4

Golden hues of sunlight gleam through the windows as I pry my plastered eyes open. The throbbing in my brain is a drumbeat, except my head is underwater and my mouth is still somehow dry. I catch sight of the half-empty bottle of rum on the dresser, and am surprised that, all things considered, I feel okay.

Mostly.

Ugh, I'll never look at a banana the same way again.

From the doorway, a deep baritone says, "Good morning, sunshine," and a tiny smile creeps onto my lips. I roll over to find Connor with two iced coffees and a brown bag of something deliciously greasy. "Hungry?"

"Fucking starving," I say, my voice raspy with sleep as I sit up and let the blankets fall off my torso. My hair hangs limp in front of my face and I push it back, realizing I'm doing a damn good impression of that creepy girl from The Ring.

My first morning waking up to this amazing specimen, and I'm channeling Samara.

Shoot me now.

Connor's eyes move around my face before they drift down my chest, widening as he takes a step closer. "Dude, you are burnt! "

The sound that rockets from my nose really isn't an attractive one. Instead of being sexy, or even just cute, I'm greasy and snorty.

I'm striking out this morning, it seems.

Quietly clearing my throat, I pull myself together, tossing on a slight smirk. "Last night you pilfered booze, and this morning you call me dude, but you are not a frat boy? Is that still the narrative you're weaving?"

He huffs as he drops onto the bed beside me, setting the food and coffee on the nightstand. When he twists to face me again, his attention is on my stomach, and I secretly preen like a little peacock.

It's not like I have a lot to flaunt—I've always been thin, sleek and smooth instead of toned or defined. The muscles are there , they just… don't like to show off. At all.

Not like Connor, with bulges and bumps on every stretch of skin imaginable.

He's staring intently at my torso, then, with his lip pulled between his teeth, he reaches out and drags his fingers over my red stomach. His skin is still chilled from the iced coffees, and the shock of cold wakes my body in an instant.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Goosebumps rise on my belly as my cock perks up, hidden under the sheets but mere inches from his hand. For a second, he stares as his fingertips drag along my abdomen, and then he rips them away and flushes. "Sorry, uh… you're just… really pink."

"Nothing to be done about it now." My voice comes out raspy, and right as his eyes find mine again, my stomach lets out a very undignified rumble. The tension dissolves as we both burst out laughing, and it clears my head enough to serve as a reminder that crushing on a straight man is never a good idea.

No matter how delicious he may be.

The mattress dips under his weight as he shifts, leaning to grab the bag of food. "You remembered that I'm vegan, right? The coffee is black?" Connor's jaw drops and his eyes dart upwards, as if he is searching his mind for a memory. He's so distraught that I decide I won't torture him anymore, and I laugh as I take hold of his arm.

"You ass," he grumbles, leaving breakfast untouched on the table before shoving my shoulders. My back hits the bed, and he grunts and crawls over me, hovering with a failed attempt at a stern face that only makes me laugh harder. "Am I remembering those rules incorrectly? I could have sworn we said no lies."

"I didn't lie… I just asked a very innocent question."

"Innocent my ass," he murmurs, and the low growl of his voice mixed with his position over me have my already interested cock thickening further. Inwardly cursing, I shift my hips to avoid a very uncomfortable realization on his side.

There's a tease in his smile as he inches closer. "Something tells me you're not innocent at all, are you?" The hand beside my head shifts, the pad of his thumb dragging along the very edge of my jaw. It's the tiniest back and forth, and I don't think he realizes he's doing it, but enough to make me combust.

What was it I said about not crushing on the straight man?

Never mind, doesn't matter anymore.

Logic flies out the window and disappears over the ocean as I picture him kissing a path along my stomach and discovering my cock standing at attention for him. The mental image of his plump lips wrapped around me as those eyes stay locked on mine…

Calm the fuck down, you moron.

Connor shifts, and I panic as I realize my cover is about to be blown, and not in the fun way I was imagining. But he only grins as he lifts himself off me and offers his hand, dragging me to sit as though he didn't just edge me without a touch.

He drops onto his bed across from me, and I make sure the blankets hide my boner. "You're kidding though, right? Because I'm afraid we can't be friends if you don't eat meat."

"Oh yeah? Eat a lot of meat, Connor?" I ask as I unwrap my breakfast burrito. The teasing is familiar territory, and it calms me enough to move past that moment of insanity.

He gives me a dry glare. "Does it look like I eat a lot of meat?"

I take a bite and groan, ravenous now that I'm fully awake. "You look like you have to eat small children to get your daily protein intake, honestly."

Connor is taking a sip of his coffee as I say it, and he covers his face as he snorts, running into the bathroom as I cackle. When he returns, he's wiping his bloodshot, watery eyes with the back of his hand. "I've known you for less than twenty-four hours and you already made me blow coffee out my nose. Not cool, man."

I try not to appear too pleased as I eat. "We said total honesty."

"Oh, that's the game we're playing, huh? Well, guess what, mister? You snore like a fucking freight train."

"Shit," I groan, embarrassment causing my neck to boil, "I forgot to warn you. Sorry, I'll grab you a pair of earplugs today." I never thought I'd be thankful for this sunburn, but it hides the splotchy blush that creeps over my skin.

Silver linings and all.

"Nah, it's fine. The apocalypse could happen in the middle of the night, but if I'm asleep, I'd snooze right through it."

"Did you just… I'm sorry, did you just compare my snoring to the literal end of the world?"

He smiles around a giant mouthful of food, barely keeping his lips closed, and it shouldn't be so goddamned endearing. "If the shoe fits," he says once he swallows.

We finish our breakfast in relative silence, but it's comfortable. It doesn't escape my notice that my anxiety takes a backseat when Connor is around. How could it, when my mind hasn't been this calm in months? The racing thoughts that normally crowd me during these quiet moments are completely absent in his presence.

Something about him is just so… peaceful. He's happy.

Serene, in his own chaotic way.

"What are the big plans for the day?" he asks after we've both finished our food.

My loose sweats droop on my hips as I stand and stretch, and when I straighten up, Connor's eyes are glued to me. More specifically, to my stomach, where the thin trail of dark hair leads underneath my pants. My earlier situation is still under control, thank God, because otherwise I would be in trouble.

His eyes flip up to mine, guilty as hell as he flushes crimson. "Tan line," he blurts, turning an even deeper shade of red as he cringes. "I mean… I was, um, your stomach is burnt, and I could see… there's… a, uh, line. Is it… do you need… aloe or… anything?"

Holy shit, he is adorable when he's flustered.

As his hand runs through his hair, I notice in the early daylight that it's not black as I initially assumed, but a dark, rich shade of brown. "No, chippoke, I am fine."

He nods, distracted, as I head into the bathroom to get my morning routine out of the way. When I come out, fresh-breathed and showered, Connor still sits on his bed, his posture rigid. "You never answered my question," he calls after me, not meeting my eyes. "What are your plans for today? Did you want to… y'know, hang out again?"

My response is delayed by the ridiculous smile that's stretching across my face, and he hurriedly fumbles through his words. "I mean, I shouldn't assume that you don't have plans or that you want to spend your day with me. I just thought… last night was…"

When my hand lands on his shoulder, he inhales sharply, his eyes flying to mine. "Last night was fun." My voice is soft as my hand trails up to his jaw and I give him a gentle squeeze that he leans into. I release him and make my way to my bag, rummaging through my clothes.

"Pick your poison." I take out swim trunks and athletic shorts, extending them both in my hands. "Lounge by the water or check out the on-site theater?"

His smile returns, brighter than the sun. "Ocean first, movie later?"

"Sounds like a perfect day," I say, ducking back into the bathroom to change.

I try hard not to drool.

Really, I do.

But.

My logical reasoning ceases to exist the second Connor steps out of the bathroom, clad only in board shorts. All the intricate connections in my brain suddenly short-circuit, erasing a lifetime of developed synapses.

The motherboard is fried.

My gaze travels from his neck to his impressively well-built chest, covered with a thick scattering of dark, coarse hair that extends down to his abdomen. It makes me twitchy, wondering where that treasure map leads. An uncomfortable tightness forms in my gut as I imagine the whorls of hair that cover his thighs… the nest of black curls at the base of his cock.

Who knew I had a thing for hairy guys?

His belly is softer than I thought it would be, a layer of cushion covering the obvious muscle underneath. It makes a bulge around his navel, and then his shorts cut off my fun.

A grin spreads across my face at the sight of his neon pink swim trunks. "Flamingos, huh?" I ask, unable to hide my amusement.

Connor flashes me a playful smile and glances at his obnoxious shorts, putting his hands on his hips and spinning in a runway model twirl. "C'mon, everyone loves pink!" I consider the pink speedo that sits in my bag, and then push the thought away.

Even I'm not that bold right now.

Connor slings a beach bag over his shoulder and tips on a straw hat, and I try really hard to rein in my laughter, but it sneaks out as he's sliding on his flip-flops. "Something funny?" He quirks a brow at me over his wrap-around biker sunglasses, and I finally lose it.

"You look like the biggest tourist who ever touristed, man."

Hand still on his hips, that eyebrow rises even higher. "Touristed isn't a word."

"Stop trying to distract me from all…" I wave my hand up his body, "…this. Add a fanny pack and a few bumper stickers to put on your minivan, and the transformation is complete."

He gasps, loud and dramatic, placing a palm over his heart in offense. "Me? A minivan? Tai, you wound me!"

Chuckling, I gather my hair into a ponytail, and his amusement fades as he observes me, his face becoming pensive. My outfit is much simpler than his—short powder blue trunks and my aviators, and I'm hyper aware of his eyes on me.

"You're calm," he says, almost to himself, as though he's thinking out loud instead of trying to communicate.

My heart kick-starts into a rapid beat as he moves closer, still staring. "Calm?"

"Yeah, you're calm… and I'm chaos."

"I like chaos," I say, breathier than I intend, and his mouth pulls into one of those giant smiles I'm quickly becoming addicted to.

"Good." His voice is rough as he says it, eyes twinkling as they dance around my face for a second. "I like calm." He steps back and heads towards the door after turning my world upside down, glancing at me behind him, rooted in place. "Coming?"

"Y-yeah," I stutter, snapping out of it and following, patting my pocket to make sure I have my keycard. I don't even bring my phone, leaving it plugged in beside the bed.

We reach the beach and find that, like yesterday, there aren't many people around on the resort's private strip of sand. Our seats from last night are open and waiting for us, and Connor has the same thought as he walks towards them. Before I can sit, a sturdy hand grabs my arm and keeps me upright.

"Sunscreen," he tells me, with a stern glare that gives no room for argument.

Full of sass, I stick my hand out and he whacks the tube into my palm. "Yes, daddy," I mumble, to which he raises a brow and crosses his arms.

"If you keep up with that attitude, I'll have no choice but to give you a spanking," he threatens, his no-nonsense tone diminished by the grin tugging at his lips. "Don't think for one second that I won't bend you over my knee."

Oh, sweet summer child, thinking he could ever dom me.

"Trust me, Connor, if I'm bent over your knee, it's because I want to be there." My attempt at snarkiness falls flat with the eager undertones that I can't hide. A surprised huff of a laugh blows from his nose, but he says nothing.

Unable to gauge his reaction, I use the sunscreen as an excuse to put some distance between us before I say something stupid. I half turn away from him, rubbing lotion over my arms and stomach.

"There, happy?" I do my best to keep my voice neutral when a shadow falls over me. Startled, I jump slightly as Connor's hand sneaks around my front and grabs the sunscreen from my grasp.

"No," he says, too close to my ear, too close to my body , as the cap pops open again. "You didn't get your back." Behind me, the quiet swish of his hands rubbing together is barely audible over the waves. My heart thunders in my chest, and I fight to keep my body's response in check. "I can't have you burning again, sweetheart. May I?"

"Sure," I whisper, swallowing a rogue whimper when his calloused palms land on my shoulders. Despite my rule about not discussing work, it's obvious he works with his hands, as the weathered skin and scars tell a story of hard labor.

Deliberately, he massages the lotion in, starting from my neck and moving down my spine. When he reaches my lower back, my cock flexes behind my shorts, and I blow out a shaky exhale. His fingertips come dangerously close to the curve of my ass as he swipes along the edge of my waistband, and the pressure in my body builds like a shaken soda.

Pop the top and I'll explode.

Does he have any idea what he's doing?

As soon as he pulls away, I miss his touch. He rubs more sunscreen between his palms, but I don't turn around. I face the ocean, knowing he'd spot the very obvious press of my cock against my shorts.

"Do you mind?"

"Hmm?" I ask, incredibly distracted by the thoughts pillaging my head.

"My back," he says, and I glance over my shoulder as he hands the bottle of sunscreen to me. I breathe a sigh of relief when he turns around, my over-anxious boner concealed for the time being.

"Where's that magic word?" I tease as I squirt a dollop into my palm.

His head twists again, meeting my eye out of the corner of his. "Please?" My breath is almost punched out of my lungs at the needy way he says it, and I force myself to swallow past this crazy tension hanging between us.

I'm imagining this, right?

I must be. It's the echo of loneliness inside me, distorting my perception and turning his friendly gestures into flirting.

Get out of your head and enjoy his company without making it weird.

His skin is hot from the sun as I spread the sunscreen over his broad back, grinning despite my internal conflict as it catches on his hair and coats the coarse strands in white.

"You're a hairy motherfucker," I tease as I work lower, marveling at the way the defined muscles roll beneath my fingers.

He puts his hands on his hips as he clicks his tongue at me. "Are you making fun of my angel wings?"

"Angel wings?" I choke on a laugh as his shoulders shake, cheeks lifting in one of those enormous smiles. "Is that what we're calling this? And here I thought you were just paying homage to your Bigfoot brethren from your shirt yesterdaaaaAAAY!" My words burst out in a shout as he whirls around with a belly laugh, throwing me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing.

"Bigfoot, huh? You're saying I'm a big hairy beast?"

A wide smile digs into my cheeks as I take in the breathtaking view of his round ass flexing as he walks. "Listen, it's not your fault that you were born in the wrong millennia. Your stone age roots are strong, there's no shame in that."

"Fucking sassy," he mutters as he charges into the water, and I shout another laugh as I fling the sunscreen towards the chairs, watching it land like a javelin in the sand.

I slap at his back as he takes me deeper, waves lapping at his calves. "Put me down!"

"Not until you apologize." The water is waist-deep now, the tip of my hair dipping into the ocean as I howl in uncontrollable laughter, kicking my feet uselessly. "What was that? Did you say something, Tai? I'm pretty sure I heard the words, ‘I'm sorry for being a brat,' but I can't be sure."

"Actually, I said I'm sorry you're a walking hairball, but I understand your hearing might not be very good at your age. Next time I'll remember to yell."

He gasps as I laugh louder. "Now I'm hairy and old?"

"Hey, you said it, not me."

"Better hold your breath," he warns, just a split second before he drops his feet out from underneath us and we plunge into the chilly ocean. When he pops up, I've slid down his front and my legs wrap instinctively around his waist, hands gripping his neck. We both drip with salty water as his fingers flex against my thighs, holding me in place.

We're face-to-face, mere inches separating us in a moment that freezes time. His rugged face is only made more breathtaking by the crystal droplets that roll over his nose and get stuck in his stubble. For once, I'm thankful for the cold water, because it's the only thing that's keeping my reaction stifled. Otherwise, I'd probably be rutting against him like a wild animal.

"Hey, Connor?" I ask, and his eyes lock onto mine.

"Yeah?" His voice is gravelly as he swallows, and I smirk even as my heart thrashes behind my ribs.

"Better hold your breath." I throw my weight backwards with my legs locked around him, and he shouts a surprised yell as he loses his footing and falls forward. We crash into the water as we both sink under the surface.

The ocean consumes us, and as his arms tighten around me, I think I might be content to stay here with him and drown.