Chapter Three

They had a blast on the party bus to Miami.

After one of Kendra’s potent bloody Marys, Marcus was more than ready to karaoke. Though his teenaged-self had once dreamed about being a rockstar, his calling would always be slinging ink. He had a decent set of pipes, however, and his friends cheered on his little impromptu concert before everyone but Lewis took a turn on the mike.

Skip and Jeremiah sang a song from The Little Mermaid, Kendra butchered a Lady Gaga tune, and Theron had them all dying laughing as he sang “Don’t Worry Be Happy.” As for Marcus, he covered a Buddy Holly song and one from Queen, then did a helluva rendition of Shawn Menendez’s “Nothing Holding Me Back,” if he did say so himself.

Boarding the Pride went as smooth and easy as the last few times he’d sailed with them. And his room—a simple outside state room with one porthole window—was just as beautiful as the previous ones he’d stayed in. Fluffy white bedding covered the queen-sized bed and mirrored closet doors prevented feelings of claustrophobia. A small sitting area, mini-fridge, coffee maker, and plush carpet to muffle engine noise all felt posh enough a passenger didn’t realize they were on the cheap decks. No detail was missed anywhere aboard the Pride, down to the twinkling crystal lighting all over the ship and gilded frames around posted maps, room numbers, and safety instructions. He’d be more than comfortable here for the next two weeks.

On previous cruises, he’d preferred to be out enjoying the liveliness and parties aboard the Pride, and hadn’t spent much time in his cabin. Yes, he had spent plenty of time in his cabin in bed with sexy guys on the first cruise, but on the last one, he’d been alone in his bed, too distracted with a desperate craving for a virtual ghost.

The ship set sail mid-afternoon, and after an online lifeboat drill followed by a fun Copacabana themed launch party, Marcus parked his ass on a stool at the swim-up bar of the adult-only top deck. Being a repeat cruiser he knew about this deck, while it usually took newbies at least until tomorrow to realize there was another pool besides the main one, so it wasn’t crowded at all. His cousins and friends had either gone off to get pedicures—the spa was all booked until Thursday—or retired to their cabins to fuck or get ready for the formal dinner seating at eight. Since he didn’t need much time to get ready and had no one to fuck, he decided to stay at the bar, fill a few empty pages in his sketchbook and people-watch.

Plus, the more he mingled with passengers the greater his chance of running into Dane.

Not that he said such a thing to his friends.

“What are you drawing?” the bartender asked as he collected the plastic cups his previous customers left behind. He’d introduced himself as Adam, and while he was way too gray for his age, it only added to his good looks. He pointed at Marcus’s whiskey sour. “Refill?”

“Yes, please.” Marcus handed him the empty plastic cup before answering his first question. “Nothing in particular.” He showed Adam his drawing of a pixie-like blonde with a pink streak of hair and delicate wings perched beside a mystical pool, admiring her reflection.

“Wow.” Adam stared in shock, leaning close to study the drawing. “That’s not nothing in particular. It’s Penelope, one of the ship’s photographers.”

“Yeah, it is her.” He examined the drawing with a critical eye, deciding he liked it. “She’s adorable, both the real woman and the one with wings.”

While they had been on the last cruise, Skip’s recently single father, Bob, had gone on several dates with the pretty young woman who’d taken the photographs for his son’s wedding. Today, Marcus had seen her walking around snapping photos and used her as a muse. She was so cute, the magical drawing popped effortlessly into his head.

Adam stared at Marcus. “Why did you draw her with wings by a pool of water?”

Marcus shrugged his big shoulders. “I don’t know. I love mystical and paranormal shit. And Penelope’s totally got a little fairy thing going, don’t you think? With that pink hair and those fake eyelashes.”

Adam studied him a moment longer, then he started mixing Marcus’s drink. “Oh yeah, I could see that.” He offered a smile. “If you were to draw me mystical like Penelope, what would I look like?”

Marcus grinned. His job was to interpret what people wanted by how they described potential tattoos. There were a few clients—mostly fellow tattoo artists and friends—who gave Marcus carte blanche. He had done so himself at several tattoo conferences where he’d scored time with masters from around the world. It’s how he got the badass zombie-wizard on his inner forearm and a gorgeous white lily on his left shoulder blade.

Taking Adam’s question seriously, Marcus watched him for a moment. The sunshine brought out a playful dusting of freckles on his cheekbones and nose, but the white hair at his temples and faint streaks of gray throughout his dark waves gave him the appearance of wisdom far beyond his assumed thirty-ish years. Something delightful in his dark blue eyes—a warmth, perhaps?—made a guy want to be his best bud.

“Okay, you’re on.” Marcus accepted the challenge.

He flipped to a new page, careful to keep water from his sketchbook. He’d brought it into the pool in a big Ziploc bag and thankfully didn’t have to worry about roughhousing kids splashing, since this was a kid-free zone. In between sips of his perfectly balanced cocktail, Marcus watched Adam go about his bartending duties, cleaning, chopping fruit, and making drinks. As he sketched, the picture became clearer in his mind. He made Adam’s hair longer and grayer. His eyes bigger and bolder. He clothed him in a flowing navy blue cloak and gave him a staff with a stone made of flames. But much like the pink pixie, this drawing needed a setting too. Grabbing a grey pencil, he began etching mountains... a whisper on the breeze all but argued with his original plan.

No, not just mountains, a volcano oozing flames and lava.

Yes, much better.

On a whim, he filled in the empty portion of the page with a glorious black dragon breathing fire into the sky.

Everybody loves a dragon!

He smiled when he finished his sketch. After signing and dating the bottom corner, he turned it around to show Adam. “There you go. Is that mystical enough for you?”

Adam dropped the lemon in his hand. “Holy shit. Are you kidding? How did you know?”

“How did I know what?” Marcus asked, not unfamiliar with people’s shock when they saw his art. He didn’t like to brag, but he knew he was good—damn good. However Adam’s shock seemed a little over the top.

“A wizard? Fire? A dragon? What are you?”

Marcus chuckled. “I’m a tattoo artist.” He gestured to his exposed torso and arms, all adorned with color and ink. “I bring fantasy to life by inking it on bodies. And you said mystical. You can’t get more mystical than wizards and dragons.”

Stunned, Adam stared back and forth between Marcus and the drawing.?“You saw all of this? Just in your head?”

Marcus lifted his cocktail for another sip. “Yes. Drawing for fun is something I plan to do on this vacation. Well, and seeing my buddies get married. I’m always drawing commissions. I rarely get to draw what my muse strikes. I’ve been sketching random stuff all afternoon.”

“You draw any other real people?”

“No, just you and Penelope.” Marcus lifted his phone—safe in a waterproof case Lewis and Theron had gifted everyone—and snapped a few pics of the new drawing. Once satisfied he had a good copy for himself, he carefully tore out the page. “Here, go ahead and keep it.”

Adam took the drawing with a reverence that almost embarrassed Marcus. He whispered something as he ran his fingers over the image. Next, he traced the entire edge of the paper with his index finger. Then he grinned, his shock fading. “Just a tattoo artist, eh?”

Marcus shrugged. “Well, a damn good tattoo artist,” he bragged with a humble wince.

“Yeah... I’ll say.”

“Well, this has been fun.” Marcus pounded the last of his drink. He slid the pencils back into the leather pouch attached to his sketchbook and placed all of it inside the Ziploc bag, sealing it tightly for his trek out of the pool. “I probably should shower and shave before dinner, right?”

Adam gave Marcus’s bare, tattooed chest and two gold barbell nipple piercings a playful ogle. “Nah, you look great.”

Though flattered, his dick didn’t even stir at the handsome man’s possible interest. “Those were damn great cocktails, bud,” he said, hoping the polite decline came across. “Are you bartending anywhere tonight when I need another great drink?”

“No, not tonight. But I’ll be here every afternoon this week. And I’m picking up the evening shift at the Aruba Lounge and the late-late shifts at the Caribbean Club tomorrow and Friday.”

“Guess it’s beer and wine till then.” Marcus slipped on his shades.

“If you see a bartender named Roxy, she makes a wicked margarita,” Adam offered, almost as an afterthought as he gazed in wonder at Marcus’s drawing.

“I’ll keep an eye out for her. But you’ve got a magic touch with cocktail balance, bud. See you tomorrow.”

After a smile and a wave, he waded out of the pool to where he’d left his towel, shirt, and shoes. There were a few sun worshipers still lounging about, and Marcus wasn’t immune to the glances he got from a couple men and women as he towel-dried himself before tugging on his snug white CK tank. Theron’s warrior workouts had left Marcus more buff than usual, but too bad the people noticing his new guns weren’t the man he wanted. He slid his feet into his rainbow Vans, the perfect shoe for kicking it by the pool. Then he gathered up his shit, dumped his used towel in the bin, and headed back to his cabin. He took the long way, strolling passed the gift shops on the promenade deck, perusing jewelry and designer wares he might have to splurge on. As a brand junkie, he liked his bling as much as he liked fresh threads.

He certainly wasn’t keeping his eye out for a tiny blond.

A peculiar piece of art caught his eye, all but tucked in a corner by the elevators.

A gargoyle?

Marcus inched forward, surprised by the snarling stone creature right by the main elevators. It had to be a new edition, because Marcus totally would’ve noticed him on his previous cruises. Checking his phone for the time, he quickly withdrew his book and made a sketch of the cool little guy. Sometimes fast sketches were the best drawings, where Marcus’s head didn’t get in the way of his talent. After tucking away his supplies—ignoring the bizarre glances he got drawing a statue in his swimsuit while everyone else wore their fancies or a costume—he snapped a few pics of the gargoyle and headed to his room.

Elegance surrounded Marcus, plush carpets, brass accents, while cut-glass fixtures offered soft ambience. He shared an elevator down to his floor with a group of ladies dressed as fairies, complete with colorful ornate wings that bobbed with their movements. He wondered how the wings fit in with tonight’s Under the Sea theme, but didn’t ask. Everyone aboard the Pride beat to their own drum, and somehow it always seemed to work.

Time was running short, like Marcus had planned it. He didn’t need any extra time in the shower with his cock when his thoughts inevitably drifted to his mysterious Dane. Under the hot water, he scoured the pool water and sunblock from his body with his favorite shampoo-body-bar, then hopped out and slathered the coordinating lotion all over his skin. Keeping his ink moisturized and vibrant was a vital part of his daily routine.

As his body air dried, he laid out his designer clothing and thought about Adam. Handsome for sure, he might’ve been checking Marcus out. Or he might not have been. Either way, Marcus’s heart and body remained preoccupied. He hadn’t been into any guy—neither had his dick—since he’d first seen Dane. A hookup should’ve helped, but the few times he picked up a guy at a bar, he hadn’t been able to seal the deal. Guys online couldn’t hold his interest either.

There was only one guy he wanted—a mere ghost on the wind.

After Marcus made his pencil-thin goatee sharp with a straight edge, he applied face lotion, then added some firm gel to his hair, his fade perfectly tight after a trip to the barber yesterday. Once he didn’t feel sticky from the shower and lotion, he dressed in breezy Tommy Bahama linen pants with a wide black leather belt and a tight black seamless T-shirt. Marcus liked to look as good as he smelled.

Having worked hard to climb out of poverty, he was proud he finally had the wherewithal to afford some luxuries in life. He fastened a heavy gold chain to his wrist, put the one-carat diamond stud into his left ear, and then donned his curb chain with a thick, gold cross pendant. Mom had gifted him and Sheri matching crosses at graduation, and the pendant nestled above his pecs. He slipped into his favorite black Ferragamo mules, grabbed his phone and wallet, and hastened out the door, feeling both casual and fly.

Rather than heading straight to dinner, he took the long way and wandered past the crew entrances like he’d told himself he wouldn’t.

The last time he’d done that remained clear and vivid.

Standing outside the coffee shop, a group of crew members were laughing and chatting. I looked around, wondering where the beautiful blond imp had disappeared to. Moments away from approaching the crew and asking, something warm tickled down my spine. My heart skipped and I swore erotic music began to play.

I turned and my breath caught in my chest.

There he was.

His brilliant lavender eyes that had to be contacts widened, and he drew up short. His perfect lips formed an ‘O,’ the shock plain on his face.

“Hi.” I smiled, feeling everything inside my body settle into warm serenity. Like each piece of my life, all my hopes and dreams, finally fit together. The search was over.

I extended a hand, intending to introduce myself.

With a squeak, the man spun on his heels and ran away.

Why had Dane run away?

Kendra and Lewis had described the petit Dane as nervous and squirrely. Marcus stood at six-three, and nobody who slung ink for a living didn’t have plenty of their own. Obviously, Marcus had scared him. He’d wanted a chance to apologize, maybe give a better first-impression. But a week of fruitless searching, hoping for another accidental run-in or an introduction, had turned up nothing.

It had been like a madness consuming him, and he’d gone to the purser’s desk trying to re-book a cruise for the next week so he could keep looking. But they’d been booked solid for months since introducing online boking. Even when he called the travel agent to see if there were cancelations, no weeks ever became available.

Then Lewis and Theron sent Marcus the link to their block of wedding rooms and Marcus finally scored a reservation, impulsively booking a cabin for two weeks.

If he met Dane, he wanted time to get to know him.

Kicking himself for being the stalker he told himself he wasn’t, Marcus spun on his heels and headed to the formal dining hall.

Why was Marcus obsessing like this? Was his sanity slipping like his father’s?

He hastily crossed himself, kissing his pendant and praying it wasn’t true.

Hector Rodriguez was a half-Mexican half-Navajo immigrant to the U.S. who’d married Marcus’s mother, Maryanne, a white girl from Indiana. When Marcus and his twin sister came along, Dad’s mental illness had already started to show. By the time they were ten, Hector had fallen completely off the edge, claiming to be a Navajo medicine man connected to the spirit world. The first time he left their family to take a spirit walk on the reservation, Mom told the twins he was getting in touch with his native roots. The second time he left, screaming demons had made him beat the shit out of Mom so he’d fled for their safety. About the tenth time the fucker had fled, Uncle Jerry had flown down from Indiana to get Mom out of the hospital for the last time—Marcus had busted his own knuckles in Hector’s face while stopping that final row. Jerry had packed up Mom, Sheri, and Marcus and moved them to Florida. His aunt and uncle had even bought them a trailer, for which Marcus would be forever grateful.

Who knows how his life would have turned out if they hadn’t gotten away from Hector?

There had been no spirits or demons, but the voices had been real. It was sad and it sucked, but his father had schizophrenia and he refused medicine—unless tequila, weed, and whatever else he could get his hands on counted.

At thirty-two, Marcus had long since passed the desire to have his father in his life. Too many broken promises, too many fists, and too many nights driving around southern Arizona hoping to find the man still alive in a ditch, had squelched any parental affection Marcus might’ve had. If Hector got help—real help—maybe one day Marcus might be friendly with the man who gave him life.

But he would never trust him.

Shaking off those maudlin thoughts, Marcus followed a group entering the dining hall. This week was about Lewis and Theron, and he didn’t want to keep them waiting.

Though modern cruise ships had dropped the practice, the Pride still had formal dinner services in an elaborate, elegant dining room that seated two hundred people. When he arrived, a sharply dressed hostess in a black tuxedo led him to his table. He was the last of their party to arrive.

“I thought you might’ve found a hottie and elected to miss dinner,” Josh teased, patting the empty seat beside him. His cousin had brown hair and eyes, and a soft welcoming face just like Mom and Aunt Hannah. On his other side sat his blond, green-eyed sexy AF husband, Nathan.

“Nah, not this cruise.” Marcus ignored the lump in his throat that his casual dismissal might come true after all. “How was the spa?”

“Awesome as always,” Josh said, draping a cloth napkin across his lap.

“I’ve never met a man who loves pedicures as much as my husband,” Nathan teased, leaning over to kiss Josh’s cheek.

“You only get one set of feet in this life. Gotta take care of them,” Josh countered.

“Can we not discuss feet at the table, please?” Kendra pleaded and everyone laughed.

“How was Jasmine? Did she introduce her father to Mitch?”

“No, I guess he’s meeting them in St.Martin now,” Skip explained.

Marcus gaped across the table at Skip. “Are you wearing a coconut bra?”

“It’s Under the Sea, hon,” he declared, leaning dramatically into his husband’s lap to show off a green glitter tail. “I’m a merman!”

“You’re crazy.” Marcus laughed and gave the group a once over. Skip was the only one in full costume, while everyone else had dressed nicely like Marcus. Although Jeremiah and his twin Aleek—whom Marcus hadn’t seen since they boarded—both wore Little Mermaid T-shirts.

“Hey, Aleek,” Marcus smiled at the man, holding out a fist for a bump. He really liked Aleek. Sometimes when he visited Jeremiah, he would wander down to Ink Soul to spin a little vinyl on Marcus’s vintage turntable he used rather than piped-in music or admire the big fish tank Jeremiah maintained in the parlor. “I worried you missed the launch. When did you get here?”

Aleek shrugged. “In time for dinner,” he replied. The pink Disney T-shirt really enhanced the faint streaks of greens and purple in his long brown curls. “Hungry from swimming.”

“I’ll bet,” Skip remarked, and most of the table chuckled.

Jeremiah leaned in and whispered something to his twin, and they shared a smile. Marcus loved seeing them grow closer. He knew the power and importance of a twin bond, even one discovered later in life.

Aleek was leaner than Jeremiah, his brown eyes bigger, and his hair much longer than Jeremiah’s shaggy waves. But no denying the identical twin part. Being adopted, they’d been separated at birth, and had been shockingly reunited on the same cruise when Jeremiah had met his husband. Ever since, the twins had been as inseparable as Jeremiah and Skip.

So many people united on this ship, so why not me?

If Marcus didn’t know better, he’d think the Pride was some kind of magical matchmaking or Fate-inspired vessel with the ability to connect and reunite people. Rumors placed the ship as a relic of the eighties TV show all about love. And how many people did he know who had boarded her decks and found true love or a missing twin?

Lewis made introductions to the few people Marcus didn’t know. Lewis’s aunt and uncle had come in from Destin, Florida, along with their twenty-something daughter Abigail, who seemed enamored by the stylish and carefree Kendra.

Was anyone not enamored of her?

Lewis also had an older cousin from Georgia named Mike who immediately launched into a detailed explanation of his pecan farm operation to an intrigued or possibly polite Aleek. Theron sadly had no relatives in attendance, so the group remained small but content.

“So when is this book of dirty sex poems Josh keeps talking about being published, Nathan?” Skip wanted to know, looking all casual sipping his beer while wearing a bra.

Josh smiled so wide it almost chased away Marcus’s melancholy. “It comes out right before Sweetest Day. We’ll be having a book release party at the gallery. I hope some of you guys can come. You should see the book. Not only are the poems so beautiful, but there’s a lot of Nathan’s photography in there too. I’m just so proud of him.”

Nathan pinkened in the cheeks and smiled at his husband. “You’re the one that made it happen.”

“No, I just found you an editor and publisher then booked online promotional tours and book signings. You already had the gallery website, social media, and newsletter. It was easy to just piggyback off that online presence and get you one for the book,” Josh argued, shaking his head firmly. “It’s your art and your poetry.”

Nathan smiled fondly at Josh, then said to the rest of the table, “See, he did all the work.”

“You won’t say that when you’re doing poetry readings on TikTok,” Josh argued.

Lewis chuckled. “You should make him do them shirtless. You’ll be a bestseller in no time.”

Josh looked intrigued and Nathan chuckled indulgently.

After a round of congratulations, Josh called for a toast. As if on cue, their server came. Marcus ordered an IPA Jeremiah recommended and shared in the toast to his new cousin’s success.

“Don’t forget Marcus added some of his artwork to the book too,” Nathan said. “To Marcus!”

The table echoed the toast.

“Just a few doodles, guys,” he said modestly. “But you better believe I’m gonna brag the shit out of that book online and to my clients.”

“You’d better,” Josh warned.

“Speaking of Marcus’s doodles,” Nathan began.

Skip guffawed. “Marcus’s doodles.”

“I heard you’ve been drawing magical caricatures of people at the pool,” Nathan remarked, taking a sip of his beer, those killer green eyes shrewd.

Marcus gave Nathan an odd look. “How did you know that? And it was only two drawings.”

“I used to work on the ship, remember?” Nathan said. “Adam is a friend of mine. He showed me that sweet-ass drawing you did of him as a wizard with a fire-breathing dragon.”

Across the table, Theron chuckled. “Of course you did.”

His snarky little fiancé shot him a weird glare. “What do you mean of course?”

Theron shrugged and swallowed some of his dark ale. His long, golden blond braid fell to the center of his back. “Marcus is a talented artist. I’m sure he drew what he saw.”

“And he just happened to see Adam as a fire wizard?” Josh remarked, brows raised.

“Exactly,” Nathan intoned.

“Um, yeah, that’s what happened,” Marcus replied. “Adam asked me to make a mystical drawing of him, and hel-lo? Wizards and dragons? Totally mystical. I snapped a picture before I gave it to him. It would look badass on the side of a van.”

The small party at the dinner table laughed about the van joke, but a couple of the guys shared curious glances. When Marcus showed them the pic on his phone, the mood got even weirder, but their waitress came to drop off appetizers and take their dinner orders so Marcus didn’t have time to question it. He ordered the blackened grouper and veggies on the side. With such amazing food on this ship, he planned to hit the gym daily so he didn’t gain weight over the next two weeks.

He hadn’t told his friends about his second week. Not that they would care, but he didn’t want them thinking he was trying to find Dane.

Which he was.

Ugh, you are such a stalker!

As the waitress took orders, Marcus noticed Theron and Lewis whispering in French. Lewis glanced over at Marcus then gave him a phony, too-big smile. Frowning, Marcus polished off his beer and ordered another before the waitress left.

Something was up with the men in his life. He didn’t want to put anyone on the spot, but oftentimes he got the distinct feeling of being left out of some inside joke. At first, Marcus had suspected Skip, Jeremiah, Nathan, and Josh were in some sort of ménage thing. While it seemed off-brand for both Jeremiah and Josh, the quiet ones were often the kinkiest. But Marcus’s four-way theory imploded when Jeremiah’s long-lost twin brother arrived, and he seemed to be in on the joke too. Of course, when Lewis brought Theron into their group, Marcus dismissed the idea of group sex or swinging altogether. Theron might be in on whatever secret they all shared, but he was way too possessive of Lewis to share him in some sex-capade ménage, which left Marcus reasonably confident they weren’t all fucking behind his back.

Frankly if some group orgy was happening, Marcus would be fucking offended he wasn’t asked to join in. Not that he wanted to fuck his cousin—Josh was cute, but eew!—but the other men at this table? They were all pretty hot and Marcus was no slouch, so why the exclusion?

No, this secretiveness had to be about something else.

But what?

Skip sat back in his chair, coconut bra at an awkward angle as he draped an arm behind Jeremiah, head tilted to the side, studying Marcus. The silly coconut bra and green glitter smeared on his bare chest contradicted his serious demeanor. “How would you draw a mystical version of me and Jeremiah?”

Marcus sniffed. “Easy. Jeremiah’s obsessed with mermaids. Even though you’re rocking the tail tonight, I’d make him a merman and you a pirate with a ship crashed above you, because if you were some kinda Captain Hook, with your luck, you would be saved by a merman.”

“I am very lucky,” Skip agreed, bussing his husband’s cheek.

Jeremiah laughed. “Will you draw that for us?”

“Hey now,” Marcus chided. “Drawing on this vacation is not supposed to be commissioned. Now you guys wanna make requests?”

Martini in hand, Kendra piped in, “If Marcus is drawing caricatures, I want one.”

Smiling, Marcus gave her a lewd once over, from the low-cut black dress to her silver stilettos. “I see a boudoir photo for you.”

Kendra threw back her head and laughed. “I love it! Betty Paige style or Marilyn Monroe?”

Marcus scoffed. “Marilyn, of course. If she was a dominatrix.”

“Nailed it.” Lewis fist-bumped his business partner. The chuckles dancing around the table seemed more genuine?now. Perhaps Marcus was reading into things like the mysterious love affair in his mind with a man he’d only seen twice.

First delusions and now paranoia. Wasn’t that how it started?

“All right guys,” Marcus relented, not liking where his thoughts ventured. He welcomed the distraction of his friends wanting fantasy caricatures. “I’ll draw all of you at the pool tomorrow, sound good?”

“Yes,” Aleek said around a mouthful of shrimp. “I want to be a merman too.”

Marcus laughed. “Naturally.”