Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom, #2)(7)

“Later, Diesel.”

Moron. You’re a fucking moron.

A moron who’d just agreed to attend Monster Jam.





CHAPTER THREE





Marcus stared down at the phone in his hand, wondering if the last five minutes had actually been real. Or if this was like the time he tripped on the treadmill, hit his head and dreamed about dancing bananas. He looked at the clock. Five minutes until he was supposed to meet up with Jamie. That also seemed kind of like a dream, so no help there.

He reached down and tweaked his nipple.

“Fuck. Ow.” Rubbing the spot with the palm of his free hand, Marcus caught his reflection in the full-length mirror across the room, where it was leaned up against the wall. “Marcus O’Shaughnessy,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders back. “Entrepreneur at age twenty-four.”

Pride rolled through his stomach, but he didn’t have time to savor it now. He had a dat—a casual, low key, bro hangout that was completely not a big deal. Fine, he didn’t usually jerk himself off twice so he could stay mellow around his other guy friends, but there was no time to dwell on that either. He and Jamie were taking the train to Nassau Coliseum for Monster Jam, and Marcus was pretty sure if he was even one minute late, Jamie would use the excuse to bail and go read or some shit.

Or maybe call that customer from the bar.

Kurt, if Marcus had overheard the exchange accurately.

If Marcus scowled any harder at the mirror it was going to shatter. He snatched up the red Under Armour baseball cap hanging on the bedroom doorknob and fitted it backwards onto his head, heading for the door of his second-floor apartment. He was halfway down the stairs before realizing he’d forgotten his wallet and keys—again—so he jogged back up and retrieved them, locking the door and spinning on the heel of his boot toward the stairs. Crunched for time, he hustled toward the LIRR station, hoping the exertion would keep him from thinking about Jamie giving his number to the man in the bar.

No luck.

It shouldn’t be bothering him this much.

He definitely shouldn’t have been kept up all night worrying Jamie had met up with the dude instead of going home after his shift at the Castle Gate. It was none of his business.

Marcus was so distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t hear his name being called until the person was shouting in exasperation—and that person was his brother, Joey. On the other side of the avenue, his brother was smoking a cigarette outside the diner, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. He was still wearing his Sanitation Department jumpsuit from his shift collecting the trash that morning. Running into his father or brother in their Long Beach neighborhood was not unusual. Why they even bothered to live in three separate apartments was beyond Marcus, since they came and went as they pleased in each other’s homes.

Lately, though…Marcus had started wanting a little more privacy. Like right now. Still, he couldn’t ignore his brother on the street or he’d have his balls broken over it for weeks.

With a growl, Marcus slowed to a walk on the sidewalk, throwing up a middle finger at his brother on the other side of the avenue. “I’ll see you later, J. I’m late.”

“Get over here, you mutt. Late for what?”

He plucked the tickets out of his back pocket and waved them at Joey. “Does bailing on me ring a bell?”

Joey blew out a cloud of smoke and grimaced. “You going alone?”

Marcus hesitated. For a split second—and that was all took.

“A girl, huh?” Joey called, raising an eyebrow. “It must be serious if she’s willing to sit through Monster Jam for you. When do we meet her?”

“Never.” Apprehension pressed down on Marcus’s sternum and he backed toward the train station. “Go take a fucking shower. I can smell you from here.”

Joey flipped him the bird. “Ahhh!”

“Ahhhh!” Marcus yelled back.

As soon as he ducked into the shade of the LIRR overhang, Marcus stopped and pressed his back up against the concrete wall, pigeons rustling overhead in the rafters. Breathe. Just relax. You’re just hanging out with a friend. Even if Joey ran into him with Jamie, there was nothing going on. Nothing ever would go on.

Marcus couldn’t buy his own bullshit, though.

There was something about Jamie Prince that announced he was batting for the same team. It wasn’t flashy or obvious or probably even intentional. There was just something about the knowing eye contact, the confident smirk, his clean shaven, well-moisturized skin. Joey would know, in no uncertain terms, that Jamie was gay. It wasn’t like his brother and father hated gay people—lifestyles different than their own were just other. And they weren’t comfortable with other. Not growing up and not now.

More than that, though, his family would never believe Marcus was hanging out with Jamie simply because he liked and admired him as a fellow human being. They would assume something else—and that something else broke Marcus out in a cold sweat. Because if his family called him out, he wouldn’t be able to pretend that everything was continuing at the status quo anymore. That he didn’t think about Jamie way, way too much.

Like basically nonstop.

“Hey.”

At the hesitant sound of Jamie’s voice, Marcus’s spine shot straight and he clonked the back of his head hard against the wall. “Jamie Prince.” He readjusted his hat and performed a quick check for any gaping wounds of blood. “What’s the good word?”