Page 12 of Starfish and Coffee
“It sounds like your girl’s hitting on the trust-fund baby,” Daryl called from the other side of the net.
Annoyed and oddly jealous but not for the reasons his friends suspected, Alex turned and served the ball without warning, just to watch the other team dive for it.
Surprisingly, George hit the serve and sent it back over the net despite the sneak attack from Alex. Unprepared for the game to actually start, they would’ve lost the first point if Matt hadn’t run up, jumped, and spiked the ball as if his life depended on winning this three-on-three drunken game of volleyball.
Daryl cursed and skidded in the sand in an attempt to save it, but missed anyway. Holly jumped up and shouted in triumph. So did Sara and Melissa, who were cheering from their position in front of the beach fire. Alex turned to give Matt a look of shock, because he’d been drinking as much as the rest of them. That move was impressive sober. After six beers it was awe-inspiring.
Matt shrugged when he caught Alex gaping at him. “I’m competitive.”
“We noticed!” Holly pulled at her ponytail, tugging her long hair to tighten it. “We’re gonna win.”
“Yeah, we are,” Alex agreed.
Then Alex ran up and intercepted the ball midair when George sent it back at them, obviously using their distraction to his advantage. Alex slammed his fist against it and sent it back over the net. It crashed into the sand in a way that was every bit as impressive as Matt’s bold move. His competitiveness was obviously motivating.
Matt whooped and slammed his hands against Alex’s while the other team scrambled for the ball as it rolled toward the fire. It was a strange moment, sharing high fives with Matt and feeling the wonderful thrill of camaraderie that came from having a teammate he could trust without an ounce of doubt.
For the first time, something strange occurred to Alex. He didn’t just want to fuck the shit out of Matt Tarrington—he wanted to be his friend.
* * * *
“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Alex chanted three hours later. “Why, why, why the hell are you working at Frank’s?”
Matt laughed and took a drink out of the bottle of whiskey they’d started sharing when the beer had run out. The two of them sat side-by-side near the fire that simmered down to the crackle of dying embers dancing over the glowing logs. Sea breeze and burned wood scented the air. Classic rock played from the small portable radio they’d brought.
This was Alex’s favorite part of a beach party, the lazy buzz that came as everything started winding down in the early-morning hours. Where only a few of them had survived to the end, and the last ones left were drunk enough to crash on the sand and sleep there until the tourists found them passed out in the morning.
Holly and Melissa were dancing in that free-spirited, carefree way that came from moving to music in the moonlight after drinking all night.
George and Sara had taken off to go fuck somewhere down the beach.
Brandon and Daryl had left an hour ago, claiming they had to work in the morning. Alex did too, but he was officially too drunk and too turned on to care about having to be at work in a couple of hours.
Matt looked away from the girls dancing and asked, “You really wanna know why I’m working at Frank’s?”
“Yes.” Alex gave him a look. “I’m fucking dying to know.”
Matt arched an eyebrow. “Even if it makes me sound like an asshole?”
“All you trust-fund babies are assholes,” Alex said dismissively. “It’s the first thing your parents teach you, how to be an asshole to the little people. That’s what keeps you ahead—knowing how to step on folks to get what you want.”
“Nice to know you don’t buy into stereotypes.” Matt snorted. “I suppose all you locals are lazy beach bums who work all day in some shit job just to have enough extra cash to party all night.”
“You just summed up my life, man,” Alex admitted proudly as he fell back against the beach mat.
“You don’t want more than this?”
“What more is there?” Alex asked in an awed voice as he stared up at the stars. “I live on the beach all year long. I go to Key West a few weekends a month to fish. I got my friends to party with. My brother to split the bills with. No stress. No worries. It doesn’t get better than this.”
Matt was silent for a long moment before he sighed. “Yeah, when you put it like that your life does sound pretty good. You’ll probably live thirty years longer than me, Hunter, because I gotta fuckload of stress, and I haven’t even started my real job yet.”
“What is your real job? What’re you gonna do once you’re done with your internship at Frank’s café?”
“I’m supposed to help out my uncle.”
“What does your uncle do?”
“He’s CEO.”
