Heat Stroke (Beach Kingdom 2)

He was just fucked up beyond all recognition over a man named Jamie.

“I have to go. Good luck with the ladies,” Marcus muttered, peeling himself up off the mat and lumbering on jelly legs to the locker room. He showered and yanked a brush through his hair, donning a pair of black mesh workout pants and a gray T-shirt. After a quick check of the clock, he realized the lease signing was set to begin in ten minutes, so he shoved his feet into a pair of size fourteen Chucks and jogged out of the gym with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

Thankfully he didn’t have far to go. The man who owned the building where the juice shop was located also owned two of the neighboring buildings, and the management office was in the ground floor of one of them. As soon as Marcus stepped out of the gym, he saw Jamie leaning against the building across the street, thumbing through his phone. The gym and everyone inside faded away and all he could do was stare. God, Jamie looked so good. They’d both gotten their shifts at the beach covered today so they could make the lease signing, and while Marcus had gone fitness casual, Jamie was wearing a bright white polo shirt and dark olive green khakis. Something he would wear to teach, maybe?

Marcus was so entranced, he almost walked into oncoming traffic.

A car barreled past blaring its horn and the next time Marcus looked up, Jamie was watching him with raised eyebrows. “Christ, Diesel,” he called. “Try not to die.”

The tips of Marcus’s ears were on fire and probably fire engine red, but he put his head down and trundled the rest of the way across the street, anyway. “Hi Jamie. The office is locked?”

Jamie sighed and nodded, glancing over at the glass storefront with the words Han Management written across it in white script. “Yeah, there’s a back in fifteen minutes sign hanging in the door.”

“I guess we wait,” Marcus said, nodding at Jamie. “You dressed up.”

He looked down. “Not really, you’re just used to seeing me at the bar or on the beach.”

Marcus dropped his bag and posted up beside Jamie, his back resting on the wall of the building. “So this is the kind of getup you wear teaching?”

“No, I…” Jamie hesitated, his mouth twitching. “There might be a sweater vest or two in the mix. The occasional sport coat. It is a private school.”

“They call you Mr. Prince?”

“They better.”

Marcus grinned. “You pretend to be mean, don’t you? You give a lot of homework and make the tests hard, but when someone fucks up or fails I bet you give them an extra credit assignment. Huh?” He elbowed Jamie in the side. “I bet you say, ‘this is a one-time thing, Randall Jennings the Third’ and give them bored eyes, but you would probably give them the chance again, because you hate giving bad grades.”

It took Marcus a moment to realize Jamie was staring at him with his jaw on the ground. “That was all just a guess?”

“How close am I to the truth?”

“Eerily close.”

“Well, I don’t know much.” Marcus tapped his temple with his index finger. “But I know Jamie Prince.”

Jamie continued to look at him and Marcus could almost sense the racing of his thoughts. He opened his mouth to respond to Marcus, but the sound of flip-flops slapping the sidewalk interrupted whatever it was.

“Hello, hello, I’m Mr. Han.” Marcus and Jamie bumped shoulders as they turned to find a Korean man carrying a to-go bag closing the distance between them. “I went out to get some lunch. You don’t mind if I eat while we sign.”

Apparently it wasn’t a question.

They waited for Mr. Han to unlock the door and flip on the lights, before following him into the air-conditioned office. He ushered them into a conference room and got busy spreading out his Subway sandwich, potato chips and cookie. Then he sat down, took a bite and stood back up. “My empty stomach made me forget the lease agreement.”

Jamie and Marcus traded an amused look and waited for Mr. Han to return. Within seconds, he was back in the conference room with two copies of the rental agreement. He slid one across the table toward Marcus.

Without missing a beat, Marcus passed it to Jamie, who adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his chair—and Marcus could suddenly picture him in thirty years, wearing a sweater vest and reading something smart beside a roaring fire. Would there be someone there with him? A man who wasn’t afraid to acknowledge who he was and embrace it, consequences be damned?

The image made Marcus want to karate chop the table in half.

Mr. Han took another bite of his sandwich, pointing the six-inch sub at Jamie. “Is this your business partner?”