Page 11 of Starfish and Coffee
Matt was already working on moving everything from the broken fridge to the good one, so he didn’t bother to answer. He was just second-guessing this whole idea of trying to pull off this job when Alex let out a broken, pained laugh at the series of unfortunate events that had unfolded in the span of a few hours.
“I’m partying later. I deserve it.” Alex announced with grim determination. “You do too, ’cause you haven’t complained once, and if I had your money, I would’ve quit ten minutes in. You wanna party tonight, Tarrington?”
Matt paused in the rush to save the food and turned to look at Alex in surprise. They’d passed each other on the beach while partying with their separate groups of friends, but they’d never been to the same party. Deciding he didn’t have anything better to do, he shrugged and said, “Sure.”
“Well, okay.” Alex grinned and turned around to the flattop, seeming to have a renewed sense of energy at the promise of a party after their shift. He was quiet and focused for a few minutes as he worked through several tickets, then said in a low voice, as if talking to himself, “Now all I gotta do is make a party.”
Chapter Four
“Okay, tell me the truth, Tarrington.” Alex looked at Matt across the portable picnic table they’d planted in the sand. Moonlight danced in Matt’s short black hair and reflected in his light eyes glazed from too much alcohol. With the sharp air of general uptightness that clung to the former college boy eliminated by the night’s festivities, it made him look better than ever. Alex was one tequila shot away from crawling across the table and molesting him. Instead he asked, “Why the fuck are you working at Frank’s?”
Matt laughed and took another drink of his beer as he looked away. “Just something to do.”
“Bullshit.” Alex snorted. “You got tons of shit to do. Play golf. Get tan. Count your money. Get pedicures.”
“Fuck you, Hunter!”
“You’ve gotten a fucking pedicure.” Alex cackled. “Put your foot up here. Prove me wrong. I know you got a clear coat on those pretty toes of yours.”
Matt flipped him off instead. Alex thought that was funny as shit because he suspected Matt did actually get pedicures. He couldn’t stop laughing.
“Admit it!” Alex demanded, determined now that he suspected the truth. “You pay to go and have some cute girl worship your feet. It’s okay. I’m not judging you. You can tell me.”
“I don’t get my toenails painted.” Matt finally shrugged. “But I may have gotten a pedicure before. It’s not as bad as it sounds. They’re unisex.”
Alex howled. He fell off the bench and landed on his back in the sand. He was so fucking drunk the stars were spinning, reminding him of a club in South Beach or Key West with half-dressed, beautiful men rubbing against him to the hypnotic thump of music. God, he could handle arealparty right now, not this mock-up of old high-school buddies he’d thrown together just for the excuse to get Matt Tarrington lit.
A volleyball suddenly whizzed past him, and Alex caught it on instinct. He tucked it under his arm rather than toss it back.
“Are you stoned?” Brandon asked as he ran up to Alex, sweaty and breathless from a game of moonlight beach volleyball.
Alex was drunk off his ass, but not stoned. Pot made him horny as hell, and that was the last thing he needed in Mirabella where his only glimmer of hope for sex was a straight, rich boy whose gayest tendency was getting a pedicure, which, Alex had to admit, was pretty fucking gay—maybe there was hope after all.
“No, I’m playing.” Alex got to his feet. He shook the sand out of his hair and then tossed Brandon the ball to pull off his shirt. “You coming, Tarrington?”
“Sure.” Matt surprised him by standing up in agreement and tugging his shirt over his head. “Whose team am I on?”
“You can be on my team,” Alex said distantly, eyeing Matt’s bare chest and knowing he was being blatantly obvious.
Matt was broad and muscular. His skin was smooth and tan, with a thin trail of black hair leading beneath the waistband of his shorts. Alex’s gaze followed it hungrily as his cock started to get hard as if this really was a club in Key West, instead of a usual Saturday get together.
“You sure you’re not stoned?” Brandon asked. “You’re spaced the fuck out tonight.”
“I had a shit day.” Alex took the volleyball back and walked over to the net. Seeing the other players, he announced. “Holly, you’re on my team with Tarrington. Brandon, you get Daryl and George.”
“I wasn’t hitting on her,” Brandon said nervously. “She got bored cheerleading with the other girls, but she didn’t want to play with Daryl so I offered to team up with her and—”
“Whatever, man.” Alex was a little too drunk and turned on to pretend he cared who Holly was playing volleyball with. He looked to Matt and asked, “Do you know how to play volleyball?”
Matt smiled confidently, showing even white teeth in the semidarkness. “A lot better than I know how to make toast.”
“Looking good, snowbirdie,” Holly said to Matt as she came bouncing over to their side of the net. She gave Alex a wide, teasing smile. “This should be an interesting game.”
Alex shrugged, refusing to rise to her bait, because it was obvious Holly was drunk too. “He says he knows how to play.”
“I’m sure he does.” Holly wagged her eyebrows and turned back to inspect Matt once more. “He’s certainly fit enough.”
Alex studied Matt, who seemed perfectly comfortable with Holly’s teasing, which wasn’t surprising. A guy that ripped and good-looking probably had a different woman in his bed every night.
