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“What—?” Donovan starts.
Jason reaches into Donovan’s briefs, pops out his erection, and drops to his knees.
“Holy…fuck…” Donovan sputters, which is what everyone is thinking.
Because now Jason King has Donovan down his throat. His fingers clench on Donovan’s shirt, and his head bobs low. Steady, determined swoops in Donovan’s lap.
I can’t help tearing my eyes away. My lips go dry, and I wet them with the tip of my tongue. Donovan’s eyes roll back. His moan is low and long.
I don’t release Donovan’s fingers, and neither does he. He’s quiet, for the most part, save a couple of shuddered breaths and small, swallowed swears. He looks concentrated, his eyebrows knit. I can tell when he finishes because his fingers squeeze mine again, tightly, and then his grip slackens.
Jason rises and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He dips down to meet Donovan’s lips, and they almost-kiss. It’s a soft, tentative thing, a brush of lips, and there’s something very…sweet about it. Then Jason scoops up the blanket from the bench, cocoons it around himself, and then says, “You need to get this place a proper bed.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” says Donovan, his breath light.
Jason tosses the blanket out on the floor and settles down on that instead. It’s the only place where there’s enough room for the three of us. I climb over to lie beside him, and Donovan follows suit, trapping me in the middle.
For a while, we just breathe together. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s just…silence. All three of us taking in what just happened. Letting this insane night settle into our bones.
Insane. And amazing. Here, between the two of them, I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. For the first time, I’m not a burden. I’m not in the way. I’m right where I’m supposed to be, and it feels good.
I curl up against Donovan’s chest and tug Jason’s arm around me, savoring their body heat.
“Hey, so…” Jason starts, a small strain in his voice, his breath brushing my hair, “are you guys…uh…going to tell anyone about this?”
Donovan and I make eye contact—and make a silent agreement.
“We’re the Three Muskrats,” I say and lace my fingers through Jason’s, pulling him tighter. “What happens on the boat, stays on the boat.”
25
Kenzi
We make an unlikely trio…
Donovan, the outcast, the quiet queer boy whose humor is as dark as his clothes.
Jason, prom king, pretty boy, the popular boy with a secret heart of gold.
And me. The weird music nerd, who always has a notebook and pair of headphones within arm’s reach.
But it works. Somehow.
We spend August attached at the hip. We play truth or dare. We go to the beach, the pool, or sometimes just hang out in the woods by Donovan’s trailer. We have our own unwritten rules. For example, when Jason’s friends are over, Donovan and I know to give Jason a wide berth. He still, after all, has the popular boy role to play. But he barks at them anytime someone teases Donovan, and eventually, he stops inviting them over completely. Jason and I spend a lot of the day helping Donovan with his various tasks around the marina. It’s grueling work, but with the three of us, it gets done quickly, which gives us more time to hang out with him afterward.
We find ways to share each other. During the day, I pull Jason into the laundry room, climb him like a tree, and kiss him until we’re both swollen-lipped and breathless. Donovan and I set aside time every week for the new Dr. Who episodes (he’s obsessed, and now I’m sucked into it, too). Jason joins us but doesn’t have the patience for TV, so he mostly runs back and forth making popcorn or getting snacks. Sometimes, I catch him press a small kiss to the back of Donovan’s neck, which makes the other boy shiver.
As for Donovan and me—we’re closer than ever. I lay my head in his lap. He pets my hair. Sometimes, I slip my fingers in his and just savor the warmth of his palm, the strength of his grip.
Sometimes, it’s just a look or a smile. A knowing that only we share. I treasure our secret, stolen little intimacies.
No one—not even Pearl—would understand this. But they don’t have to. It’s ours and ours alone, and I like it that way.
I find myself craving the time I get to spend in the marina with my boys. The worst part of each day is when Pearl starts calling my name from the parking lot and I have to hop in the car to head back to Four’s summer house.
I’m always bone-tired by the end of the day, though. And my feet are always sore.
I inherited my dad’s feet—flat, wide duck feet.
