Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

Otter grabs my hand again, entwining his fingers in my own. “He is,”

Otter tells Jordan. “He just doesn’t like that much pressure put on him. That whole blush thing he’s doing right now? That’s because he’s embarrassed that we’re talking about him.”

I scowl. “Not helping.”

Jordan looks amused as he glances between us. “You know, Bear, I was surprised when Otter finally called me back and told me what was what.”

“Oh?”

“I was busy,” Otter mutters.

Jordan shrugs. “We didn’t think you swung that way. You know, back in the day. Otter here would just get this faraway look in his eyes anytime your name was mentioned, and it was sad to watch after a while.”

Now it’s Otter’s turn to blush. “Oh really?” I say gleefully, feeling a bit more like myself, the first since we’d walked into the bar. “Otter? Care to comment?”

Otter blushes harder and looks down at his feet. But I feel the squeeze of his hand against mine, and I can’t help but to laugh. “You love me,” I tease him.

He rolls his eyes. “Duh. Glad to see you think that’s funny.”

Jordan puts his arm around my shoulder and starts leading us away from the bar toward the back, where more people are sitting at tables and booths that line the walls. “It was always ‘Bear this’ and ‘Bear that’,” he says, loud enough to make sure Otter can hear him over the thumpthumpthump of some has-been pop star’s remixed latest cry for attention. “‘You guys will never believe what Bear said today.’ I’m glad you finally came to your senses and took pity on the poor guy. He’d have been lost without you.”

I don’t get a chance to reply as we come up to a table with a handful of guys. Some are vaguely recognizable. Others are strangers. One is my little brother’s fifth-grade teacher. Neat. I start to pull in on myself when Jordan says, “Gentlemen. Gentlemen! If I could have your attention, please! The prodigal son of Seafare has returned, and he’s brought his partner”—( oh, fuck me)—“who’s been the center of his world for as long as I’ve known him.” ( Goddammit, Jordan! ) “I give you Otter and Bear!”

The guys at the table immediately jump and start hollering so loudly it’s a wonder that anyone could actually still hear the music that’s being played.

Immediately, I’m jostled and hugged, back-slapped and ass-grabbed, my hair ruffled, my cheek kissed, my ear whispered into, and I think someone said something to me in Spanish, but no one looks La

tino, so I might just be making that up. Two seats appear as if by magic, and we’re thrust down into them, us on one side of the table and the other six on the other side. They grin at us.

I start to sweat.

“You okay?” Otter asks, as I’m sure he can feel how clammy my hand is.

I nod and reach over and chug half his beer.

He laughs at me and leans over to kiss my ear. “I got you,” he says.

“Awww,” our audience sighs.

Lame. Kind of.

Everyone starts talking at once, and I try to follow along with the conversation, but it’s almost impossible. Otter removes his hand from mine (probably because it’s dripping wet and gross) and sets it on my thigh, stopping my leg from bouncing up and down nervously. He leans forward and laughs at something someone says. People include me in the conversation, and I try and answer as best I can (read: as best as I can hear) and I take the time to scan the rest of them that I don’t quite remember/know. I suck at names, so there’s Muscles Magoo, who looks like his shirt will burst at any moment, his pecs giving serious consideration to crushing the table. There’s Guy With Glasses, who looks like he has a nervous twitch under his left eye, but then he glances at me and smiles, and I realize he seems okay. Captain Ass Muscles (David Trent) is doing his best to talk to a distracted Otter. I almost want to ask him how Ty’s doing in class just to get him to stop staring at my boyfriend like he’s the only thing on the menu. He probably doesn’t want to talk shop on a Friday night, but then I don’t want him eye-fucking Otter. Jordan is directly across from me, sitting next to a small man I’ve dubbed Mini Me, as he looks exactly like a smaller version of Jordan, and I try and remember if Jordan has a little brother or not. The last guy is Beer Me, four empty beer bottles in front of him, a glazed happy look on his face. I think I’ve met him before, only because I remember him being drunk then too.

But that all goes away when hands drop on my shoulders. I lean my head back, the effects of the half beer that I drank causing my skin to feel warm (I really need to work on my tolerance), to find a smiling face staring down at me.

Isaiah.

What’s he doing—

Oh, shit.

I almost fall back off my chair.

“Care Bear,” he says, grinning down at me, that wolfish smile in full force. “You look fucking gorgeous. Glad to see my clothes rock that tight little body of yours.” He leans on my shoulders to keep me from tipping over, the pressure of his hands digging into my skin. He’s wearing a black sleeveless shirt that’s entirely too small for him, but I think that might be the point because every muscle in his upper body looks like it’s straining to burst out through the fabric. His hair is wild and messy, like mine is, and his grip tightens even harder for a moment before I realize that the conversation at our table has stopped.

I look forward and see that everyone is staring at me (us?) and I immediately feel guilty, like I’ve done something wrong even though I can’t quite pinpoint what that could be. It’s only then that I realize my thigh is also in a vise grip, and I glance over at Otter to find him staring at me as well, except his eyes aren’t filled with gentle confusion like the rest of the table; no, his eyes are glittering dangerously, not quite yet black but growing dilated even as I watch. I try to think back to any time that I could point out where Otter was put in a position to show his jealousy and possessiveness, but can only come to when I’d told him about Isaiah and that whole debacle.

We’d never really been in a position for him to feel jealousy (me, on the other hand, got to contend with Jonah. Oh, and David, who’s sitting across from me, now staring at Isaiah with something akin to finding a hundred dollar bill covered in crack on the sidewalk—do you take it or leave it alone?). But whatever Otter’s feeling is pouring off of him in palpable waves, so much so that it’s raising the temperature in the room and causing me to sweat again.