Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom 2)

“No, you won’t.”

A prickle climbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably not. How about I won’t ask Andrew to assign us together on Tuesdays when the beach is quiet?”

Jamie shook his head on a laugh. “Fine. So what if I have the time of my life?”

Marcus leaned back and took a moment to consider. Honestly, he was going to make the stakes easy. Like, making Jamie wear his hat backwards on the ride home or something. But something else entirely came out of his mouth. “You have to help me.”

A few seconds ticked by, the train rocking around them. “Help you with what?”

“I, uh…well.” Marcus shifted in his seat, nerves making his pulse pop. “I got a call before I came to meet you, right? This real estate management company. My application to rent the commercial space on the ground floor was approved, which is crazy, because my credit score is like, not terrible but not spectacular. I sort of abused my GNC credit card trying to look this fucking good. Anyway, it’s a storefront. And I got approved.”

“What?” Jamie turned toward him slightly, his mouth opening and closing. “A storefront for what? What are you going to sell?”

Marcus unwedged his hands from between his knees, swiping his flattened left hand slowly through the air. “Juice.”

The train trundled loudly. “Juice?”

“Yeah. A juice bar. Right across the street from my CrossFit gym. When I saw the open space, it was actually the location that gave me the idea. Plus, I make good fucking juice, Jamie.” Marcus turned all the way in his seat, excitement making it so he couldn’t get his stupid mouth to stop smiling. “The storefront is really small. Maybe enough for a few high tops, but really people are going to take their juice to go. A whole day’s serving of fruits and vegetables in one hand. I’m going to call it the Main Squeeze.”

When Jamie’s mouth ticked up at one end, his gray eyes roaming over Marcus’s face, he was happier than he’d been when the phone call came in that afternoon. “Congratulations, Diesel,” Jamie said. “Your juice is good. I think people will buy it.”

“Yeah?” He cleared the earnestness from his voice and nodded. “Hell yeah they will.”

Jamie was still smiling. It was the greatest day of his life. “So,” Jamie said—and it was impossible to miss the slight hesitation in his tone. “What do you need my help with?”

“Um. You know, like, setting it up.”

“Setting what up? The tables?”

“Or maybe all of it?”

Jamie wasn’t smiling anymore. “Jesus Christ. Exactly how hard did you hit your head?”

Marcus gave him a cajoling look. “Come on, Jamie Prince. It’ll be fun.” He nudged him in the side. “Only the smartest of the smart could pull it off—”

“Oh God,” Jamie groaned. “Don’t do that. Don’t appeal to my superiority complex.”

“I have no choice. Everyone knows I’m a dumbass.” Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have the money saved, from working summers. My mom left me some, too, when she passed away. But I don’t have the smarts—”

“Who called you a dumbass?” Jamie interrupted, sounding pissed.

“You’ve called me a dumbass.”

Jamie’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. “If I have, I didn’t mean it.”

Marcus’s mouth spread into a smile. “You didn’t?”

“No.” Jamie bit down on his bottom lip, chewing on it as he studied Marcus. “You’re not a dumbass, you just have an uncomplicated point of view. Maybe everyone else is dumb.”

They both quickly faced forward in their seats again, breaking eye contact. In his periphery, Marcus could see the fast lift and fall of Jamie’s chest. Marcus’s own chest did the same, but he couldn’t explain why everything below his neck suddenly felt full to bursting. His body always did funny things around Jamie, but this…it was different. It was more. Something he could no longer ignore or write off as a dude crush.

“I’ll help a little,” Jamie muttered. “Just to challenge myself, though.”

“I know.” Marcus battled like hell against his smile, even though he wanted to pick Jamie up and toss him in the air like a pizza dough. “Thanks, Jamie.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Jamie couldn’t believe what was happening.

There he sat, in an arena full of drunk assholes who’d actually prepared chants for a monster truck rally. His boots were sitting in a sticky puddle of Budweiser, thanks to the man sitting behind them who’d spilled a whole tray of beer before the trucks even emerged to wreak havoc on perfectly drivable vehicles. It was so ever-loving loud, he could barely hear himself think. And he was enjoying the hell out of himself.

Marcus poked him in the shoulder. “Jamie—”

“Don’t.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No, I’m not.”

In the center of the arena, a neon green monster truck spun its wheels, turned and prepared to launch itself off a ramp onto a line of Oldsmobiles. It had to be dangerous, but the crowd demanded no mercy. It had to be done. The audience would accept nothing less than utter destruction. Their sleeveless T-shirts said so.