Page 14 of Brushed and Buried
Trevor is already shirtless, drink in hand, pretending he isn’t hungover. His accent comes out thicker when he’s relaxed, sharp Australian vowels smacking around his words like he’s trying to chew them. “Mate, I told you. This is the life. Sun, sand, booze. Can’t beat it.” He stretches out like he owns the whole beach.
Becca, his fiancée, is next to him, equally charismatic. She is half-Black with wild curls pulled into a scarf and sunglasses that probably cost more than my monthly rent. She has the same mischievous energy as Trevor, which makes sense. No way those two could’ve ended up together without being magnetic forces of chaos.
“True,” Becca says, nudging him. “But for me, the best part so far isn’t the beach or the booze. It’s Holly teaching us how to lap dance last night.”
Bridesmaids erupt in squeals. Dinah, the maid of honor and striking brunette with perfectly manicured nails that catch the light, claps her hands together. Stephanie giggles from behind oversized sunglasses, while Claire fans herself dramatically with a resort menu. Holly, lounging like a sun goddess in a lemon-yellow bikini, raises her cocktail. She is every inch the L.A. cutie with her blonde bob, heart-shaped face, bright as neon even without makeup. We met at a life drawing class years ago; she was modeling for cash between auditions, and I was sketching, always chasing the spark that might turn into something more. Both of us were restless and stretched thin. We ended up as roommates less out of choice than necessity; we are two artists hustling in different ways. She pursues acting gigs that never call back, and I grasp at whatever scraps of vision I can from my sketchbook, with half-finished figures, restless lines, and half-formed ideas that stay trapped on the page.
“And you guys,” Becca adds, pointing at Holly and me with a sly smirk, “are the best accidental screw-ups we decided to roll with.”
Laughter ripples through the group like waves hitting shore, and my ears burn.
Trevor leans forward, flashing a wide smile. “Yeah, mate, you taught us a few things too.”
I lift my hands, palms out. “I just showed you the basics.”
“Basics?” Lance cuts in, lounging on his elbows like a frat boy prince. “Please. Your basics were at an advanced level. No wonder I got handsy.”
George barks a laugh. “Handsy? You were drunk and horny. You did a hell of a lot more than that.”
Lance waves him off, but there’s a flicker of honesty under the expression. “Yeah, well…it was educational. There’s still so much I don’t know.”
The comment hangs in the air for a beat, heavier than his usual joking tone.
“Nothing wrong with exploring at any age,” George says, voice surprisingly gentle. “Navy taught me that. You spend months at sea with the same guys, and boundaries start to get flexible. I had a buddy, a really good friend, and some lines got crossed with one of the guys more than once.” He shrugs and takes a long pull from his drink.
Trevor shifts on his towel, and I notice some curiosity in his expression, or maybe relief. “Yeah, I get that. I’ve thought aboutsome stuff like that once in a while…” He trails off, glancing at Becca, clearly just teasing her.
Becca quirks an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m marrying you for better or worse, not for boring.” She pauses, then adds with a wicked smile. “Just don’t cancel the wedding to run off with Adrian.”
Everyone bursts out laughing, but there’s an undercurrent of something real in the exchange, as if their boundaries aren’t where most couples put them.
I bury my face in my drink. “Great. Now I’m educational and a homewrecker.”
Trevor’s smile widens. “Could’ve fooled me. You were giving a whole masterclass.”
I shoot him a look over the rim of my glass. “Yeah, well, someone had to show you straight boys that foreplay isn’t just stretching before the main event.”
Holly leans forward, smirking. “And he’s really good at showing things.” She gestures with her drink, expression glittering. “Picture this. We’re out with my girlfriends, Adrian’s plastered on tequila, and we dared him to dance. And he did. It wasn’t just a little sway, either. Full tease, shirt off, hips rolling, grinding on my friend’s chair like he’d been training for it his whole life. He worked her over until she nearly slid onto the floor. He doesn’t even remember all of it, but the girls sure as hell did. They were feral.”
“Feral?” Lance blurts, almost choking on his Bloody Mary.
“Absolutely feral,” Holly confirms. “They’ve been begging for him ever since. I told them he wasn’t into women, but they didn’t care. They just wanted that fantasy again, some hot-as-fuck dude with abs giving them a private show while they screamed themselves hoarse.” She lets that sink in for a beat. “So I told him, ‘You’ve got a gift, and gifts like that don’t come around twice. Let me hook you up with a couple of gigs and see how you do.’ And just like that, Adrian the Stripper was born.”
“Okay, correction,” I mutter. “Temporary side hustle. And I don’t…do extras.” The words slip out before I can stop them, gaze skimming the resort like Vince might be close enough to hear.
Holly tilts her head, smirking over the rim of her sunglasses. “Yeah, he’s not the sleep-around type. Though he’ll make it look like that’s exactly where the night’s heading.”
They all turn to stare at me then, like they’re waiting for a confession I’m not about to give.
Finally, Trevor hums low, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, you got all of us worked up, mate. Are you sure you’re not a professional seducer?”
“It’s all an act,” I say quickly. “That’s the point. I do my job. You get hot.”
Lance leans over, wagging his eyebrows. “Yeah, but the way you move? Dude, it’s criminal. You had us going!”
George shoots Lance a side-eye. “You also swore you’re straight. So what’s the ‘educational material for research’ thing,then? Not to mention last night’s little hands-on anatomy lesson.”
“Yes! Research!” Lance protests. “I had this patient…”
