Ethan woke alone. Blinking around Clay’s room, memories turned on in his mind like light switches—flick, flick, flick, flick. Joy and lust whipped through him, his morning wood eager for attention. The skin of his belly was tight with crusted jizz—whose, he wasn’t sure. He scratched at it with a fingernail, grinning to himself.
He and Clay had kissed and kissed and kissed some more. They’d rubbed against each other, touching all over, and Clay had gotten off again. He’d seemed absolutely dazed with pleasure, and they’d finally fallen asleep curled up together, fidgeting and laughing before drifting off with Ethan as the little spoon.
They’d only just met, yet Ethan had felt so safe and warm in his arms. A little hot, actually, but he hadn’t wanted to do anything to push Clay away—anything that might have been misconstrued. Although Clay was gone now, that side of the bed cool.
A knot circled Ethan’s intestines and pulled tight. In the cold light of day—the yellow light of dawn shining through the gap in the curtains—would Clay regret it? Have the freak-out Ethan had been afraid of? Maybe the spell was broken, and he was sorry he’d ever asked Ethan to stay. Even though he’d been the one to invite him! It wasn’t like Ethan had angled for an invite.
And Clay was the one who’d asked him about kissing. Ethan hadn’t hit on him! He’d made sure over and over that Clay was consenting and was into it, and boy, had he been into it. So if he was freaking out now, that was on him.
It was fine. Ethan had barely even unpacked. He stared at his suitcases in the corner of the room. Clay had gone to get them last night so Ethan could brush his teeth and get whatever he needed, although he’d ended up sleeping naked anyway, same as Clay.
But if Clay wanted him gone, it would only take a few minutes. Maybe he should just go now and not wait for Clay to throw him out.
Stop freaking out when you haven’t even talked to him! Maybe—
He stared at Clay, who’d appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. He wore shorts, flip-flops, and a black tank top that showed off his freckled arms and shoulders, a tuft of dark copper hair peeking out on his chest. For a frozen heartbeat that stretched out, their eyes met.
Then a smile brightened Clay’s face, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling, and relief flooded Ethan. Clay hadn’t run away, and he was positively beaming. Knowing what a massive leap Clay had taken the night before—and how scary it must have been—to see him the morning after looking so peaceful and satisfied, not panicked and denying what they’d shared, Ethan was so fucking proud of him.
Clay said something, and from reading his lips, Ethan thought it was possibly “G’day.”
He replied, “Good morning!” and realized from Clay’s little wince that he was shouting. “Sorry. Let me get my hearing aids in.” Still under the thin comforter, he stretched over for one, sitting up and putting it in, cringing at how sore his inner ear was. He’d worn his hearing aids much later than usual, determined to hear as many of Clay’s gasps and moans as possible.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Clay hold up a hand, then gaze around the room. He hurried to his little suitcase and put it on its back to unzip. After rooting around, he came back with a pad of paper and pen. He flipped pages and wrote before handing the pad to Ethan.
It looks like it hurts? No need to put them in yet if you don’t want to. I’m going to Macca’s. What do you fancy?
Along with the flush of pleasure that Clay was concerned about his discomfort—Michael had often gotten annoyed and impatient when Ethan shouted without realizing—Ethan puzzled over what “Macca’s” might be. A coffee place? Cafe? Seemed likely it was to do with breakfast. Trying to modulate the volume, he asked, “What do they have there?”
Clay’s brow creased and he came to sit on the side of the bed and write on the pad again.
Reckon it’s the same things they have in America. Egg McMuffins and such.
“Oh! McDonald’s. Got it.” They laughed, and Ethan wrote:
Bacon and egg McMuffin and a hash brown, please.
Clay responded: Coffee black?
Ethan hesitated, remembering that morning on Mission Beach, when he’d said he liked it black because he hadn’t wanted to seem fussy since Clay was being so sweet to share with him. It had been a silly little white lie, but now he felt stupidly trapped in it, anxiety rising, his shoulders going tight. Frowning, Clay gave him a quizzical look.
Face going hot, Ethan scribbled:
Actually, I usually take a cream and half a sugar. When we were on the beach, I didn’t want to seem… I don’t know, ungrateful or something. So I just said I like it black.
Clay read the note, his brow furrowed even more. He gave Ethan a confused smile and wrote:
Mate, you can have your coffee however you like.
Ethan tried not to shout. “It’s not like I can’t drink it black!” It was such a dumb thing, but he felt so self-conscious and wound up that he’d fibbed in the first place. Will Clay think I’m a liar? Will he think this is something I do all the time? Maybe he won’t trust me. Maybe—
Clay had written another note as Ethan’s mind had spun:
I’ll bring the sugar packet back so you can get it just the way you like.
He’d drawn a little smiley face after that sentence, and Ethan could only pull him near for a long, hard kiss. Clay’s beard scratched pleasantly. Part of Ethan wanted to yank him closer and forget breakfast, but his stomach disagreed. Clay pulled back, running the tips of his blunt fingers over Ethan’s sensitive cheek, which Ethan suspected was red with beard burn.
He gave Clay a smile and wave as he left. Ethan knew he wound himself up over nothing sometimes, but at least Clay didn’t seem to mind. Ethan was still holding the notepad, which had used pages bent back over the top. He peeled them back, realizing with a shot of adrenaline and delight that this was the notepad from Fraser Island. That Clay had actually kept it, and it hadn’t gone in the trash along with their pizza-stained napkins and empty beer bottles.
Clay had kept it.
Ethan re-read their conversation from that night, laughing in places and grinning to himself. Clay was his very favorite person in the whole world. Yes, Ethan recognized that Clay was a relative stranger, and that this was likely the glow of infatuation, and he had to be realistic about what was happening between them. It was a vacation fling. Clay experimenting with his sexuality. A rebound for Ethan after having his heart broken. Just temporary.
He duly noted each warning, yet his heart sang.
In the bathroom, Ethan cleaned up and pulled on his gray boxer-briefs—and discovered with delight that his chin and cheeks were indeed faint red with beard burn. He padded into the kitchen, scratching his chest and yawning, the tile worn and warm under his feet. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge.
As he ran the tap to refill the Brita, he heard a dull thud. Was it the front door already? It hadn’t taken Clay long at all. Ethan turned off the water and turned—to find a young woman standing in the kitchen archway and a mid-sized shaggy dog bounding toward him.
Gripping the plastic handle of the pitcher, he stood frozen as a thunderous expression darkened Samantha’s round face.
Oh fuck. Fuuuuuuuuck!
She wore capri pants and flip-flops, a white tank top showing off her golden tan, blond waves falling around her freckled shoulders. Gilly was nudging him, looking for pets and attention, tongue wagging, but before Ethan could do or say anything, he heard the faint murmur of Samantha’s words as she spat out a furious tirade, fists clenched at her sides, speaking far too quickly to read her lips.
Ethan’s heart pounded as he stood there holding the pitcher like some kind of shield. She’d called Gilly back to her, and the dog could clearly sense something was wrong, barking now and taking a protective stance in front of her.
Samantha stopped talking, watching Ethan with raised eyebrows. This was the part where he was supposed to say something, but his throat was bone dry, and all he could do was sputter. She stared at him. Her next words he could read clearly since random people had asked him the same question over the years.
“Are you fucking deaf?”
With a jolt, he nodded and hoped he wasn’t shouting. “Yes. I just—I need my hearing aids. I’ll get dressed and…” He put the pitcher on the counter, feeling even more exposed and ridiculous standing there in Samantha Kelly’s kitchen in his underwear. Belatedly, he added, “I know your dad. I didn’t break in or anything.”
She was still clearly pissed, face creased and nostrils flaring, shaking her head in apparent confusion. And since she was blocking the only way out of the kitchen, he had to approach. She jerked back, fists clenching again and eyes narrowed. Gilly’s barking sounded like muffled claps, sharp and confused.
“I swear, I’m a friend of your dad’s.” He raised his hands and pointed to his ears. “I need to get my hearing aids. I can’t understand you otherwise. Okay?”
Warily, she backed up into the short hall to the foyer, and he scurried away from her down the other hall to the bedrooms. Yanking on his jeans and a tee, he took shallow breaths, his heart thudding dully. He put in his hearing aids and turned them on, ignoring the soreness in his ears, then hurried back out. Skidding to a stop, he stared.
Samantha stood at the junction of the hallways with her phone in hand and Gilly by her feet, agitated but mercifully not barking. She gave him a steely look. “Can you hear me now?”
Ethan nodded, swallowing hard.
“I’ve only got one more number to press before I tell the police to come around.” She backed up. “Now get out here and start talking.”
Ethan did as he was told, and they faced off in the foyer next to the living room. The front door was open behind her. She said, “Mumble fuck are you and where’s my dad? What are you mumble mumble.”
“I’m Ethan Robinson. He went to get breakfast.” Those questions were easy enough. He didn’t want to lie about why he was there, but it didn’t feel right outing Clay to his daughter either. He guessed at what her last question was. “I, um, needed a place to stay, and your dad was helping me out. I’m visiting from the States. He was the driver on the tour I just took.” Those parts were true as well.
“You’re crashing on our couch?”
Ethan grabbed for the explanation like a life raft. “Right, exactly. My Airbnb canceled at the last minute and he was doing me a favor. I’m so sorry to frighten you. He wasn’t expecting you back yet? He said you were down the coast? Have you ever been to the Great Ocean Road? It looks so beautiful there. I’ve always wanted to go. See the Twelve Apostles and everything. Although I heard there are fewer now because of erosion and there were never actually twelve to begin with?” Stop fucking talking.
She stared at him, her face still creased in confusion, but perhaps less fury now? It was hard to say. When she spoke, her tone was definitely calmer. “If you’re sleeping on the couch, why were your clothes and stuff in my dad’s room?” She glanced into the living room to her left. “And why isn’t there a blanket and pillow out here?”
“I… Uh…” Shit, shit, FUCKBALLS.
“What the fuck is going on?” She shook her head, stiffening with another bolt of anger, her jaw clenching. “Did you do something to my dad? I’m calling the cops.” Gilly started barking, and Ethan cringed at the loudness.
“No, please don’t!” He held out his hands. “I didn’t do anything to your dad! I’m telling the truth.” Or at least part of it. “He’ll be back any minute. He went to McDonald’s.”
And thank fuck, Clay appeared on the little stone walkway leading to the house from the sidewalk. He jogged the last few steps and filled the open doorway, holding a paper bag in one hand and a cardboard tray with two coffees in the other. His smile froze on his face. “Sam? What are you doing here?” Gilly raced forward, tongue wagging as he butted against Clay’s legs.
“Dad, what the fuck’s going on?” She pointed at Ethan, her finger jabbing the air. “Who is this?”
Clay’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wide as he looked between Ethan and his daughter. “He’s…” Clay opened and closed his mouth like a fish on a hook, Gilly circling him and rubbing against his legs.
Sam huffed. “What’s the big secret?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she blinked. “Wait…” She shook her head again, closing her eyes briefly and raising her hands. “You’re not…” She laughed hesitantly.
Ethan held his breath, afraid to move a muscle as Sam glanced between Ethan and Clay as if she was watching a tennis match. It was her turn to open and close her mouth, the words apparently not coming, her brain clearly working a mile a minute as it processed the evidence.
Gilly whined and barked, and Sam impatiently grabbed his collar and shepherded him to the back door and out into the little yard, closing the door behind her as she came back in, the continued barking mercifully muffled now.
Sam looked between Ethan and Clay again dubiously and said something Ethan couldn’t make out.
Clay cleared his throat. “Well, we met on the last tour down the coast. Struck up a friendship. You’re always saying I need more mates.”
“Uh-huh.” She laughed nervously. Incredulously. “Dad, is this… Are you… Mumble mumble?”
Still gripping the takeout, Clay stood there unmoving and eyes wide. Ethan’s heart pounded, and he wanted to ask Sam to repeat herself, but decided staying silent was the wiser course of action. He assumed she’d asked if they were fucking given Clay’s ashen face, the normal ruddiness drained away.
Then Clay barked out a laugh. “No! Bloody hell, what kind of crazy idea is that? He needed a place to sleep. That’s all. You know I’m not—” He broke off, laughing dismissively, as if he couldn’t imagine anything more ridiculous.
Even though Ethan knew Clay was terrified and in shock facing his daughter, that he was still trying to process what was happening, that he still needed to come to terms with his feelings and his very identity and was so not ready for this—the denial hurt. It cut deeper than it had any right to.
And Clay had to know it, his wild gaze cutting to Ethan. He opened his mouth again, then closed it.
“I should go,” Ethan said, dropping his head, his words sounding distant, chest hollow and limbs feeling strangely light, like they weren’t really attached anymore. He took a couple steps, but Clay was blocking the main hallway. And shit, Ethan needed his stuff, but in that moment he just wanted to escape before he started crying like a pathetic loser.
Still holding the McDonald’s bag and drink tray, Clay stepped aside, but then moved back. “No!” Ethan lifted his head to meet Clay’s sorrowful gaze. Clay shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He looked to his daughter, and Ethan backed up a pace and turned to face her too. Taking a deep breath, Clay simply nodded at her, his expression achingly vulnerable.
Samantha stared at them, her brow furrowing. “Dad, what the…? You and this guy?”
Clay nodded again. “Fair dinkum.”
“Well, fuck me sideways!” Her eyebrows practically disappeared into her golden hairline. She said something else Ethan didn’t get over Gilly’s sudden barking beyond the door.
“I’m sorry,” Clay croaked, and Ethan choked down another swell of hurt. He didn’t want Clay to be sorry, even though he knew he shouldn’t take it personally.
The silence stretched out, broken only by Gilly’s demands to be let back in.
Should I leave after all? Will I make it worse by leaving? Or worse by staying? Why aren’t they saying anything else?
Ethan blurted, “Sorry. I should probably just…go?” Sam and Clay tore their gaze away each other and focused on him.
Sam put her hands on her hips, words flying. “Mumble mumble, fuck mumble?”
He’d only picked up the “fuck” from the familiar shape her lips made. “Um, sorry. I didn’t catch all that. If you could speak more slowly, please? It’s a huge pain repeating yourself over and over, I know.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” Clay said, his voice low and clear, sending a shiver of warmth down Ethan’s spine despite everything.
Sam blew out a deep breath and spoke more calmly. “Can you hear me now?” At Ethan’s nod, she went on, articulating her words carefully as if speaking to a toddler. “I said, if you and my dad are shagging, why the fuck are you running out on him? Are you spineless or what?”
“Oi!” Clay disappeared for a moment into the living room, then came back without the bag and drinks, standing next to Ethan now. “He’s not spineless, and he’s not stupid, either. You can talk clearly without treating him like he’s slow. He’s damn well not.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, her jaw tight. After another deep breath, she said, “Sorry. This is all just…” She waved her hands. “Not what I was expecting this morning.”
Clay’s indignation evaporated, the guilty lines on his face deepening. “I’m sorry, love. I know it must be a real shock.” He dropped his head and said something else Ethan didn’t pick up.
“Disappointment? No.” Sam shook her head incredulously. “I’ll tell you it’s definitely a shock.” She rubbed her face. “Trying to wrap my head around it. Been a long night, and I didn’t see this coming.”
Clay nodded, and Ethan kept quiet, darting his gaze between them.
Sam shook her head again. “You’re a real dark horse, aren’t you? Thought I knew you inside and out. Yeah, I’m surprised. I’m not disappointed, and you don’t have to be sorry. I just wish you’d’ve told me. I would have stopped nagging you to find a new woman if I’d known it was a bloke you were after. Saved us both a lot of strife.”
A laugh bubbled up out of Ethan, coming out in a nervous rush before he could clamp down on it. Sam and Clay stared at him, and then at each other. Matching grins creased their faces, and it was like a wave breaking on the sand as they laughed too, uncertain and ragged.
“Well. I reckon we’ve got a few things to chat about.” Sam turned to Ethan and stuck out her hand. “I’m Samantha Kelly, but everyone calls me Sam. Except my mum when she’s aggro.”
“Hi. Ethan Robinson.” He shook her hand. Unsurprisingly, her grip was firm. “It’s great to meet you.”
“It’s blowing my mind to meet you.” Her phone was still in her hand, and it rang, making her jump. “Let me just…” She swiped to answer. “Hi. Yep, I’m on my way. The doc fit you in? All right.” There were a few moments of silence. “Babe, it’ll be fine.” She rolled her eyes at Clay and turned and walked a few steps, the rest of her words a mess to Ethan.
When she hung up, she turned around. “Jase took a fall last night and knocked out his front tooth. Wasn’t even on his bike, the wally. I had to wait until I sobered up to drive back to the city for a dentist with emergency service. Going to cost a fortune, but hopefully Jase’s insurance mumble mumble. He’s been whinging nonstop.” She winced. “He did bang up his mouth on a rock pretty good, to be fair. Mumble. I just came home after I dropped him to get Gilly fed.”
Apparently Gilly heard this, because he started barking enthusiastically beyond the door. Ethan’s shoulders crept up, and he fiddled with his hearing aids. Clay touched his arm briefly—for barely a nanosecond—and nodded toward the living room, away from the barking.
Sam followed. “I’ll be back mumble, assuming the patient’s bucked up.” Ethan thought maybe she’d said “this arvo.” She gave Ethan a hesitant smile, and then walked a few steps to Clay, throwing her arms around his neck. She was petite, and Clay hugged her back, lifting her clean off her feet.
Which was incredibly sexy, but Ethan shut down the train of thought about how strong and protective Clay was. How tender and—
Focus, for fuck’s sake.
Sam said something to Clay that Ethan didn’t hear, and then turned to go. She spun back around and glared at the McDonald’s takeout sitting on the coffee table. She shook her head at Clay with clear disapproval before giving Ethan an awkward wave and leaving.
Now it was Ethan and Clay alone again, but in a whole new world. Ethan was terrified to ask, but there was nothing else to do.
“What happens now?”
