Rafe, p.8
Rafe, page 8
“Oh, honey!” Her mother moved toward her. “That’s fantastic news. I know how much you wanted that job.”
Bailey accepted her mother’s hug and forced her thoughts on her new job and the promising future ahead. If she didn’t, there was a good chance she would break down and cry on her mother’s shoulder.
“Speaking of the B and B…” Bailey pulled back. “I need to head over there and talk to Rex.” She pointed at her suitcase. “Would you mind if I keep that here for now? I promise I won’t sleep here again.”
Her mother’s light brown eyes swept over her face, again scrutinizing, looking for untruths.
“I won’t be gone long, I promise.”
Ramona finally nodded.
Bailey didn’t waste any time before pulling off her apron and grabbing her purse. She was out the door and making haste across the park, wanting to talk to Rex before she lost her nerve. She was so engrossed in working through what she wanted to say she didn’t notice the truck in the lot. Nor did she realize Rex was sitting on the front porch, his brother leaning against the railing while they chatted.
Unfortunately, Rex saw her before she could turn and head in the opposite direction.
“Hey, girl. What’s up?” Rex called out.
Rafe glanced back over his shoulder, his expression shifting as his familiar mask fell into place, concealing whatever he’d been feeling before she arrived.
“I know you said we’d talk at noon…”
“Now’s good, too.” Rex got to his feet. “Rafe was just tellin’ me you spent the night at the bakery last night.”
Bailey’s gaze darted to Rafe. He wasn’t looking at her, but the incredulous look on his face was directed at his brother. Obviously, Rafe had told Rex that in confidence.
Rex smirked. “Like I told you yesterday, you’re welcome to stay here until we’re completely moved out.”
“I’d like to take you up on that. Thank you.”
“No problem. And if you don’t mind helpin’ with a few things in the evening, perhaps I can move the date up by a couple of days.”
Bailey’s chest squeezed with both relief and gratitude. “Gladly. I can work up until my shift at the bar.”
The screen door opened, and Jack appeared, glancing at Bailey, then Rex, then Rafe.
“Looks like y’all are having a party out here.” Jack smiled. “Hey, Rafe. Bailey.”
“Hi, Jack,” she replied when Rafe merely grunted.
Rex tipped his chin at his husband. “Why don’t you show Bailey her temporary accommodations, and I’ll get her employment paperwork. We can knock it all out in just a few minutes.”
Leaving Rafe and Rex to talk, Bailey followed Jack inside. If he noticed the tension between her and Rafe, he was kind enough not to mention it.
***
“Holy shit. You feel that?” Rex said when Bailey disappeared inside with Jack.
“Feel what?”
“The cold chill. If I didn’t know better, I’d think winter came early.”
Rafe should’ve known his brother would give him shit.
“Fuck off.”
Rex laughed. “Lover’s quarrel?”
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“So you say.”
As usual, Rex was pushing his buttons, angling for a story, but Rafe had no intention of giving him one. He’d told Rex more times than he could count that he and Bailey were merely friends. Nothing more. Not that Rex believed him. And no amount of denying the accusations would convince him, either. So the best thing to do was for Rafe to brush it off and move on.
“I should head out. I’ve got some errands to run. Then I need to get some sleep before my shift tonight.”
“You work too much, little brother.”
Rafe snorted, gesturing toward the house. “You’re one to talk.”
“Touché.” Rex turned toward the door. “Maybe we can grab dinner one day next week. Catch up.”
Rafe started down the steps. “I’d like that.”
“Oh, hey!” Rex called, letting the screen door slap shut.
Stopping, Rafe turned to look up at his brother.
“You know a guy named … Shit. What was his name?” Rex moved closer. “Colt. No wait. That’s not it.”
Rafe stared at Rex, waiting patiently.
Rex snapped his fingers. “Holt. Holt Callahan, I think.”
Rafe did his best to hide his reaction, but the mere mention of his name had his blood pumping faster and hotter. “Yeah. I know him. Why?”
“He’s booked to stay here in a coupla weeks. He mentioned your name to Jack when he made the reservation. Apparently, he’s lookin’ for you.”
“That right?” Rafe shrugged as though it was of no importance to him. It wasn’t. Like his feelings for Bailey, Rafe had gotten good at pretending certain things didn’t exist. Holt Callahan was one of those things.
Rex scratched his chin. “Should I be worried?”
“Naw. Just a guy I used to know.”
“Friend or foe?”
Rafe snorted a laugh. “Who asks shit like that?”
“An older, protective brother,” he said with a grin. “Which is it?”
“Friend.”
At least, Rafe hoped so. He hadn’t talked to Holt in a long damn time. And the last time Rafe saw him, Holt was passed out cold, and Rafe had taken the opportunity to run for the hills. In all fairness, Holt had been the closest thing he’d had to a friend and one of the only people in the world Rafe had ever opened up to about what happened with his old man. Not all the gory details, but some.
“Well, now you know he’s comin’.”
Rafe nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The question was, why now? After all this time?
As Rafe was parking his truck along the curb behind his apartment, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned. It was the same number that had called him last night. He hit decline. Whoever it was hadn’t left a message last time, which meant it clearly wasn’t all that important.
Was it Holt? Was he calling to let Rafe know he was coming here?
He got out of his truck and took the stairs up to his apartment, ignoring the itch on the back of his neck that told him he needed to react to this. The same itch had caused him to get in his truck and head home after the night he’d spent with Holt Callahan.
Rafe managed to make it into his apartment before the memory assaulted him. He wasn’t sure why, but it always came with vivid clarity, bringing emotions that were better left in the past.
“I think I’m gonna head up to the house. Grab something to eat. Want to join me?”
Rafe peered at the friends sitting around the small camper they’d brought to crash in on the weekend. It had become a ritual of theirs. Every weekend for the past two months, ever since summer kicked off, they’d driven down here to shrug off the dregs of the real world for a little while. It had started with only three of them, but more people had latched on as the weeks passed. Now there were seven, and as was usually the case, they’d paired up, with Rafe being the odd man out.
Which was how he’d found himself forming a friendship with the writer who was staying in the house just over the dunes. He’d met the guy the first weekend they’d come down, and Rafe was pretty sure he used Rafe’s presence as a distraction from what he should’ve been doing.
Not that Rafe minded. Holt Callahan was a good guy. More than once, he’d splurged for pizza for everyone, and he didn’t have a problem restocking the beer when the supply got low. For those reasons alone, he’d become a favorite of the group.
Problem was Rafe couldn’t help but feel like there was something between them. Something that Rafe wasn’t sure he could acknowledge.
“You don’t have to,” Holt added. “I can make some sandwiches. Bring them down.”
Rafe glanced up at the three-story house on the other side of the dune. If he went up there with Holt, there was a good chance Rafe would have no choice but to acknowledge the foreign sizzle that he’d sensed on more than one occasion when Holt was around. Maybe that was what he needed. That final shove to help him figure out why he hadn’t stopped thinking about the man since they met two months ago.
“Yeah, I’ll go up. Food sounds perfect,” he told Holt, pushing to his feet and brushing the sand off his legs.
“Ignore the mess,” Holt told him a few minutes later when he slid the glass door open. “I’ve spent the entire week rebelling against my protagonist.”
“As in a fictional person in your book?”
Holt laughed. “You make it sound like he doesn’t exist.”
“Does he?”
“In my head, yeah.”
Rafe peered around, and sure enough, it looked like Holt had gone on strike from anything chore related. There were clothes tossed everywhere, a few even hanging out of the laundry basket sitting on the dining table. You couldn’t see the countertops in the kitchen for all the dishes—both clean and dirty—that were lying around.
“I tend to rummage through shit when I’m trying to figure something out.”
“Sounds … messy.”
“Don’t worry. I haven’t yet destroyed the third floor. We’ll make some sandwiches and eat ’em on the balcony up there. Turkey and cheese good for you?”
“Yeah.” Rafe wasn’t picky.
While Holt went to work making sandwiches, Rafe looked around, curious about all things Holt. He had to admit he never would’ve pegged him for a slob. He was always so put together when they hung out at the beach. Every Friday night for the past seven weeks, Holt had come down shortly after they got the camper set up. Rafe knew the moment he arrived because he could smell him. It was his cologne. It was intoxicating, addictive almost. Rafe had found himself smelling it a few times when Holt wasn’t around.
“Just out of curiosity…” Holt prompted as he passed Rafe a plate with a sandwich and chips. “I’ve noticed your crew keeps growing.”
“Boyfriends and girlfriends,” Rafe explained, following Holt up the narrow, curved staircase to the third floor.
“And why haven’t you brought one?”
Holt led the way through a bedroom to another sliding glass door. He opened it and walked out.
Rafe followed. “I don’t date.”
Holt laughed, pointing toward the beach. “I’m not sure that necessarily qualifies as dating.”
Rafe followed his pointing finger to see Mario leaning against the camper while Angie was kneeling in the sand in front of him. It was clear what she was doing even from this distance.
“I think they’re too eager to worry about an audience,” Holt said, shoving one of the plastic Adirondack chairs toward Rafe.
Clearly.
Wanting to avoid talking about his friends’ sex lives, Rafe decided to broach a safe topic. “What seems to be the problem with your character?”
Holt took a bite of his sandwich and looked at Rafe, evidently surprised by the question.
He chewed and swallowed. “He’s confused.”
“About?”
“Who he is.”
Rafe raised his eyebrows. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Holt sighed, setting his sandwich on the plate and balancing it on his knee. “When I’m writing, I find it necessary to understand my character’s motivation. Whether it’s the hero or the villain, I need to know what drives him to understand why he would do certain things. Do you read?”
Not expecting to have to answer, Rafe had his mouth full, but he managed a nod.
“Fiction?”
Another nod.
“Romance?”
He shook his head as he swallowed. “More of a crime thriller kinda guy.”
“Ah. Perfect. That’s what I write. Anyway. The series I’ve been writing has been optioned for television.”
Since that sounded like a good thing, Rafe said, “Congrats.”
“Thanks. It’ll be interesting, I think. Problem is my protagonist isn’t exactly mainstream material. He doesn’t believe in monogamy, and he’s bisexual. My editor wants me to dial it back some. She says it’ll reach a larger audience that way.”
“And that’s the goal, I assume?” Rafe set his empty plate on the ground.
“For some, probably. I’ve never wanted to work within the confines of a box.”
“Then don’t.”
Holt grinned. “I wish it were that easy.”
“Why isn’t it?”
When Holt didn’t respond, Rafe glanced over to see he was studying him closely.
“What?”
“Have you ever been with a man?”
Rafe’s entire body went still. “No.”
“Have you ever wanted to?”
That question wasn’t nearly as easy to answer. It would’ve been back before Rafe met Holt. Before then, Rafe had been certain of his sexual orientation. He’d never been stirred by a man before.
“Rafe?”
Jerking his attention back to the beach, Rafe stood up. “I think I should get back.”
Holt was on his feet instantly, getting between Rafe and the door. “Don’t go.”
Rafe met his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” Rafe lied.
Holt took a step forward. Rafe stood his ground, refusing to let Holt know he’d lied.
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” Holt whispered.
The gap between them had been eliminated. They were toe to toe, close enough Rafe couldn’t look him in the eye anymore.
“From the day I met you, I’ve felt something,” Holt continued, his voice a soothing rasp between them. “I’ve never felt this before. Not for anyone.”
“Let me guess,” Rafe retorted. “Your character’s not bisexual. You are.”
Holt leaned in until his lips nearly touched Rafe’s. “I’ve never wanted anyone this fucking much.”
His body was betraying him. Rafe didn’t want to react to his nearness or the promise in those words, but he couldn’t help it. There was something there, something more potent than anything Rafe had ever felt before. It was the reason he kept coming back to the beach. The reason he continuously looked for Holt when he wasn’t around.
“Tell me to stop, and I won’t ever bring it up again,” Holt said, his breath fanning Rafe’s lips.
He knew he should. It wasn’t like Rafe was interested in anything more than sex, and since he’d never found a man attractive enough to make him swing that way, he figured this was an anomaly. If he allowed this to happen, it would forever change him. If he enjoyed it, he would crave more. Why would he do that to himself when this was temporary? Holt was temporary.
But wasn’t that a reason to do it? Rafe wouldn’t be required to commit to anything more. This could be an end-of-summer fling; afterward, they could go on with their lives like nothing happened.
“One night,” Holt said, his lips now only a breath away.
He didn’t mean to, but Rafe tilted his head, allowing their lips to touch.
“One night,” Rafe agreed, taking the lead by grabbing Holt’s head and crushing their mouths together.
“Fuck,” Rafe hissed, dragging himself out of the memory.
He had his cock in his fist, and he was jerking himself roughly, his back still pressed to the front door.
Every fucking time he thought about Holt, about that night, he couldn’t help himself. But it had grown exponentially worse when he’d first fantasized about what that night would’ve been like if Bailey had been there. His favorite fantasy was the one where Rafe was buried balls deep inside Bailey while Holt fucked him from behind. The three of them locked in the throes together, grunting, groaning … oh, fuck … coming!
“Son of a bitch!” Rafe’s body tightened as his cock jerked in his fist.
He came with a muted cry, his eyes closed as he imagined coming deep inside Bailey while Holt came inside him. He gasped for breath as the revulsion hit him in waves.
“You’re an idiot,” he growled at himself as he forced his legs to carry him to the bathroom.
He met his gaze in the mirror and glared at that man.
“You’ve got nothing to offer one person, let alone two, you dumbass.” He leaned in. “It’s best you remember that.”
Chapter Seven
Three weeks later…
Friday, August 5, 2022
“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Double R Retreat,” Bailey greeted as she looked up from the reservation book.
Thankfully, she’d spent a reasonable amount of time around customers in her lifetime because she’d learned how to school her expression. The moment her brain registered the sexy man standing in front of her, she relied on that honed skill to keep her jaw from falling open and her eyes from bugging out of her head.
A couple of inches over six feet with sandy brown hair and navy-blue eyes, he was the sort of man you might expect to grace the cover of a magazine. Not necessarily the ones with the suit-clad guy strutting because this guy was dressed casually in a navy-blue T-shirt that was cut to fit his muscular torso perfectly and a pair of lightly distressed jeans that somehow looked both comfortable and stylish. The work boots on his feet spoke to a life of leisure rather than traipsing through a dusty construction site, but Bailey wouldn’t hold it against him.
In a word, he was gorgeous. And based on that wicked grin, he knew it, too.
His gaze seemed to linger on her even as he closed the front door behind him. “Afternoon, ma’am.”
Bailey cleared her throat, hoping her voice still worked. “Are you checking in?”
“I am. Holt Callahan.”
Even his name was sexy.
“Welcome, Mr. Callahan.”
“Please call me Holt.”
It was safe to say she was going to enjoy this job.
Bailey had already memorized the guests arriving today, so she said, “So glad you’re here. I’ve got you for three days, two nights.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they sounded.
“I mean … you … uh … you’re here. At the Double R.” She swallowed past the ball of mortification clogging her throat. “You’re set to stay here for three days and two nights.”
Bailey accepted her mother’s hug and forced her thoughts on her new job and the promising future ahead. If she didn’t, there was a good chance she would break down and cry on her mother’s shoulder.
“Speaking of the B and B…” Bailey pulled back. “I need to head over there and talk to Rex.” She pointed at her suitcase. “Would you mind if I keep that here for now? I promise I won’t sleep here again.”
Her mother’s light brown eyes swept over her face, again scrutinizing, looking for untruths.
“I won’t be gone long, I promise.”
Ramona finally nodded.
Bailey didn’t waste any time before pulling off her apron and grabbing her purse. She was out the door and making haste across the park, wanting to talk to Rex before she lost her nerve. She was so engrossed in working through what she wanted to say she didn’t notice the truck in the lot. Nor did she realize Rex was sitting on the front porch, his brother leaning against the railing while they chatted.
Unfortunately, Rex saw her before she could turn and head in the opposite direction.
“Hey, girl. What’s up?” Rex called out.
Rafe glanced back over his shoulder, his expression shifting as his familiar mask fell into place, concealing whatever he’d been feeling before she arrived.
“I know you said we’d talk at noon…”
“Now’s good, too.” Rex got to his feet. “Rafe was just tellin’ me you spent the night at the bakery last night.”
Bailey’s gaze darted to Rafe. He wasn’t looking at her, but the incredulous look on his face was directed at his brother. Obviously, Rafe had told Rex that in confidence.
Rex smirked. “Like I told you yesterday, you’re welcome to stay here until we’re completely moved out.”
“I’d like to take you up on that. Thank you.”
“No problem. And if you don’t mind helpin’ with a few things in the evening, perhaps I can move the date up by a couple of days.”
Bailey’s chest squeezed with both relief and gratitude. “Gladly. I can work up until my shift at the bar.”
The screen door opened, and Jack appeared, glancing at Bailey, then Rex, then Rafe.
“Looks like y’all are having a party out here.” Jack smiled. “Hey, Rafe. Bailey.”
“Hi, Jack,” she replied when Rafe merely grunted.
Rex tipped his chin at his husband. “Why don’t you show Bailey her temporary accommodations, and I’ll get her employment paperwork. We can knock it all out in just a few minutes.”
Leaving Rafe and Rex to talk, Bailey followed Jack inside. If he noticed the tension between her and Rafe, he was kind enough not to mention it.
***
“Holy shit. You feel that?” Rex said when Bailey disappeared inside with Jack.
“Feel what?”
“The cold chill. If I didn’t know better, I’d think winter came early.”
Rafe should’ve known his brother would give him shit.
“Fuck off.”
Rex laughed. “Lover’s quarrel?”
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“So you say.”
As usual, Rex was pushing his buttons, angling for a story, but Rafe had no intention of giving him one. He’d told Rex more times than he could count that he and Bailey were merely friends. Nothing more. Not that Rex believed him. And no amount of denying the accusations would convince him, either. So the best thing to do was for Rafe to brush it off and move on.
“I should head out. I’ve got some errands to run. Then I need to get some sleep before my shift tonight.”
“You work too much, little brother.”
Rafe snorted, gesturing toward the house. “You’re one to talk.”
“Touché.” Rex turned toward the door. “Maybe we can grab dinner one day next week. Catch up.”
Rafe started down the steps. “I’d like that.”
“Oh, hey!” Rex called, letting the screen door slap shut.
Stopping, Rafe turned to look up at his brother.
“You know a guy named … Shit. What was his name?” Rex moved closer. “Colt. No wait. That’s not it.”
Rafe stared at Rex, waiting patiently.
Rex snapped his fingers. “Holt. Holt Callahan, I think.”
Rafe did his best to hide his reaction, but the mere mention of his name had his blood pumping faster and hotter. “Yeah. I know him. Why?”
“He’s booked to stay here in a coupla weeks. He mentioned your name to Jack when he made the reservation. Apparently, he’s lookin’ for you.”
“That right?” Rafe shrugged as though it was of no importance to him. It wasn’t. Like his feelings for Bailey, Rafe had gotten good at pretending certain things didn’t exist. Holt Callahan was one of those things.
Rex scratched his chin. “Should I be worried?”
“Naw. Just a guy I used to know.”
“Friend or foe?”
Rafe snorted a laugh. “Who asks shit like that?”
“An older, protective brother,” he said with a grin. “Which is it?”
“Friend.”
At least, Rafe hoped so. He hadn’t talked to Holt in a long damn time. And the last time Rafe saw him, Holt was passed out cold, and Rafe had taken the opportunity to run for the hills. In all fairness, Holt had been the closest thing he’d had to a friend and one of the only people in the world Rafe had ever opened up to about what happened with his old man. Not all the gory details, but some.
“Well, now you know he’s comin’.”
Rafe nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The question was, why now? After all this time?
As Rafe was parking his truck along the curb behind his apartment, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned. It was the same number that had called him last night. He hit decline. Whoever it was hadn’t left a message last time, which meant it clearly wasn’t all that important.
Was it Holt? Was he calling to let Rafe know he was coming here?
He got out of his truck and took the stairs up to his apartment, ignoring the itch on the back of his neck that told him he needed to react to this. The same itch had caused him to get in his truck and head home after the night he’d spent with Holt Callahan.
Rafe managed to make it into his apartment before the memory assaulted him. He wasn’t sure why, but it always came with vivid clarity, bringing emotions that were better left in the past.
“I think I’m gonna head up to the house. Grab something to eat. Want to join me?”
Rafe peered at the friends sitting around the small camper they’d brought to crash in on the weekend. It had become a ritual of theirs. Every weekend for the past two months, ever since summer kicked off, they’d driven down here to shrug off the dregs of the real world for a little while. It had started with only three of them, but more people had latched on as the weeks passed. Now there were seven, and as was usually the case, they’d paired up, with Rafe being the odd man out.
Which was how he’d found himself forming a friendship with the writer who was staying in the house just over the dunes. He’d met the guy the first weekend they’d come down, and Rafe was pretty sure he used Rafe’s presence as a distraction from what he should’ve been doing.
Not that Rafe minded. Holt Callahan was a good guy. More than once, he’d splurged for pizza for everyone, and he didn’t have a problem restocking the beer when the supply got low. For those reasons alone, he’d become a favorite of the group.
Problem was Rafe couldn’t help but feel like there was something between them. Something that Rafe wasn’t sure he could acknowledge.
“You don’t have to,” Holt added. “I can make some sandwiches. Bring them down.”
Rafe glanced up at the three-story house on the other side of the dune. If he went up there with Holt, there was a good chance Rafe would have no choice but to acknowledge the foreign sizzle that he’d sensed on more than one occasion when Holt was around. Maybe that was what he needed. That final shove to help him figure out why he hadn’t stopped thinking about the man since they met two months ago.
“Yeah, I’ll go up. Food sounds perfect,” he told Holt, pushing to his feet and brushing the sand off his legs.
“Ignore the mess,” Holt told him a few minutes later when he slid the glass door open. “I’ve spent the entire week rebelling against my protagonist.”
“As in a fictional person in your book?”
Holt laughed. “You make it sound like he doesn’t exist.”
“Does he?”
“In my head, yeah.”
Rafe peered around, and sure enough, it looked like Holt had gone on strike from anything chore related. There were clothes tossed everywhere, a few even hanging out of the laundry basket sitting on the dining table. You couldn’t see the countertops in the kitchen for all the dishes—both clean and dirty—that were lying around.
“I tend to rummage through shit when I’m trying to figure something out.”
“Sounds … messy.”
“Don’t worry. I haven’t yet destroyed the third floor. We’ll make some sandwiches and eat ’em on the balcony up there. Turkey and cheese good for you?”
“Yeah.” Rafe wasn’t picky.
While Holt went to work making sandwiches, Rafe looked around, curious about all things Holt. He had to admit he never would’ve pegged him for a slob. He was always so put together when they hung out at the beach. Every Friday night for the past seven weeks, Holt had come down shortly after they got the camper set up. Rafe knew the moment he arrived because he could smell him. It was his cologne. It was intoxicating, addictive almost. Rafe had found himself smelling it a few times when Holt wasn’t around.
“Just out of curiosity…” Holt prompted as he passed Rafe a plate with a sandwich and chips. “I’ve noticed your crew keeps growing.”
“Boyfriends and girlfriends,” Rafe explained, following Holt up the narrow, curved staircase to the third floor.
“And why haven’t you brought one?”
Holt led the way through a bedroom to another sliding glass door. He opened it and walked out.
Rafe followed. “I don’t date.”
Holt laughed, pointing toward the beach. “I’m not sure that necessarily qualifies as dating.”
Rafe followed his pointing finger to see Mario leaning against the camper while Angie was kneeling in the sand in front of him. It was clear what she was doing even from this distance.
“I think they’re too eager to worry about an audience,” Holt said, shoving one of the plastic Adirondack chairs toward Rafe.
Clearly.
Wanting to avoid talking about his friends’ sex lives, Rafe decided to broach a safe topic. “What seems to be the problem with your character?”
Holt took a bite of his sandwich and looked at Rafe, evidently surprised by the question.
He chewed and swallowed. “He’s confused.”
“About?”
“Who he is.”
Rafe raised his eyebrows. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Holt sighed, setting his sandwich on the plate and balancing it on his knee. “When I’m writing, I find it necessary to understand my character’s motivation. Whether it’s the hero or the villain, I need to know what drives him to understand why he would do certain things. Do you read?”
Not expecting to have to answer, Rafe had his mouth full, but he managed a nod.
“Fiction?”
Another nod.
“Romance?”
He shook his head as he swallowed. “More of a crime thriller kinda guy.”
“Ah. Perfect. That’s what I write. Anyway. The series I’ve been writing has been optioned for television.”
Since that sounded like a good thing, Rafe said, “Congrats.”
“Thanks. It’ll be interesting, I think. Problem is my protagonist isn’t exactly mainstream material. He doesn’t believe in monogamy, and he’s bisexual. My editor wants me to dial it back some. She says it’ll reach a larger audience that way.”
“And that’s the goal, I assume?” Rafe set his empty plate on the ground.
“For some, probably. I’ve never wanted to work within the confines of a box.”
“Then don’t.”
Holt grinned. “I wish it were that easy.”
“Why isn’t it?”
When Holt didn’t respond, Rafe glanced over to see he was studying him closely.
“What?”
“Have you ever been with a man?”
Rafe’s entire body went still. “No.”
“Have you ever wanted to?”
That question wasn’t nearly as easy to answer. It would’ve been back before Rafe met Holt. Before then, Rafe had been certain of his sexual orientation. He’d never been stirred by a man before.
“Rafe?”
Jerking his attention back to the beach, Rafe stood up. “I think I should get back.”
Holt was on his feet instantly, getting between Rafe and the door. “Don’t go.”
Rafe met his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” Rafe lied.
Holt took a step forward. Rafe stood his ground, refusing to let Holt know he’d lied.
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” Holt whispered.
The gap between them had been eliminated. They were toe to toe, close enough Rafe couldn’t look him in the eye anymore.
“From the day I met you, I’ve felt something,” Holt continued, his voice a soothing rasp between them. “I’ve never felt this before. Not for anyone.”
“Let me guess,” Rafe retorted. “Your character’s not bisexual. You are.”
Holt leaned in until his lips nearly touched Rafe’s. “I’ve never wanted anyone this fucking much.”
His body was betraying him. Rafe didn’t want to react to his nearness or the promise in those words, but he couldn’t help it. There was something there, something more potent than anything Rafe had ever felt before. It was the reason he kept coming back to the beach. The reason he continuously looked for Holt when he wasn’t around.
“Tell me to stop, and I won’t ever bring it up again,” Holt said, his breath fanning Rafe’s lips.
He knew he should. It wasn’t like Rafe was interested in anything more than sex, and since he’d never found a man attractive enough to make him swing that way, he figured this was an anomaly. If he allowed this to happen, it would forever change him. If he enjoyed it, he would crave more. Why would he do that to himself when this was temporary? Holt was temporary.
But wasn’t that a reason to do it? Rafe wouldn’t be required to commit to anything more. This could be an end-of-summer fling; afterward, they could go on with their lives like nothing happened.
“One night,” Holt said, his lips now only a breath away.
He didn’t mean to, but Rafe tilted his head, allowing their lips to touch.
“One night,” Rafe agreed, taking the lead by grabbing Holt’s head and crushing their mouths together.
“Fuck,” Rafe hissed, dragging himself out of the memory.
He had his cock in his fist, and he was jerking himself roughly, his back still pressed to the front door.
Every fucking time he thought about Holt, about that night, he couldn’t help himself. But it had grown exponentially worse when he’d first fantasized about what that night would’ve been like if Bailey had been there. His favorite fantasy was the one where Rafe was buried balls deep inside Bailey while Holt fucked him from behind. The three of them locked in the throes together, grunting, groaning … oh, fuck … coming!
“Son of a bitch!” Rafe’s body tightened as his cock jerked in his fist.
He came with a muted cry, his eyes closed as he imagined coming deep inside Bailey while Holt came inside him. He gasped for breath as the revulsion hit him in waves.
“You’re an idiot,” he growled at himself as he forced his legs to carry him to the bathroom.
He met his gaze in the mirror and glared at that man.
“You’ve got nothing to offer one person, let alone two, you dumbass.” He leaned in. “It’s best you remember that.”
Chapter Seven
Three weeks later…
Friday, August 5, 2022
“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Double R Retreat,” Bailey greeted as she looked up from the reservation book.
Thankfully, she’d spent a reasonable amount of time around customers in her lifetime because she’d learned how to school her expression. The moment her brain registered the sexy man standing in front of her, she relied on that honed skill to keep her jaw from falling open and her eyes from bugging out of her head.
A couple of inches over six feet with sandy brown hair and navy-blue eyes, he was the sort of man you might expect to grace the cover of a magazine. Not necessarily the ones with the suit-clad guy strutting because this guy was dressed casually in a navy-blue T-shirt that was cut to fit his muscular torso perfectly and a pair of lightly distressed jeans that somehow looked both comfortable and stylish. The work boots on his feet spoke to a life of leisure rather than traipsing through a dusty construction site, but Bailey wouldn’t hold it against him.
In a word, he was gorgeous. And based on that wicked grin, he knew it, too.
His gaze seemed to linger on her even as he closed the front door behind him. “Afternoon, ma’am.”
Bailey cleared her throat, hoping her voice still worked. “Are you checking in?”
“I am. Holt Callahan.”
Even his name was sexy.
“Welcome, Mr. Callahan.”
“Please call me Holt.”
It was safe to say she was going to enjoy this job.
Bailey had already memorized the guests arriving today, so she said, “So glad you’re here. I’ve got you for three days, two nights.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they sounded.
“I mean … you … uh … you’re here. At the Double R.” She swallowed past the ball of mortification clogging her throat. “You’re set to stay here for three days and two nights.”
