The one year will take me to thirty-four. It’s not a bad age to retire if I can’t get an extension, but it’s not ideal because if I have a bad season, then I’m done. I need to think of my priorities though, and right now, my priority is a no-trade clause.
“I’ll sign the one-year and hope to extend it.”
“Are you sure?” Damon asks.
“It’s done then and signed, and I won’t have to stress about them dumping me completely.”
“I’ll have the papers sent to Joni and Ema’s office, and you can sign today. Then that’s all the shop talk I’m allowed. I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
“So … a gay island, eh?” I ask.
Tonight should be interesting.
The whole boat rocks violently as we climb in to go to Rua Daulomani, and there are just enough seats for all of us if we squish together. Jet takes the last seat on the other side at the front near his brother, and the only one left for me is at the back next to Miller.
“Wait … are you going to puke again? Anyone wanna swap places?” Preferably Matt.
“It’ll be fine,” Joni says. “Water’s not rough tonight, and it’s not far. He should be fine.”
While we wait for Joni to get the boat ready, I kick Ollie’s foot as he is sitting opposite me. “What’d you guys get up to today?”
Ollie smiles. “Just went to the mainland to look around. I was gonna wake you to see if you wanted to join us today but thought better of it after last night.”
“What happened last night?” Jet asks. “Were you really jerking it when Ollie walked in?”
“No,” I say at the same time Ollie says, “Yes.”
Asswipe.
Everyone laughs.
“I might have been in the middle of a hot memory, but my hands were nowhere near my dick.”
“Memory of who? A puck bunny?” Ollie jokes.
“Nah. Cute twink.”
Jet chokes on God knows what, coughing until Matt reaches over to pat his back.
“Wrong pipe,” he rasps.
He’s in tight red skinny jeans, a black shirt, and rainbow Converse. His silky hair is all curly and wild and falling in his face. The bags under his eyes are gone, and it’s the first time since he got here that he looks like the Jet I remember. Lively and charismatic.
When we take off, the boat speeds across the water in the pitch-black night, the only light bouncing off the navigation system next to the steering wheel. The whole boat ride, I can’t take my eyes off Jet’s silhouette. Ever since he stepped off that helicopter, I haven’t been able to do anything but think about him.
Bright, rainbow lights appear on the horizon, and as we get closer, the entire island is lit up in pride colors.
Joni slows the boat down on approach and turns to us. “Word of warning. This might be a safe space, but if the owners see anything that might constitute payment for sex, the authorities will be called.” He gives me a pointed look.
I blame the guys and all their rent boy jokes when we first got to the island. Joni probably thinks I have a prostitute habit or something.
“A few years ago, this island wasn’t even allowed to exist because anything that resembled gay behavior in public could have you arrested. Remember that while you’re here, but go and have fun.”
“Well, with that depressing pep talk, how could we not?” Jet says, and the guys snicker.
Joni pulls the boat up to the dock where we’re welcomed by island staff in blue button-down shirts and khaki pants.
It goes to show the difference in cultural expectations. I hear gay island and think of half-naked men and everything you might see at a pride parade back home. A gay island in Fiji means a safe place where you can hold another man’s hand without being persecuted.
It takes some time for us to file out of the boat and climb the ladder from the pontoon to the wharf.
“This is gonna be fun getting back down later,” Talon says.
I guess we can’t get too drunk tonight then.
Even though I was first off the boat, somehow I end up at the back of the pack, walking next to Jet. It wasn’t done on purpose at all. Not even a little bit.
Jet has his hands in his pockets, his head down, his shaggy dark hair in his face. I have to fight the urge to reach over and brush it away with my hand.
We’re led up a pathway through some trees and come to a large terracotta building with open wooden doors and live music, bright lights, and rowdy noise spilling out.
We turn heads as we enter. It always happens when we’re out. It’s the jock effect. Tall, athletic guys in a group.
The bar is packed and seems to have a mix of locals and tourists—if the loud group of drunk white guys in the back is anything to go by.