In my defense, how the hell is someone like Matt a virgin? If he could pull off blowjobs in nightclubs when he was closeted, he could’ve easily taken someone home—or back to the guy’s place for complete anonymity. I’ve even seen guys having sex in clubs like the one he was caught in.
But if I were a twenty-three-year-old virgin, I probably wouldn’t want that rubbed in my face.
Wow, I really am an asshole. I need to go apologize. I hope he has a recording device, because Noah Huntington doesn’t apologize. Normally.
Matt’s not in any of the billions of onboard restaurants when I go looking for him, and after I’ve checked every one, it’s time for the photoshoot.
I hope to find Matt when I go back to the room, but instead, our keeper is there.
Damon follows me into the cabin. “What did you do to him?”
“Tattle on me, did he?”
“He’s refusing to do the shoot.”
“Ah, I don’t think that has anything to do with me. It’s a stupid shoot.”
“I thought you’d be sympathetic. You know what it’s like to have paparazzi follow you.”
“I am sympathetic. That’s why I think a shoot with Out and Proud Magazine is a dumb idea. Yes, he should embrace the fact he’s gay and not hide it, but flaunting it isn’t going to work either. You should’ve booked Sports Illustrated or Football is Life for his big, gay interview.”
Damon laughs. “Football is Life? That’s not a magazine.”
“Do I look like the type of guy who knows titles of sports magazines? I just mean any interviews he does should be about football, not his sexuality.”
“Did you go out and get a PR degree while I wasn’t paying attention? And you still haven’t told me what you did to piss him off.”
“I’ll fix it,” I say. “I may have accidentally antagonized him. I’ll get him to the shoot. I know we can’t get out of it, but you might want to re-evaluate the schedule once we’re back home. Have us doing normal stuff and quit with the LGBTQ poster boy routine. Had Matt come out on his own, it’d be different, but the world knows he was forced out of the closet, so now it looks like he’s trying too hard.”
Damon smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“You like him.”
“He’s a cranky asshole.”
“You really like him.”
“Are we in high school? I’d fuck him, for sure, but we all know I’d fuck anyone with a dick and a pulse.”
Damon cocks his head to the side. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
His teasing strikes a chord, and I’m getting defensive. I’ve known Matt for three days, and he’s been angry for most of it. I don’t like him. I don’t.
“Don’t be self-deprecating to cover up how you feel,” Damon says.
“Get a psych degree while I wasn’t paying attention?” I throw his own words back at him. “I’ll get dressed and go apologize and we can get this show on the road. The sooner it’s done, the sooner Matt and I can go to our separate corners of the ship.”
I’ve known Damon for eight years. He’s the closest thing to a brother I have. That means, when he nods once with a smug smile, I can practically hear his thoughts.
“I don’t have a thing for Matt,” I argue.
“Mmhmm.”
Jackass.
When we get to Damon’s room, Maddox and Matt are nowhere to be seen.
“You better hope Maddox knocked some sense into him and they’re already onshore at the photoshoot site,” Damon says.
“Or what, you’ll fire me? Not pay me? Oh wait, you’re not doing that in the first place.”
Damon pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have a headache.”
“From your concussion?”
“From you.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, you’re welcome. Come on, I’m going to fix this.”
Damon narrows his eyes. “What exactly did you do to antagonize him?”
Yeah, not going to tell Damon about Matt’s virgin status. I’m not that much of a dick. “I told him we should fuck.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks.”
“Not a compliment.”
“The way I figure it, we’re stuck with each other for the next few months. May as well get some while we’re at it.”
“And you say you don’t like him,” Damon scoffs.
“My cock likes him.”
“Yes, well, we all know your dick’s not discriminatory.”
“Oh, so you can make jokes about me, but when I do it it’s self-deprecating?”
“Yup. Pretty much the definition of self-deprecating. Need me to buy you a dictionary? I thought you graduated from college.”
We go through the ship checkpoints, scanning our room keys that keep track of who’s onboard or not when we’re at port.
“Where’s the shoot?” I ask.
“Half a mile up the beach. There’s a private residence the magazine has rented.”
I follow him down the docks and onto the sand. The sun seems hotter in this part of the world, and I break out into an immediate sweat. The humidity doesn’t help.
My shirt sticks to my back immediately, so I take it off and tuck it into my waistband.