9. Liam

Matthew disappearsoff to his meeting, and I laze around the pool.

I've got to be honest. I spend most of my time lying in the sun with my eyes shut, replaying the highlight reel of what Matthew and I did last night and this morning.

When Matthew emerges from his meeting looking stressed, I decide to be a good fake boyfriend and make it my mission to de-stress him before lunch.

Which involves me dragging him back to the villa and dropping to my knees because, for some reason, I can't get enough of Matthew in my mouth, of hearing the noises he makes when I'm sucking him off. Nothing is hotter than seeing Matthew come completely undone.

After lunch, there's another group activity. This time, it's a sandcastle-building contest.

When we arrive at the beach, there are marked grids for every pair already set out in the sand. It looks like they take their sandcastle-building seriously here at Serenity Bay Resort.

Matthew and I stand in our grid.

"So, what do you want to make?" I ask. I lean forward and lower my voice. "We should aim to dominate this like we dominated the quiz. Continue that trend."

A line creases Matthew's forehead. "I'm not sure what we should make. I'm not particularly creative."

"What do you mean you're not creative? You invented an entire app by yourself, remember?"

"That's a different type of creativity. I'm not creative in the artistic sense. Don't you remember that self-portrait we had to do in our freshman art class, and you ruthlessly mocked my attempt?"

That does sound vaguely familiar. Art and PE were two areas where Matthew's genius fell, so I might have taken the opportunity to get in my insults where I could.

Looking at Matthew's uncertainty now, something Ms. Beauton once said echoes in my head.

You never know how your words are impacting someone.

I swallow, looking out at the ocean. "Why don't we make Max?" I suggest.

"Max?"

"Yeah, let's make a huge sandy dog. An ode to Max."

Matthew's face relaxes. "Okay. Great idea."

For some reason, praise from Matthew lights me up.

I go to collect two spades, and when I come back, Matthew is pacing out and marking different points in the sand with sticks. At the same time, he's consulting his phone.

My forehead wrinkles. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just making sure I'm getting the proportions correct."

"I can't believe you're nerding out making a sandcastle."

Matthew's shoulders stiffen.

"I think you established that I'm a nerd fairly thoroughly back in grade school," he says. He bites the inside of his cheek with a vulnerable expression that cuts at me.

Oh fuck.

I step closer to him.

"I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're interested in proportions. I know how you're all about enjoying superior proportions." I layer my voice with innuendo.

He looks up at me, his blue eyes catching mine. "Are you back to bragging about the size of your dick?"

"Hey, you're enjoying it, aren't you?"

Matthew's eyes heat slightly. "I have found your proportions are currently working to my advantage."

"So let's get on with this, build Max, and then we can get back to the villa to investigate both of our proportions."

Matthew huffs a laugh. "You really need to work on your pickup lines."

"They are currently getting me epically laid, so I don't think I need to work on anything."

He raises an eyebrow. "Epically?"

"There is definitely a touch of epic about it. There's a chance our sex life might end up being made into a movie. It will be up there with all the epic classics. Ben-Hur. Gone with the Wind. 21 Jump Street."

"21 Jump Street is a classic film now, is it?" he says.

"It is in the world according to Liam."

I'm talking complete bullshit, but it's had the effect I wanted.

I've made him smile.

I don't want to closely examine why I feel the need to make Matthew smile.

"I shudder to think too much about that world," he says.

"It's the world where I'll provide the grunt work and shovel sand as fast as possible, okay?" I say. "You map out the proportions how you want them, and then we'll shape it together."

"Okay, I'm prepared to take advantage of your muscles in that way," Matthew agrees.

"Don't mock what you don't have," I say.

Matthew's eyes skim down my body. "I'm fully prepared to concede I will never have your body, Liam."

He looks up, and his gaze is so heated that I can't help moving forward to swipe a kiss from him. Our kiss deepens briefly before I remember our circumstances and pull back.

Matthew's slightly breathless, and the bewilderment on his face forces me to explain myself.

"We still need to convince everyone we're a couple," I say.

"Oh yeah. Right." He swallows. "Very convincing."

My argument is weak because none of the other couples are paying attention to us. While we've been talking, they've started building their sandcastles, so we're behind already.

"Right. Let's win this thing," I say.

True to my word, I go into a sand-digging frenzy while Matthew works out the proportions, and pretty soon, the shape of a dog emerges from the blank sand.

We're both quickly covered in sand because it appears sandcastle building is a fully immersive experience when Matthew and I do it.

I should have realized how highly competitive Matthew and I both are. Neither of us ever backed down from a challenge against the other. We don't have much in common, but that trait is definitely something we share.

But while we're taking it seriously, there's something almost…fun about building a sandcastle with Matthew.

It's fun to mock what a perfectionist he is when he starts fretting that our sculpture looks more like a Labrador than a golden retriever.

It's fun when we decide at the last minute to add a water bowl for Max, and I dig it out while Matthew works out a way to keep water in it.

And when a small boy walks by and exclaims, "Look, Mommy, it's a doggy!" I can't help catching Matthew's eye, and we both break out into proud grins.

But the funniest part of the whole afternoon is seeing Paul's face when the resort's designated sandcastle expert judges that our sculpture is the winner.

"We really are the Picassos of the sandcastle world," I crow as we head back to the villa together after we've humbly accepted our prize.

"Did Picasso actually do any sculptures?" Matthew asks.

"Seriously, Matthew? Do you need my bragging to be factually accurate?"

"Factually accurate is my jam," he says.

He gets out his phone and googles it before lifting his eyes to mine. "Picasso did actually make nearly three hundred sculptures during his lifetime."

"See? Maybe I'm just so artistically talented that I'm naturally in sync with Picasso."

"Or maybe it was just a lucky guess," he counters with a smirk, and I can't help but grin back.

Winning must be an aphrodisiac because as soon as we're back inside the villa, we're all over each other.

Matthew draws back from kissing me. "Do you want to head to the shower?"

"The shower?"

"I'm thinking we're all sandy, and we can combine fooling around with getting clean."

"I'm all about time efficiency and helping Hawaii's water management," I say as I grab his hand and tug him toward the bathroom.

We both strip and jump in the shower. Matthew presses his body into mine, and we kiss as the hot water beats down on us.

I stroke from the small of his neck down his spine to the curves of his ass. He shivers under my touch and then pushes me against the shower wall, deepening our kiss.

I love the push-pull of the dynamic between Matthew and me. The way sex between us seems like a battle over who can blow the other"s mind the fastest.

I moan as he grabs some soap, running a hand over my shoulder before trailing it down my chest. His fingers find my cock, and he strokes at an agonizingly slow pace.

"You're particularly sandy here," he says.

"Then I guess you better clean me," I rasp.

Matthew continues to stroke me lazily as I kiss his ear, then his neck. I bite gently at his shoulder, and he groans, then reaches around to steady himself against the shower wall. My hands roam over the planes of his back, then down his ass again, before reaching to wrap my hand around him.

"Liam," he moans, rocking his hips into my hand.

Fuck. It appears nothing heightens my own arousal as much as seeing Matthew like this, all slippery and wet and panting with desire.

He starts to come, and seeing him letting go triggers my own orgasm, white-hot pleasure rippling through me.

I reach up to turn off the shower, then wrap my arms back around him.

Matthew's pupils are blown out, hazy.

I nuzzle into his shoulders, loving the way he leans into me like I've rendered him completely boneless.

I hold him, depositing a gentle kiss on his shoulder, my mouth lingering on his skin.

The steam from the shower has dissipated enough that I catch a blurry outline of us in the bathroom mirror. I'm cradling Matthew like he's something precious.

Disbelief shoots through me.

Fuck.

What the hell am I doing?

I mean, this is Matthew O'Connor. Matthew with his smug grin and his perfect life.

He spent our entire childhood reinforcing how much better than me he was.

It's just sex, I remind myself as I gently pull away from him. It's just sex with a hot guy who I happen to have insane sexual chemistry with.

There's nothing more going on than that.