Page 9 of Love On Deck
The two of them chatter on during the intermission, and it’s a different pair of people from the snipey siblings at breakfast this morning. Will and Andrew barely get a word in edgewise. Andrew’s fine with it, because he can watch Connor without making him uncomfortable or have to explain why. Connor’s not quite as at ease as he was in the bar last night, but it’s closer, and it’s a treat to have him smile so freely and see his eyes light up when he talks about baseball. He clearly loves his career.
Will, Casey, and Andrew drink alcohol. Connor doesn’t. So the Mimosa sans champagne this morning wasn’t a morning-after hangover thing. Connor not drinking shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t—not like that. It’s just interesting that a young, arresting-looking professional athlete appears to be a teetotaler, and the fact amps up Andrew’s attraction even more.
The show finally ends and they make their way out of the theater. Will has his arm around Casey’s shoulder and hers is around Will’s waist. Connor follows his sister, and Andrew follows Connor, eyes glued to the glorious sight in front of him. Connor’s hands are shoved in his pockets raising the hem of the jacket and causing his fitted suit pants to mold to his ass. Andrew’s grateful that his own suit coat covers his groin and that his slacks aren’t as tight fitting as Connor’s. His desire is on display for anyone who’s paying attention, and he wants nothing more than to grind his hard-on into that delectable backside.
“We’re going to stroll on the deck before turning in,” Casey says when they stop in the lobby. “Would either of you like to join us?”
Andrew grins and shakes his head. “I’ll leave you love birds to it. I think I’ll go exploring,” he says, waggling his brows.
“Be safe, man,” says Will, and the two of them hug.
“I said exploring, not spelunking.”
“I know what you said, and I know what you meant.”
Casey’s eyes widen and color inches up her cheeks. The smallest hint of a smile plays on her lips. “Night, Andrew.”
Andrew winks at her. “Night, Casey,” he says and turns toward the stairs. He lifts a hand toward Connor as he departs.
* * *
“What about you, Connor?” asks Casey.
Connor looks from Casey to Will and back. “What about me what? Stroll on the deck?”
Casey nods.
Connor’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, curious. He’s gotten minimal texts since they left Galveston even though he activated the ship’s Wi-Fi service.
Andrew.Want to get a drink?
Connor’s stomach does afouettéor a dozen, but he doesn’t look around, just raises an eyebrow.
“Something wrong?” Casey asks.
He smiles and shoves the phone back in his pocket. “No, just a usage notification. I might have to get online with my carrier tomorrow. As for tonight, I think I’m going to swim or run. I’ve been sitting way too long.” He steps in and kisses Casey. “I had fun. Love you.”
He hurries to the bank of elevators and pulls out his phone. With a swipe of a finger, he reveals the number pad. He should politely decline the invitation considering he doesn’t even drink. Being in Andrew’s company without Casey and Will acting as unknowing chaperones is asking for trouble.
The elevator opens and he steps inside. He’s going to swim. With one hand, he opens his phone and sends his message:I don’t drink.
The texting bubble appears immediately and the message appears a mere moment later.I know. Same bar?
Hmm.
He shouldn’t. He so, so shouldn’t. He’s antsy. He needs to swim. Or have really amazing sex again. But no. Sex with Andrew is asking for trouble. Explaining in person is the least he can do though, right?
Pool. Lido deck. Middle of the boat.
It takes a good forty-five minutes to get to his cabin, put on his swim trunks, and arrive at the pool. More people are still swimming than he expected, considering it’s close to eleven. He finds a small locker and tosses his wallet inside. He debates holding on to his cell until Andrew shows up on the off chance Andrew needs to contact him for some reason.
“Connor, hey.”
Well, that answers that, and Connor tosses his phone inside and cocks his head toward the locker. Andrew sets his own wallet and phone inside, and Connor closes the door and pockets the key. It feels couple-y, and a wistfulness pangs inside of him. There are out gay athletes in sports in general. A couple of retired baseball players have come out. Only one active player in baseball’s minor league has come out that he knows of, but apparently everyone in the major leagues is straight. Ha. If he came out, his baseball career could get gridlocked at best; at worst, he could be run out of the sport on a rail. That’s not even the problem. He’s made enough money and good investments and is set financially for at least a few years. His B.A. in history could be pressed into service if necessary. But until he finds the cojones to tell Casey he’s gay, he’s stuck in the closet.
A murmured “hot damn” reaches his ears. He turns to find Andrew inspecting his…ink. Yeah, he’s going with that for the moment. The admiring look is appreciated, and heat blooms very low in his stomach. He’s rarely in a safe circumstance to be checked out by gay men and acknowledge their attention or to do anything about someone’s interest in return.
Andrew’s blue eyes are more pupil than iris and Connor has no idea if it’s because of the darkness or something else entirely. His shoulders are wide, his waist is trim, and his legs are long. Miles of soft skin—he knows it’s soft, because he was plastered against it less than twenty-four hours ago—cover Andrew’s hard planes and rounded muscles. More than anything, he wants to take Andrew back to his cabin and have more smokin’ hot sex with him.
