Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

“Where’s the fun in that? So, my apartment after class?” Isaiah asks, looking like he thinks it’s the greatest idea in the history of ever to get me alone in his apartment.

“If you’re going, then so am I,” Anna says, looking like she thinks it’s the stupidest idea in the history of ever for me to go to his apartment alone.

“He’s got a point,” I admit grudgingly. “What the hell do I have to wear to a gay bar?”

“Or any bar,” Anna points out. “You’re not really a ‘going out’ kind of person.”

“Having a nine-year-old kinda does that to you,” I remind her. “That, and the fact that I don’t really like to drink. Stupid shit happens when I drink.”

“Like what?” Isaiah asks.

“Long story,” I say, glancing at Anna. She looks like she wants to smirk but is trying to stop herself. I wonder (like I’ve wondered often before) if she ever got pissed off at me when she found out I’d kissed Otter all those years ago when she and I were still together. It seems trivial to focus on the one thing, especially since it was such a small part of a bigger whole that I completely fucked up, but I can’t help but think she was the one I hurt the most through all of this, and even though she’s bounced back with a resiliency I should not have doubted, I don’t know if it’s because of her supposed guilt over dating Creed or a genuine need to see me happy. I’d like to think it’s the latter, but I know it’s probably a combination of the two. I don’t know if I need to apologize to her for anything again. How many times must a person say they’re sorry before it just sounds forced and false?

I know, I know: blah, blah, blah.

“Do you ever have any stories that aren’t long?” Isaiah asks, sounding exasperated. “A person won’t be able to learn a damn thing about you unless they want to listen to you talk for days.”

“Hey,” I say, insulted. “Some people like to hear me talk.”

“Especially his boyfriend,” Anna says snidely. “His gigantic, sweet, hotter-than-hell boyfriend who probably hates you for even breathing the same air as the person he’s loved for all his life and—”

“Jesus Christ,” I groan. “Give it a rest.”

“Why?” she snaps at me. “So I can just sit here and watch you flirt with this tool?”

“You’re flirting with me?” Isaiah asks, arching an eyebrow. “I’m flattered. And I’m not a tool. Unless you want me to be.” He flashes a lascivious grin.

“I’m not flirting with you,” I reassure him. “You’re nice, but not my type.”

Ha! it whispers. Hilarious. I thought we were done with the whole “less than the truth” thing. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery. Hi, my name is Bear, and I’m attracted to men who are not my boyfriend.

I don’t have a problem, I remind it . I have hormones and errant blood that seems to wander down to my dick without my consent. It’s called being in your twenties.

It’s funny how you always have an excuse for everything, it says as it chuckles. Lord knows your life will never be boring. Not honest, either, but at least it’ll never be boring.

“Not your type?” Isaiah scoffs. “I’m everyone’s type.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re a slut,” Anna says.

“If the cockring fits,” Isaiah says, grinning wickedly.

“It’s sad that you think you’re funny,” Anna says with faux sympathy.

“Quick, cover up your narcissism before someone sees it.”

“You and me,” he says seriously, “we’re going to end up being best friends.”

“I highly, highly doubt that.”

Actually, I could almost see that happening, if they don’t kill each other first. But for once I keep my mouth shut. I don’t need to be under Anna’s wrath any more than I already am.

OTTER had planned for us to get a hotel in Portland to stay the night so we wouldn’t have to drive back so late. I understood the implied message behind his words was that he didn’t want to drive back drunk. This caused me to pause for a moment and to try and think of a time that I’d ever seen Otter drunk, and I realized that in all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen him drunk; beyond that, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him even tipsy.

Otter is a model of self-control, and when I told him this, he thought for a moment and shrugged, saying there was only one thing in the world he couldn’t control himself over. I’d asked him what that was. He said I shouldn’t have even had to ask and kissed me sweetly before heading off to take a shower. I realized what it was about two seconds later and ran in after him, showing him just how much I enjoyed that loss of control of his. I was even able to put Eddie Egan and his idiotic questions about dominance out of my head long enough for Otter to have me pressed up against the shower wall, his massive body pressed against mine as I writhed under his lips and teeth attached to my neck and his dick up my ass.

If that’s not devotion, then I don’t know what is.

Isaiah had lived up to his promise and given me some clothes that he said would send all the boys running after me. I told him that I didn’t want boys chasing me. He said that I probably shouldn’t go, then. I told him that was my plan to begin with. He told me to stop being such a baby and then made me try on jeans that felt like a second skin but made my ass look a lot better than it actually is and a black, collared button-down that he said to leave unbuttoned halfway down. It made my chest look huge, the white skin there contrasting with the dark shirt so much that I looked like I glowed in the dark. Isaiah rolled up the sleeves, rubbing my forearms appreciatively while Anna scowled in the background. He took some goopy sticky crap and rubbed it through my hair, making it look messy on purpose. He then gave me a leather bracelet thing that I normally associate with douche bags and told me to snap it around my wrist.