Page 28 of The Idiot

Murphy

Blowing out a breath, I take in the sight of myself in my cabin’s wall mirror, then check the cruise program for the dozenth time since boarding. Yup.Harness Night—Meet & Greet Mixer. That’s certainly one way to make a first impression.

Scratching at the hair on my bare chest for all to see, I wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. All of my dalliances have been in dark clubs. At night. Then in darkened hotel rooms, where one of us slipped out after our needs were fulfilled. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, but there’s no escaping anyone on this ship. I’ll be running into the same people for almost two weeks. I know that was the point, but maybe I didn’t give Jesse’s intuition enough credit. I think Iamnervous.

I’ve never really tried with a guy before. Like,really triedpast getting one in bed for the night. Apparently, I know why now, but thinking about why isn’t going to help me muster the confidence I need to act like a single man who’s available and looking for a soulmate.

Soulmate. What a joke. Is there even such a thing?

The scratching at my chest turns into a rub over my heart, but it does little to alleviate the ache there. Didn’t I think about Jesse enough on the drive to the airport? On the plane?

The time he occupies my thoughts is quickly becoming a thing of dramatics. I thought maybe if I figured out the moment that I fell for him as more than a friend, I could somehow dissect the memory, alter it, and convince myself otherwise. Wrong on all counts.

It was senior year. I was lounging in the bleachers during gym class, waiting on my turn for our physical education test, when Jesse climbed up the rows and plopped down next to me. He didn’t just plop, though; he plopped and then dropped his head in my lap, sighing like my body was the most satisfying pillow he’d ever encountered.

I remember glancing around to see if anyone thought our proximity sent off a red flag or produced a giggle, but everyone was either zoned out in boredom or immune to Jesse’s behavior by then.

“I’m in love,” he said wistfully.

I think I knew instantly that he didn’t mean he was in love with me, but my stupid heart kicked like a mule in my chest hearing those words as he looked dreamily up at me. It was the first time I ever thought about love, and I realized he’d be the most likely candidate if I ever had feelings like that.

“With someone other than yourself?” I snarked, knowing I should shove him off my lap, but unable to move.

Snorting, he grinned at me. “No. With Marianne Gregor. She’s… everything.”

‘Everything.’ I never hated a word so much.

Shewaseverything—a new transfer student with energy that practically made her glow. She was perfect for Jesse. I cansay that now that I think back on it, but at the time, just the sight or mention of her annoyed the shit out of me, and I didn’t know why. I was too proud to admit it was jealousy, secretly trying to find fault in her.

She’d snared the life force that was Jesse and monopolized our time together. Someone else was suddenly making him laugh and smile like only I had previously done. I hated her, but moreover, I hated myself for being hateful.

I left for the Army that summer. They broke up three months later. My face heats remembering the ‘I told you so’sensations I felt when he called and told me.

By then, I’d discovered the wonderful world of fisting and frotting with a fellow soldier at my duty station. I don’t know how I didn’t see it, but all I knew was that I had Jesse back, yet a Jesse who had no clue about the things I’d done while I was away.

What the hell I thought I’d learn from unearthing that memory is beyond me. I’ve spent all afternoon contemplating alternate scenarios where I grabbed his face in my hands and told him,“No. I think you mean you’re in love with me.”

I’ve officially watched too many damn soap operas. Time to rip off the bandage.

Palming the door lever, I step out into the hallway and nearly run smack dab into a trio of laughing, black leather harness-clad men. Their potent masculine scents hit me like a tidal wave, reminding me where I am and why I came here.

“Oh, sorry about that,” the nearest one says.

“Nice harness,” another with a leather driving cap comments, throwing me a nod.

“Thanks. Um, the Meet and Greet?” I venture, glancing in the direction they were headed.

“It’s down on the lower deck,” the one with the cap informs me. “We had to run back to our rooms. People were just starting to show up, but I bet it’s filling up now. Follow us. I’m Tom.” He extends his hand.

I shake his firm warm grip, feeling breathless and treacherous all at once. He’s gay. I’m gay. Neither of us has to hide it or explain it. That’s what I wanted when I booked this trip.

“Kip,” the first one says with a wave.

“Deacon,” the third offers.

“Murphy. Nice to meet you.”

Following them is a meet and greet in itself. Tom and Deacon have gone full bore with the leather all the way down to their assless chaps. Tom leads the way, throwing me a grin over his shoulder. I’m wondering now if his offer of tour guide includes a subtle invitation.

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