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The fact that I didn’t bother to ask his name when I motioned to the bathroom five minutes ago should’ve been his first clue. The fact that he followed me in without asking for mine should’ve been the second.
Not exactly first date material. Okay, maybe in porn.
I looked down at his blue eyes, but they were staring back at mine a little too long, and way too hopeful.
Of all the sexy, gay men in Miami, I had to choose this one.
“Does it matter?” I mumbled in response, my brain thankfully working enough for me to speak.
“I’m about to swallow your load, so, yes, it fucking matters!” he snapped.
What was happening right now?
Names, ages, jobs—none of that knowledge was required in a hookup.
I just wanted a hot, willing mouth to fuck. And I thought he wanted a hot, willing dick to suck.
Sounded like a fair trade to me.
Unfortunately, this turn of events made my dick lose interest and I shook my head.
Jesus Christ.
“I can’t do this.”
I was about to offer my hand to help the guy up, but he gave me a death glare that had my painfully full balls retracting.
Before I could say a word, he stood up and slapped the stall door open. After stepping out, he slammed the door in my face.
What the hell had just happened?
I stayed where I was as I listened to him washing up. When the sound of running water stopped, I heard the heavy click of his footsteps as he walked away.
Another slam, this time the bathroom door.
Shaking my head, I tucked myself in and zipped up. Stepping out of the stall, I quickly washed my hands and glanced at my reflection.
My sleep had been non-existent lately and it was starting to show in the dark circles under my eyes. I’d never dealt with insomnia like this before, and I didn’t know if I should be concerned or chalk it up to stress. Long workdays hadn’t helped my sleep cycle.
Neither did ruminating about a certain Irishman I’d been missing.
Suddenly, a pair of sad amber eyes came to mind.
I shook my head to dispel the image and stared at my undercut. It was unruly, the wavy black strands hanging down in my face when I didn’t use enough styling crème. I slicked it back with some water and decided it would do. I’d stop in a local barbershop tomorrow morning for a trim before I had to report back on duty.
Back to the ship I lived on for most of the year.
Not that I had complaints. I got to travel the world in style, I worked with cool people, and most important of all, there was always something new to learn.
One day I’d reach the level of captain and have my choice of charters to run. For now, I was eager to learn everything I could about managing a twenty-person crew and operating a multimillion-dollar vessel.
It was a far cry from Gainesville and the trailer park life I grew up in. Still, I was luckier than most. I always had the support of my mom and my younger brother, Travis. We were close, and no matter what, we relied on each other. My mom worked her ass off to pull us out of poverty. I got my insatiable drive to succeed and my strong work ethic from her. And I never took my job or the life I’d built for myself for granted.
After wiping off my hands, I pulled out my phone and checked my messages and socials. There were the usual updates from friends around the globe, most of whom I’d met in the yachting industry.
And one reminder message, sent two hours ago, from George.
Tomorrow morning, the owner of the ship, Rowan Carter, and his husband Andrew, would be boarding. Not only that, but Rowan’s friends too, including Rafe, Rowan’s brother and George’s husband.
