Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom 2)

The man paused mid-sip of his gin and ginger. “Uh. Let’s go out?”

Jamie took out his cell phone, punched in the security code and slid it across the bar. “Leave your number and I’ll think about it.”

Usually, Jamie took a lot of satisfaction catching men off guard. Or impressing them. Tonight he only encountered the smallest iota of gratification—and even that disappeared into the wind when Jamie looked over the man’s shoulder to find Marcus watching the scene unfold, resembling a giant golden retriever who’d been kicked by his owner. It took every ounce of Jamie’s willpower not to snatch the phone back before the man finished programming in his number.

“It’s under Kurt.”

“Great.” Jamie’s smile was tight as he took his phone back and left the guy looking flustered. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so.”

Jamie couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the night. He was way too aware of Marcus in the room. Where he stood, how irritable he looked. The worst part was knowing why he was perturbed, when even Marcus didn’t know the cause himself.

Nothing I can do about it.

It wasn’t until the end of the night that Jamie realized he’d forgotten all about the bet.

Marcus clearly hadn’t. As he passed Jamie on his way out the door, he stopped and turned, looking uncomfortable. Like he didn’t know how to act now.

“It’s uh…Monster Jam. A monster truck rally. That’s where I was going to make you go tomorrow, but…” He crossed his arms over his big chest, obviously trying his best to sound casual. “Don’t worry about it, though. It was just a stupid idea. My brother bought tickets and had to back out. I can just sell them.”

Ten tons of bricks pressed down on Jamie’s chest. “You don’t want to go anymore?” He didn’t want to hear Marcus say no. He physically didn’t think he’d be able to stand it. What was wrong with him? “You won the damn bet. We’re going.”

Jesus. He’d had his way out. And he’d bypassed it.

“Really?”

Jamie sighed. “Yes.”

Marcus seemed taller all of a sudden as he backed out the front entrance of the Castle Gate, the Long Beach boardwalk lit up behind him. “See you tomorrow. Bye, Jamie.”

“Later, Diesel.”

Moron. You’re a fucking moron.

A moron who’d just agreed to attend Monster Jam.

CHAPTER THREE

Marcus stared down at the phone in his hand, wondering if the last five minutes had actually been real. Or if this was like the time he tripped on the treadmill, hit his head and dreamed about dancing bananas. He looked at the clock. Five minutes until he was supposed to meet up with Jamie. That also seemed kind of like a dream, so no help there.

He reached down and tweaked his nipple.

“Fuck. Ow.” Rubbing the spot with the palm of his free hand, Marcus caught his reflection in the full-length mirror across the room, where it was leaned up against the wall. “Marcus O’Shaughnessy,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders back. “Entrepreneur at age twenty-four.”

Pride rolled through his stomach, but he didn’t have time to savor it now. He had a dat—a casual, low key, bro hangout that was completely not a big deal. Fine, he didn’t usually jerk himself off twice so he could stay mellow around his other guy friends, but there was no time to dwell on that either. He and Jamie were taking the train to Nassau Coliseum for Monster Jam, and Marcus was pretty sure if he was even one minute late, Jamie would use the excuse to bail and go read or some shit.

Or maybe call that customer from the bar.

Kurt, if Marcus had overheard the exchange accurately.

If Marcus scowled any harder at the mirror it was going to shatter. He snatched up the red Under Armour baseball cap hanging on the bedroom doorknob and fitted it backwards onto his head, heading for the door of his second-floor apartment. He was halfway down the stairs before realizing he’d forgotten his wallet and keys—again—so he jogged back up and retrieved them, locking the door and spinning on the heel of his boot toward the stairs. Crunched for time, he hustled toward the LIRR station, hoping the exertion would keep him from thinking about Jamie giving his number to the man in the bar.

No luck.

It shouldn’t be bothering him this much.

He definitely shouldn’t have been kept up all night worrying Jamie had met up with the dude instead of going home after his shift at the Castle Gate. It was none of his business.

Marcus was so distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t hear his name being called until the person was shouting in exasperation—and that person was his brother, Joey. On the other side of the avenue, his brother was smoking a cigarette outside the diner, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. He was still wearing his Sanitation Department jumpsuit from his shift collecting the trash that morning. Running into his father or brother in their Long Beach neighborhood was not unusual. Why they even bothered to live in three separate apartments was beyond Marcus, since they came and went as they pleased in each other’s homes.