Mouth to Mouth (Beach Kingdom 1)

The back of Rory’s neck pinched tight and he rolled the muscles to loosen them. “Are you sure you’re an economics teacher and not a counselor?”

“Positive. How well do you think I’d handle adolescent feelings?”

“Not well.”

“No shit.” Jamie tipped his chin toward the top shelf of Rory’s locker. “And speaking of adolescents.”

“Fuck you.”

His brother grinned, but it was short lived. “You said she’s smart?”

Rory swallowed and snatched the whistle out of his locker, dropping it over his head. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“Then she had a reason for sliding you her digits. Maybe give her a little more credit.”

He considered Jamie’s words for all of a second before disregarding them. “You can be smart and still be naïve. I’m doing her a favor.” His fingers paused in the process of engaging his Master lock. “I’m sitting there talking to her and my fucking eye is killing me from last night. I’m wondering if she smells the vodka coming out of my pores. And she’s so…fresh. And better. The waiter looks at me sideways this morning and I can’t—I couldn’t stop myself from getting pissed. Showing her exactly what I am. It wouldn’t work, Jamie.” A vision of Olive pushing up her glasses drifted into his conscience and stung him. “We only spent an hour together and I know it’s crazy, but if I went out with her, I’d want her to be…mine. Think about that. Some fucking ex-con locking down this young girl with a successful future her first summer out of her parents’ house. No matter how you slice it, I end up the villain. I don’t want to be her villain.”

Jamie opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the door to the Hut flying open and rebounding off a row of lockers with an earsplitting rattle.

“I’m here, cocksuckers.”

Marcus “Diesel” O’Shaughnessy stood outlined in the doorway. All shirtless, six foot five inches of him. He swaggered into the Hut, stopping to high-five lifeguards and show off the new naked lady tattoo on his arm to everyone he passed.

“For chrissakes,” Jamie muttered. “I’d almost forgotten about this asshole.”

“Nope. Turns up every year like a bad penny.” Rory slid his brother a side glance. “You let me know if he says something stupid to you, all right?”

A muscle flexed in Jamie’s cheek. “He’s a loudmouth, but he’s mostly harmless.” He shoved Rory off balance with his shoulder. “You have to stop fighting my battles for me—we know how that ends.” Jamie gave him a pointed look. “I can fight them myself.”

“Right.” Rory let the subtle reminder of his incarceration roll off his shoulder. “You going to smother him with your book collection?”

Jamie let his locker door swing open, revealing a neat row of novels. “I came prepared.”

Rory was still shaking his head when Marcus reached them, rolling to a stop like a goddamn tank and wrapping an arm around Jamie’s shoulders. “Ahhh, and who’s this hiding over here? How the hell are you, Jamie Prince?” He only laughed when Jamie muttered “please fuck off” under his breath. “Come on, man. I know you missed me.” He let go of Jamie, stepped back and flexed, creating the human version of a field goal. “Where else do you get quality eye candy like this? It’s got to be amazing for you to have me around.”

Jamie blew out at breath at the ceiling. “Marcus, don’t make me suggest the quiet game this early in the summer.”

Marcus pointed at him and grinned. “I’m going to win this time.”

“You never win.”

Even though he was trying to heed Jamie’s request to back off, Rory couldn’t help listening carefully to every word that came out of Marcus’s mouth, waiting for him to slip up and say something out of line. This kind of needling was par for the course with the oversized gym rat. He had a big mouth—and for some strange reason, he was always running it around Jamie. If it was anyone else giving Jamie a hard time, Rory wouldn’t be able to stop himself from stepping in, but Marcus genuinely seemed to like Jamie, though they were exact opposites. Insinuating that Jamie must be thrilled to ogle him, on account of Jamie being gay, was a bad assumption. And kind of offensive. Except it had become obvious over the course of several summers that Marcus had no clue his bullshit came off as rude. Still, why Jamie tolerated it, Rory had no idea.

“I have some great news for you, Jamie Prince,” Marcus continued, stripping off his sweatpants and tossing them haphazardly into his open locker. “Andrew hired me as security at the Castle Gate this summer. To check IDs and shit. I’m a bouncer now, son.”

“And today in self-fulfilling prophecies…” Jamie muttered.

“You don’t have to be away from me a single second.” Marcus pulled his red lifeguard shorts on over his briefs, not-too-subtly adjusting his junk. “Lucky you.”