What do you want, McClish?"

"Whenever you're ready," Cole started slowly, "we can go."

"I'm ready," I replied.

I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready for any of this.