LUKE
“Sure,” I say in a hoarse voice. This is obviously a great party but I feel so raw right now. Showing people that I care doesn’t come easily to me. I feel like my skin is peeled back, exposing things that have never seen the light of day.
Besides, it’s been way too long since I was alone with Keaton.
“Then right this way,” he says, gesturing inland, where I assume the house awaits.
I follow him up the path from the beach, and discover that the party is twice as large as I’d assumed. The beach path gives way to a manicured lawn and then a palatial pool area.
“Are those chairs in the pool?” I ask, trying to make sense of the layout.
Keaton chuckles. “That part of the pool is just four inches deep. The realtor called it a ‘sun shelf,’ whatever the fuck that is. But on a hot day it’s totally the place to be.”
Honestly, it looks like heaven. Barefoot guests are draped all over the six cushioned chaise lounges in the water. Drinks in hand, they are living the dream.
But it’s crowded here. Various partygoers stop Keaton and slap him on the back. “K3!” an older man says. “How’s college?”
“Great, Mr. Brown,” he says, giving the man the politest of brushoffs. He keeps moving. “I’d introduce you to everyone here,” he says quickly. “But I kind of want you to myself.”
“Noted,” I say. “Can’t say I’m in the mood to schmooze when I can get the private tour with you.”
This wins me a lingering glance from the shirtless hottie in the lobster shorts.
My impatience, coupled with the scope of the Hayworth’s spread, make the trip toward the house seem long. We pass a pool house, a covered pavilion with a bar area, a tent sheltering a DJ, and a hundred more people sipping tropical drinks.
“We used to have a little beach house, like normal rich people,” Keaton says as we skirt the edge of the crowd. “But then Dad traded up to this place when I was in high school.” He rolls his beautiful eyes. “This crazy pool. The private beach. Clay tennis courts.” He points toward the fenced-in courts. “Do you play?”
“Tennis? What do you think, Hayworth?”
He gives me a sly smile. “I think I like it when you surprise me, that’s all. And tennis would suit you, ’cause you’re quick on your feet.”
“Aw shucks,” I say in my usual cool manner. But the flattery hits me square in the chest. “Maybe you can teach me.”
“Yeah?” He lights up. “That would be so fun. The tennis pro that Mom has on call is good eye candy too, just saying.”
I laugh out loud. “Male or female?”
“Oh, it’s a dude. A dude in tight white shorts.”
“Does your mom know you think he’s hot?” I’m still trying to figure out Keaton’s family.
“Of course. We’ve had long discussions about his hotness, and how we don’t like to serve the ball into the net when he’s watching.” He leads me around to the front of the house.
And then finally we reach the house itself—a low-slung modern structure that looks like something you’d see on the cover of an architecture magazine. There’s a living room that can’t decide if it’s indoors or outdoors—it’s completely open on one side. But Keaton bypasses that to lead me around to the side, where there’s an ordinary screen door into the kitchen.
He holds the door open and I step into a ridiculously large kitchen that’s teeming with caterers. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Keaton hisses, taking my elbow and steering me through the madness. “It’s Grand Central Station in here.”
We exit the kitchen on the other side, stepping into a quiet space. It’s a grand hallway with art on the walls and a thick carpet underfoot.
We’re the only ones here. Finally. So I do what needs doing. I grab Keaton with two hands and back him up against the modern stone tiles on the wall. Then I lift a hand to his perfect scruffy chin and kiss him. Hard.
“Oflug,” he says against my lips. It takes him maybe three seconds to get over his surprise. And then two hands yank me closer.
Like I said, I’m not used to laying myself bare. But right this second I don’t have a choice. Keaton parts my lips with his tongue, and I moan the second I taste him. What was I ever thinking? I need this man. And even if being half a couple doesn’t come easily to me, I have to try. Nobody has ever gotten under my skin the way he does. Nobody has ever needed me the way he does.
Not one person.
It’s terrifying.
Still. I don’t pull away yet, because the things I want are bigger than my fear. I want the slide of his mouth against mine, and I want the hum of pleasure he makes when I kiss him back. And I want the happy sigh I make when he holds me closer.
Yeah, I’ve got it bad.
I don’t pull back until we both need air. And even then, I tip my forehead against his and stare into his eyes. “I really missed you.” Four little words. So hard to say, but his quick smile makes it worth it.
“Missed you, too,” he says quietly.
I ease back to stand up straight again and look around. This place is like a museum. Art everywhere. “So this is the Hayworth beach mansion, eh? This is where the magic happens.”
“Isn’t it obnoxious?” Keaton spreads his arms wide. “You are probably disgusted.”
I turn around, where there’s another vast living room and more windows that open onto the ocean. Even in here you can hear the low roar of the surf. “That’s not what I think at all. I think it’s an amazing house. And honestly someday I hope I can figure out how to own one just like it.”
“Huh. Maybe we can go halfsies,” Keaton suggests. “Hey, you brought a bag?”
I look down at the rug, where my gym bag fell sometime right after I got a taste of Keaton’s kiss. “Yeah, just in case I had somewhere I needed to stay. There’s a train back to Penn Station at eleven, though. And another one just before two a.m.”
Keaton bends over and grabs my bag off the floor. “Come on,” he says.
“Where are we headed?” I follow him down the hallway.
“My room. Duh.” He leads me toward a big wooden door. Its surface is roughly hewn, like beach wood. Yet it opens neatly to reveal a killer bedroom. The big windows are open, and the DJ’s music floats past tasteful white curtains and a surf board suspended on wall brackets.
There’s also a king-sized, which I try not to stare at.
“You surf?” I ask, because that sounds like fun.
“A little. The Hamptons doesn’t always have great waves. The guys who are really into it spend a lot of time driving around looking for action.”
“Like me on the apps in the olden days,” I joke.
Keaton turns around with a serious expression on his face. “But not lately?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I met this great guy and kind of lost my taste for hookups.” I look away then, because old habits die hard.
Keaton’s room might be fancy, but it’s lived-in. There’s a stack of paperback thrillers on the dresser beside a sandy Frisbee. (See, he is a yellow lab!) And also…a black silk top hat?
“Stay here with me tonight,” he says. “I really want you to.”
“Yeah, I want that, too.” I make myself look right at him again, and I know he can see how much I really do want it. “But only…” I cross the room and grab the top hat. “Only if you can tell me why you have this in your room. Did you mug an eighty-year-old?”
He laughs. “No, but I wore it in a wedding.”
“Is there photographic evidence?” I ask.
“Probably. Besides, that hat is sexy,” he insists. “When I wear it, the babes are drawn to me like moths to a flame.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s see.” I flip it around in my hand and then drop it on my head. Then I move my body in a wave motion to the beat of the music, just to make Keaton laugh.
He doesn’t, though. “I rest my case. You look hot when you do that.”
“Yeah?” I flip the hat off my head and slide to the right, flipping it on again. “Hmm. See, if I were still dancing, I’d try to make something out of this. Props are fun.” I turn around, toss it in the air, and then somehow slide into just the right spot to let it land on my head.
“Keep going,” Keaton says, sprawling out on the foot of his bed to watch me. “Do you miss dancing?”
“No,” I say, and then think for a moment. “Not really. I didn’t like having to be ‘on’ when I wasn’t feeling it. But it had its moments. That pole kept me in terrific shape. And sometimes…” I slap my own ass and slide toward the bed with a dirty grind. “…sometimes all those eyes on me were fun. When the whole crowd is screaming for you, that’s a great moment.”
“So how would you make a new routine?” he asks, sitting up. “Break it down for me.”
“Hmm. Okay.” I know Keaton has always wanted to watch me, and I never gave in. Tonight’s the night, then. I came all this way to give the man what he wants. “This song works pretty well, honestly. It has a nice steady riff.”
The track is “Girls Like You” by Maroon Five. I swing my hips and let Adam Levine’s voice slide down my soul. With a flick of my wrist, I remove the hat and hold it between my hands.
A quick drop into a faux split makes Keaton’s eyes widen. “Oh, hell yes,” he says, laughing. “Keep going.”
Popping up again, I circle my hips in time with the beat. Keaton’s hot gaze is pasted on me, and I love his attention. Without dropping the rhythm, I toe off my shoes and kick them out of the way. I don the hat, and ease my way across the room in a sensuous roll of torso and shoulders. Then I start in on the buttons of my shirt, teasing them open one by one.
When I run my hands down my bare chest, Keaton flops back onto the bed with a groan. “I’m dead,” he says. “Three months without you and now this. It’s the best kind of torture.”
“Then it’s working,” I say, adding some footwork while he watches with wide eyes. “Stripping is all about the tease.”
“You’re great at teasing,” he grumbles. “Get over here already.”
“Oh, I’d like to. But I can’t fuck you during a party at your parents’ house.” Anyone could look through the window, or walk in here looking for the john.
He sighs. “I suppose not. Want to go swimming? Maybe that will cool the fire in my trunks.”
“Sure, LobsterShorts. Take me swimming.”
He sits up and smiles at me, and that smile makes me stupid.
How did it take me so long to trust this man? “Keaton?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to get over my own bullshit before and just be your guy.”
He swallows. “Can you be now?”
“I want to. If you’ll let me try.”
He gets off the bed. “Come here.” He pulls me into a hug. “We have to go swimming now, otherwise I’m going to maul you.”
“Okay,” I whisper in his ear.
“I love you, too. I know it’s easier for me to get there than it was for you. I don’t blame you for your scars.”
“Thank you,” I mumble. I wrap my arms around his wide body and sigh. “Are we really going to go outside and pretend we’re not just counting the minutes until we can take each other’s swimsuits off?”
“I have an idea,” he says. “Follow me.”
He walks out of the room, and I hurry after him down another hall I didn’t notice before. He grabs two striped beach towels off a stack and keeps going.
We leave the house again. But we don’t go back to the party. We cross the darkening side lawn and then a driveway paved with white stones. “Is this all your property?” I ask.
“Nope.” He leads me farther, until I spot another house and another pool. “We’re going to the neighbor’s.”
“Why? Where’s the neighbor?”
He hooks a thumb back toward his place. “Enjoying the free food and booze, courtesy of my parents. Mrs. Pennyworth won’t be home for hours. She closed down the party last year.”
Sure enough, the neighbor’s house is dark. The sky is a deep blue now, heading towards black. The only lights on here are in the pool itself, underwater.
Keaton tosses the towels onto a chair. And then? He tugs the lobster shorts off his trim hips and drops them, too. Naked, he walks to the edge of the pool and dives in.
Hayworths really do know how to party. He wasn’t wrong about that.
I quickly shed my own suit, looking over both shoulders, hoping nobody is watching. But nobody is. I follow him into the water, which is a surprisingly comfortable temperature.
This is the Hamptons. It’s heated, of course.
“Wow,” I say when I come up for air again. “I like the way you think.” I swim over to Keaton, who’s sitting on what turns out to be an underwater bench. “This pool is nice.”
“But they don’t have a sun shelf,” Keaton says, teasingly.
“You’re right. Piece of trash, then. I’ll renovate after I buy the place from Mrs. Pennysworth.”
Keaton doesn’t laugh, though. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my neck.
I let out a hot breath. And as his mouth makes a slow journey across my skin, I close my eyes and let the sensation push every thought from my mind. In just seconds, I have goosebumps and a hard cock. The warm water laps against my body, and I groan.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Come here.”
Tonight it doesn’t seem weird at all letting Keaton boss me around. I climb into his lap willingly, straddling his big thighs. “I love the Hamptons,” I say as I lean in and kiss him.
He laughs against my mouth, and then I lose myself in his kiss.
Two hours later we’re seated in Keaton’s kitchen. The last few caterers are packing up around us, and Keaton and I are splitting a platter of food. An actual platter. We’re like Vikings at a banquet.
If Vikings ate brisket sliders and crab salad.
The first of what promises to be many more sexual adventures has left us hungry. So I have messy hands and a mouth full of food when a well-dressed woman with Keaton’s coloring strides into the kitchen.
“There you are!” she says brightly.
Oh shit. I’m scrambling for a napkin and trying to chew faster. I can feel my face getting red. And it’s not just the mess. It’s the knowledge of what her son and I were doing only a little while ago…
“Mom,” Keaton says, slurping his cup of punch. “This is Luke.”
She laughs at both of us. “Don’t get up. Would you say this is more like lions feeding or…?”
“Hyenas, maybe,” Keaton says. “Lions take turns.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hayworth,” I manage to say after swallowing.
“Same,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder as she passes by me. All the Hayworths are touchers, apparently. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
My face might be permanently red now. And I don’t blush. Ever. Then again, I never met my boyfriend’s mom before.
“How many weekends of summer are left?” she asks, turning back to consider us. “Now that Keaton is home, I expect to see you boys out here whenever you can be.”
“Oh, um, that’s very generous,” I stammer.
“Six weekends,” Keaton says cheerfully. “I’ll make sure Luke has the train schedule when he leaves tomorrow.”
“Good deal.” She yawns. “This summer has been sad. Nobody in that pool unless we throw a party. What a waste, right? I’ll just bump up our grocery order.” She gives our messy platter a wry look. “There’s pancake mix in the cabinet, Keaton, and bacon in the freezer. Night, boys. I need to get out of these shoes.”
Her footsteps click away, down the hall. And I’m left wondering what just happened. Does she not know? Nobody is that cool about their son’s male hookup.
“You should see your face right now.” Keaton shovels a giant heap of guacamole into his mouth and smiles at me.
“But…” I don’t even know where to start.
“Four things make her happy,” he says, ticking them off on his fingers. “My dad, me, spending money in fashionable places, and feeding people. Bonus points if Dad and I aren’t fighting and if we put our dishes in the dishwasher.”
I eye the platter, hoping it fits in the dishwasher. I’ll make it work.
“So you know you have to get on that train every Friday and come out here to stay.”
“Um…” I swallow. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He drops his voice. “My parents go to parties one or two nights each weekend. All over the Hamptons. For hours.”
“Is that right?”
He grins. “We are going to have so much fun.”
After we clean up from our feast (and the platter is safely in the dishwasher) we get ready for bed in Keaton’s private bathroom. His parents have their own wing, thank God.
“I’m dating the boss’s son,” I joke as we climb into his king-sized bed. “Do you think that will be bad for my career in pharmaceuticals?”
Keaton makes an irritable noise and pulls me closer. “I’m dating the frat president. Think that will get me a better lottery number in the room draw?”
“Hey now. I can’t play favorites.”
“I know that, you stickler.” He laughs. “There’s something I have to tell you about the room draw, anyway. We’re down a resident.”
“What? Who?”
He clears his throat. “I got a text from Judd yesterday. He asked why I hadn’t invited him to the beach barbecue this year.”
I roll over and look at Keaton. It’s dark, but I can still see the outline of his smile. “What did you say?”
“I told him it was because I’d invited you, and I didn’t think he’d want to come. But I also said, ‘Feel free to convince me I’m wrong. We could all hit some gay bars after the barbecue.’”
A bark of laughter escapes my throat. “You didn’t.”
“I did. Not that I even know where to find the gay bars. But he doesn’t get to push me around. I just wanted to make that clear.”
“What did he reply?”
“He didn’t answer my text at all. And then a half hour later he sent an email to Munsen.”
“Our new secretary.”
“Yup. And I was CC’d. Judd said to skip him in the housing draw, because he was going to rent an apartment off-campus. He added that he didn’t like the vibe of the house anymore.”
I make a grumpy noise. “And he made sure you saw this, just to be a dick and make you feel bad.”
“Yup!”
“Did it work?” I ask.
Slowly, Keaton shakes his head. “Good riddance. And since he’s the worst of the lot, I’m kind of relieved. I don’t have to listen to his snarky bullshit in the fall when we go back to school together, and we don’t bother hiding our relationship.”
I wait for that little flare of panic to hit me, but it doesn’t come. “Well, okay then.” I put my head down on the pillow. You can hear the ocean from Keaton’s bed. How cool is that? “You still can’t have a plum number in the room draw.” I smile in the dark.
“Don’t want one. I was thinking of taking your old room.”
“Why?” I yelp. “Nobody wants that room.”
“Well, if you took my old one, we could share a floor again.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. That is a nice idea. Except for one thing. “You keep the bigger one. I don’t mind. I already know where all my stuff fits in there. We’ll sleep in your room, anyway.”
Keaton moves, covering me with his body. “You know I don’t care about room sizes, right?”
“Yeah. I got that.”
“This year is going to be great either way.”
“Sure is,” I whisper.
Another wave crashes onto the beach as I tug him closer for a kiss.
