Page 3 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

It was more order than request because hey, asshole. I glanced at Nia since she was the master of my time and we also had a snorkeling group scheduled for the morning. At her nod, I sent Logan another smile that could have cut glass. “Looking forward to it.”

His nod was equally sharp. “Same.”

“Wonderful,” Nia said, the bite so subtle I only caught it because I knew her well. “Have a great afternoon, Logan.”

His, “Thanks, you too!” seemed like an automatic response, closely followed by a frown. He turned without another word, making his way back to the flower-shielded path that led to the main area of the resort. His back muscles were a work of art.

The moment he was out of earshot, Nia released a small huff. “Man, don’t you just hate it when the pretty ones are twats? Way to ruin my fun.”

“Life’s not fair.” I grabbed a bottle of water that was sweating condensation, cool against my palm. “Maybe I should send him diving with the jellyfish. They’ll give him a warm welcome.”

“Well. Speaking of warm…” Nia leaned back on her hands and grinned at me. Ah, permission granted—nothing cooled down a hothead like a one-size-fits-a-linebacker wetsuit with a draft.

I grinned back.

Ugh.

No.

Just—no. There was no way, no fuckingway, it was seven already. Nope. Reality could fuck right off and come back knocking in a couple of hours.

I fumbled for the alarm, but the little fucker had already rolled off the nightstand and onto the floor, tiny wheels whirring in its triumphant escape. Why the fuck had I kept the stupid thing? Nia had a twisted sense of humor, and an alarm clock that sent me on a wild goose chase was a cruel and unusual birthday present that served her more than me.

It wasn’t even that I hated mornings. Or, not as such. They were just... early, as a general rule. And early meant tired. And tired was bad.

Now, fine. No one had forced me to stay up late comparing my current camera setup to the most recent Canon model—way better resolution, animal eye autofocus, and priced like a small car. Still. Fuck my life.

I groaned, forced my eyes fully open, and crawled after my runaway clock. It stood no chance—my room was only just big enough to hold a narrow bed, a cramped desk, and a creaky wooden chair, along with a built-in closet that barely fit my meager selection of clothes. No point investing in fashionable options when I spent most of my days in swim trunks.

The clock from hell attempted to scuttle under my bed. I snatched it just in time and turned it off. Blessed silence. Well, other than the gentle rustle of palm fronds swaying in the breeze, the echoing calls of tropical birds, and the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves. Home, or something very much like it.

All right, then. My turn to take theBlueberry Seasfor a refill.

I sped through brushing my teeth and a quick pee, then sprinted down to the staff kitchen to inhale an espresso, and headed to the boat. At this hour, the gravelly beach was deserted, melting into the bluish gray sea and caged in by cliffs that rose high on both sides of the bay. The resort blended into the green of the jungle, guest cabinsset between trees, spread far apart for maximum privacy. Only the thatched roofs of the seafront bar and the restaurant stood out, the overwater spa hugging the cliffs on the far side.

We shared a pier with a catamaran that took resort guests on whale watching tours and excursions to Roseau, the island’s capital. Just as I untied ourBlueberry Seas,movement on the shore drew my attention.

Logan.

He’d emerged from the walkway that wrapped around the resort, red shorts and neon running shoes, shirtless again. No surprise, really—if I’d put that much work into an eight-pack, I’d want to show it off too. But, hey. Some of us had to actuallyworkfor a living. I ducked into the boat to avoid him spotting me.

The engine hummed to life under me, vibrating through the soles of my bare feet. When I left the protected bay, sunrays bounced off the water in a dizzying sparkle, the salty breeze cooling my cheeks. It tasted like freedom, like everything I’d hoped for when I’d arrived three years ago—a different person.

It was a short ride to the sleepy coastal village of Soufriere, and I chatted with Luis while he filled up the tank. Nearing seventy, he ran his station with the deliberate pace of someone who knew how to savor the moment and offered everything from cold beer and shipping supplies to fresh-cut pieces of coconut and dubious nautical advice. I’d never seen him without a baseball cap that cheered on the West Indies cricket team, its darkish red faded to a bleached-out orange. His well-worn cargo shorts had seen more salt and sun than some of the boats he serviced. It didn’t deter him from having opinions about the state of theBlueberry Seas.

“She needs a coat of paint,” he said with a lazy thumb jerk at the boat. The stench of diesel hung heavy in the air, nearly canceling out the sour sweetness of drying kelp that had washed up on the pebbles. “Yellow and green, is what I keep telling you.”

“Name like that?” I shook my head. “She’sgotto be blue and purple.”

“Paint a boat purple, you strip away her dignity.” Luis’s complaintwasn’t new, and I’d learned not to take offense at some of the opinions he held—like how purple was a lesser color because, yeah, who the hell even knew.

“Dignity is a state of mind,” I said. “The rest is window dressing.”

“Still, Milo—you gotta put some effort into it.” He adjusted his cap, his gap-toothed smile a contrast to his leathery skin. “Like relationships, you know? Takes work, time, and commitment. But if it’s right, it’s worth it.”

Here we go again.

In a village of less than two thousand people, gossip was the primary trade. If I’d had a buck for every hint about Nia and me, I could have started my own line of‘Sorry, I’m gay’greeting cards. Whenever I grumbled about it, though, she reminded me that this tiny island nation was a tropical gem with dial-up views on social norms. Yes, its palm trees might sway with the breeze, but its conservative views held firm. People turning a blind eye to our theoretical age gap was near revolutionary. The country’s recent legalization of same-sex activity was seismic.

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