Once you’ve seen one exotic island, you’ve seen all of them. That doesn’t stop me from knocking back a beer and lowering myself into my Mary Jane, who has found a temporary home on my spacious teak veranda. Some may think it odd for me to name my chair, but I don’t give a damn. Besides, calling Mary Jane an armchair is not entirely accurate. She’s a custom-made vintage leather piece of exquisite work. Not only that, she’s also the longest relationship I’ve had with a woman that isn’t my mother.

I travel a lot, never staying in one place for longer than a month. Everywhere I go, Mary Jane comes with, my home away from home. With Mary Jane by my side, I don’t need four walls to call home.

I place both hands behind my head and stretch out my legs, my gaze sweeping across the sparkling waters of beautiful Nassau.

No matter how often I see beach sand, and the marriage of blue skies and water, I never tire of them. I’m not one for the grayness of the city. That’s why I gravitated toward this business, one that offers me the opportunity to explore the world and see new places, to appreciate beautiful women from all over the world.

As with the islands, once you’ve seen one pussy, you’ve also seen them all, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to bury myself inside several of them. I’m not ready to put up roots yet or to be tied to one woman for the rest of my life. I close my eyes and suck in the briny sea air, living life the way it’s meant to be lived.

I curse under my breath when my phone rings as I’m sinking into a short nap. I rake a frustrated hand through my hair and pick it from the table where it lies next to my bottle of beer.

When his name flashes across the screen, the peace that had relaxed my body only a few seconds ago turns to a hard, cold rock smack in the middle of my chest.

Damn you, Lance. Way to ruin a guy’s day.

I pour myself another glass and drain it, while watching the phone ring nonstop. Lance always seems to know when I’m staring at the phone, hesitating to answer. I guess it’s right what they say about twins being connected at a level so deep it’s hard to understand. I’d ignore the call if I could, flip the phone over and pretend it’s not even ringing. But no matter how much I hate his guts and he hates mine, the burning guilt inside my chest will never allow me to do that.

I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, man, what’s up?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “How’s Cabo treating you?”

Lance has been living in the family villa in Cabo San Lucas for the past few months. But for a person living smack bang in the middle of paradise, he’s miserable as hell. Who wouldn’t be in his shoes?

“What the fuck? I haven’t heard from you in two weeks.” The slur in his voice pisses me off. He’s been drinking again.

Drinking tends to unveil the darkness in Lance’s soul, awakening his demons. But the past few months, his love for the juice has gotten out of hand. “Tell me, have I become a nuisance in your perfect little world?”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it. Work’s been kicking my ass, that’s all.” Attempting to reassure him while he’s drunk won’t have the effect I want it to. But I have to try. “Getting this ship up and running has kept me pretty busy.” I grip the arm of the chair. “I apologize for not calling you sooner.” My grip tightens around the phone. “How about the others? Have they been in touch?”

Our other brothers, Neal, Derrick, and Caleb, are also usually spread out across the world. We rarely find ourselves in one place at the same time.

“Sure, I guess they care more about me than my own twin brother.” A chill freezes the edge of his voice. “I bet when work is not kicking your ass, you turn to your favorite hobby, fucking around. How’s that going for you? Are the bitches still more important than your own brother?”

“It isn’t like that.” He’s partly right though. Hasn’t Grace been the person on my mind for the majority of this journey so far? “You have to quit thinking you are less important than everything or anyone else in my life. I’m tired of that bullshit. You know how much work it takes to set up a new ship.”

“Actually, no, I don’t.” He puffs out a sarcastic laugh and I hear him clap. “Good job for reminding me of all the shit I can no longer do. You do a damn good job at it.”

The silence between us is thick and heavy, sucking the oxygen from the air around me. “Why the fuck do you always have to bring that up? There’s so much that you can do still, if you wanted to.”

Lance had an accident close to twelve years ago, that left him paralyzed from the waist down. His movements are dependent on a wheelchair and he spends the majority of his time resenting anyone who is able to do the things he can’t. I’m the one he resents the most.

Lance doesn’t restart the conversation, so I do. “And don’t forget you have that next treatment coming up. It could work this time.” After endless experimental treatments that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, Lance has pretty much lost faith in the idea he might walk again. But what do we have to lose by hoping every single time? If he can’t do it for himself, we have to do it for him.

“Yes, brother.” He snorts. “Sure, I’m up for another fucking disappointment. Is that what you want to hear?”

I push a fist into my forehead, wondering how to shut this conversation down before it goes to hell. The last thing I want is for Lance to slip further into depression without anyone there to look out for him.

“Look, bro, I promise to come and see you soon, okay? And I’ll be there for the treatment. I love you, man. Don’t you ever doubt that.”

“At least one of us believes it.” With that, the phone goes dead and I slam it onto the table, not caring if it shatters. That’s exactly why answering his calls fills me with dread.

Lance is the reason I am who I am, the reason I run from love. How could I enjoy the love of a woman, and the stability of a relationship, when my brother can’t? It’s not fair. But he’s right, I should be there for him more, call him even when it hurts to hear his voice. In the meantime, since I’m stuck at sea and unable to be with him in person, my own demons need to be satisfied.

The one distraction that always works is a good fuck, and I have the best candidate in mind. Grace is fragile and broken and not at the point to handle my mind games, but she’s the one my body craves right now. I’ll have her once and I’ll move on. I don’t care how long it takes me to screw my way through the female staff if it means clearing my head of the darkness tormenting it.

I pick my phone up from the table and turn it over in my hand, surprised it’s still intact. It takes me no more than five seconds to find Grace’s number in my contacts and dial. I had saved it from memory.

As I wait for her to answer, visions of her body sweating in the workout clothes I bought her fill my mind. Whatever it takes, I’ll have her legs wrapped around my body sooner or later. I’ll wipe away her innocent expression and show her the dirty games I play.

Her voice fills my ear, clean and innocent. She hesitates after each word as she asks who it is. Of course she doesn’t recognize the number because I didn’t give her mine. I don’t answer immediately, enjoying the cute way she ties herself up in knots. The usual women I sleep with are often sexually confident enough to handle a man like myself. It’s a little different this time and I’m finding I kind of like it.

“Hello?” She asks again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Grace, it’s me.” A smile curls the corners of my lips. “How are you recovering from the workout?” After yoga, I had convinced her to do a couple of runs on the machines because I wanted to see her panting, imagining that’s how she would sound when pinned beneath my body.

“It will take a while for me to recover that’s for sure.” Her giggle is like water trickling onto my tongue on a hot summer’s day.

“If you’re still able to move, I’d like to invite you to dinner in my cabin tonight. How does that sound?”

She’s quiet for a while. My heart pounds with disappointment, counting the seconds before she gives me an answer.

“Bryant, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Only if you want to call it that.” I shift in my chair, uncomfortable with the idea of taking any woman out on a date. “I prefer to call it a meal between friends. Trust me, the food in my cabin is so much better than what they serve in the canteen.”

“I doubt that. Have you been to the same canteen I dine at? I haven’t eaten anything there that isn’t delicious.” She giggles again, then a moment’s silence. “So, what time do you want me to come over?”

“Seven-thirty would be great.” I sink into Mary Jane with relief. That wasn’t as bad as I’d expected it to be. Still, it wasn’t as easy as it normally is with the other women. “My cabin is on the upper deck.”

“Number?” I imagine her reaching for a paper and a pen to jot down the number of my cabin.

“There’s no number. You’ll find it.”

“But you have to tell me exactly where on the upper deck it is.”

I’m in danger of giving away my identity, but so what? I want her to get here fast. “The entire upper deck is mine.”

“I see . . . okay, then—” Her tone is suspicious. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Good.” I end the transaction. “Don’t be late. I like my food hot.”