Riptide (Sand Dollar Shoal Book 2) Read online

  Taking Exit 6 off Route 6, his favorite Sam Hunt song came on the radio. Sam was singing about breaking up in a small town. He knew the words by heart and sang along until a bolt of lightning and the loudest crash of thunder he’d ever heard shook the car.

  Rain started pelting down so hard he could barely see where he was going. When he’d gotten off the exit, he’d seen a road sign indicating there was a hotel nearby. All he had to do was find it in this deluge and he’d be able to get off the road for the night.

  Spotting another blue hotel sign, he turned left onto what looked like School Street and kept on going over a small bridge with a large sign that read, “No Jumping.” Drake snorted. What kind of a town had to tell its residents not to jump off a bridge?

  He thought he saw another sign up ahead and squinted to try to make it out in between the wipers moving sheets of rain off his windshield. Drake was concentrating so hard on reading the sign, that he didn’t see the huge puddle in front of him.

  The car hydroplaned, skidding across the water as if it were ice. Not knowing what to do, Drake stomped on the brakes, which finally slowed the car to stop, but not before sending a wave of water cascading up over the hood.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay,” Drake panted, still trying to catch his breath. His heart was pounding a mile a minute. Looking up, he could see the car came to a stop only inches from a statuesque tree. An impact like that in his small Chevy sedan really would have made this the day from hell.

  Seeing that the instrument panel was dark, Drake tried to turn the key in the ignition and nothing happened. The lights didn’t come on and the engine didn’t even try to turn over. “Fuck me in a hurricane,” Drake muttered.

  As far as he could tell, he had two choices, spend the night in the car or try to find the hotel he’d seen the signs for. Not having any food in the car sealed the deal. He hopped out of the driver’s seat into the deluge. He could only pray the hotel was close by.

  2

  Presley was dreaming about going down on Channing Tatum. He was on his knees for the star, his mouth stuffed full of his cock.

  “Harder!” Channing demanded, stomping his booted foot on the floor.

  Sucking a deep breath through his nose, Pres tried to obey, gagging on Tatum’s thick cock. As hard as he tried to take all of him into his mouth, Channing’s stomping got louder and louder. How the hell could he concentrate on sucking dick with that noise?

  Presley startled awake in his recliner, hearing someone pounding on his front door. He looked around his living room, all of the lights were on, but the television was off and the clock on his DVD player was blinking. The power must have gone out for a bit.

  Climbing out of his chair, he headed toward the door, where the pounding was almost constant. “I’m coming!” Pres snorted, that was exactly what he hoped to hear Channing shouting in his dream. “Keep your shirt on!” Pres called out. It must be one of the guys. He hoped it wasn’t Noble coming to tell him the cottage was flooding.

  Not bothering to ask who was at the door, Presley jerked it open, prepared to give whoever it was shit about waking him up. The man standing on the other side of the door wasn’t one of his friends, but a complete stranger.

  “H-Hi,” the man said through chattering teeth. “Y-Your light was the only one on. I-I’m looking for Sand Dollar Shoal.”

  Pres couldn’t believe his eyes. The man had to be at least six and half feet tall. He was dressed in a white tee-shirt which was plastered to his skin, obscenely outlining every muscle and a pair of jeans which were also soaked through. His dark hair was plastered against his head and he could see the man shivering. It might be May, but this was a cold rain sweeping down from Canada. “Who are you?”

  “D-D-Drake D-DeMelo. Is this Sand Dollar Shoal?”

  “Yes, but we don’t have our grand opening until Memorial Day. I’m planning a masquerade ball.” Presley shut his mouth so hard, his teeth clicked together. This man was wet and cold and here he was rambling on about the hotel and the party he was planning. “Come in, you must be freezing.” If that wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever said, he’d eat his shirt.

  “T-Thanks, man. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “I’m Presley Forrester. Why don’t you take off your shirt and pants?” Pres shook his head. He was going with a swing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d commanded a gorgeous man to strip for him. Never mind the fact that he’d only known the stranger for thirty seconds.

  Drake grinned. “Presley? What kind of name is that?” He hauled his soaking shirt over his head. Rivulets of water ran down his abs to soak into the waistband of his jeans.

  Presley licked his lips. He’d never seen a more gorgeous man in his life. This man looked like he was something created by Michelangelo with his rock-hard abs and sculpted chest. What he’d give to lick the drops of water cascading down Drake’s chest.

  “Uh, Presley?” Drake was waving his hand in front of his host’s face.

  “Shit! Yeah, sorry. You woke me up when you knocked on the door.” Jesus Christ, another lame excuse. “I’ll turn around so you can strip. I-I mean take off your pants.” Presley clamped his lips shut and turned around, rolling his eyes heavenward. No wonder he hadn’t had a date in months. This guy hadn’t been here for ten minutes and he was acting like a caveman and practically drooling.

  He could hear Drake struggling to get out of his soaked jeans and remembered the other man had asked him a question. “My parents were huge Elvis Presley fans. That’s where my name came from. I guess I’m lucky they weren’t fans of Tammy Wynette.”

  Drake barked out a rough laugh, almost as if the funny comment caught him off-guard.

  When Pres turned around his guest was bent at the waist trying to wrestle his jeans and socks off. He straightened back up to his full height once he was standing there in his underwear.

  Not wanting to get caught staring again, Pres headed toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you into a hot shower. Have you eaten today?”

  “I had lunch around 2pm and my last granola bar around 6pm, I think. This crazy day has been such a blur.”

  Flipping on the bathroom light, Presley grabbed fresh towels from the linen closet and set them on the closed lid of the toilet. He turned on the water in the shower, adjusting it to warm. “Shower’s all set for you. I’ll go make us something to eat. Take as long as you need.”

  “Thanks, Presley.”

  “Sure thing.” Presley ducked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him. It wasn’t until he was looking through the fridge for something to cook when the thought struck him that a perfect stranger was using his shower. “Christ, I hope he’s not a serial killer.”

  XX

  Drake sighed when the hot spray hit his chilled skin. Being out in the pouring rain had made him feel like he’d never be warm again.

  He was so cold out in the storm that he’d thought he was going to have to hoof it back to the car, but then like a tiny miracle, he’d seen the lights on at Presley’s cabin. It felt like he’d been knocking on the door forever when his host finally opened it, his red hair sticking up all over the place and a dazed look in his gorgeous blue eyes.

  Of course he’d had to land on the doorstep of a handsome gay man. After seeing the way Presley was staring at his body and licking his lips, there was no way the man was straight, but Presley’s sexuality was neither here nor there. He had bigger fish to fry.

  First thing in the morning he was going to have to get a mechanic out to look at his dead Chevy and then after it was back on the road he was going to need to find a place to stay since Sand Dollar Shoal wasn’t open for the season yet.

  Once Drake started getting feeling back in his hands, he’d grabbed Presley’s aqua bath puff, yet another clue his host liked men. He soaped up with coconut scented shower gel, which reminded him of days at the beach, not to mention being clue number three.

  He was getting ready to hop out of the shower when he heard a knock at
the door. “Come in.”

  “Sorry, it’s just me,” Presley announced. “I’ve got some dry clothes for you. Since you’re a lot taller than me, I can’t guarantee they’ll fit, but at least they’re dry. I’ll grab your wet boxers and throw them in the dryer too. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Thanks,” Drake said, shutting off the water. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Man, I love that coconut shower gel. Makes me think of the summers I spent down here with my friends when we were in high school.”

  Drake heard the door click shut and he pulled back the shower curtain and hopped out. He toweled himself off and went to see what kind of clothes Presley left for him. Sitting on the toilet lid was a pair of sleep pants patterned with R2D2 and white tee-shirt with the face of the droid on it. Drake snorted. It looked like his host was a sci-fi geek.

  Pulling on the pants, Drake couldn’t help shaking his head. The stretchy waistband fit around his hips, but the pants ended at mid-calf. The shirt was even more ridiculous, leaving about two inches of his stomach exposed. He looked like a he was headed to a Comic Con after some kind of laundry mishap.

  Not that he could bring himself to care much what he wore. He was warm and dry and about to have a hot meal, all thanks to his generous host. Pulling open the bathroom door, he padded barefoot to the kitchen. “Well, what do you think?”

  Presley turned around and burst out laughing. “The force is definitely not with you. Jesus Christ, you look like something out of the 1980s with that half-shirt.

  “I’m warm and dry. That’s all that matters.”

  Nodding, Presley turned back to the stove and started filling two bowls. “It’s boxed mac and cheese with hot dogs. I don’t really cook a lot. Gregor does that.”

  Drake took one of the bowls from Presley as a weird pang of jealousy rolled through his body. “It looks delicious.” He wasn’t about to tell his host, but he was a big fan of boxed macaroni and cheese. It brought him back to the days of living in Cindy’s house. She couldn’t cook worth shit, but could follow package directions.

  “Thanks.” Presley sat opposite him at the table and dug in.

  “Is Gregor your boyfriend?” Drake asked carefully.

  Choking on a sip of water, Presley shook his head. He smacked his chest with the palm of his hand and took a shaky breath. “No, Gregor is one of the friends who’s here to help run the hotel. He’s a former Navy SEAL and a trained chef. He’s been trying out all kinds of recipes using the rest of us as guinea pigs so he can decide on the right menu to serve to the hotel guests in the restaurant.”

  “I didn’t mean to intimate that you’re gay…” He totally did. Drake just wanted to see Presley’s reaction to his question.

  Shrugging, Presley took a bite of macaroni. “I am, but Gregor and I are just friends. More like brothers,” he answered, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  Another pang of jealously roiled in Drake’s gut, which wasn’t like him at all. He’d been in a lot of foster homes over the years, but could never say any of the other kids felt like brothers or sisters. “I’m gay too.”

  Presley’s eyes practically bugged out of his head, which he shook, seeming to bring himself back under control. “So, what were you doing out driving in this weather?”

  Drake shrugged. He’d never been one to share much of himself with other people. Telling a total stranger he was gay was definitely over-sharing, but he couldn’t just refuse to answer Presley’s question. “I’m relocating from California.”

  “To start a new job?” Presley seemed genuinely interested.

  Drake nodded. “In a manner of speaking. I just have to find one first.”

  “What did you do at your last job?”

  Fucked men while the camera rolled…

  Christ, he couldn’t tell Presley that. He could never tell anyone what he did in California. “I was a waiter and I have gardening experience.” Drake wasn’t technically lying. He was a waiter before he was a porn star and he’d loved gardening with Cindy back in New York. Presley didn’t have to know that was nine years ago.

  Presley nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “I might be able to help you there.”

  Drake’s dark eyes popped open. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the hotel opens in a few weeks. We could use some landscaping help around here as well as general help. After the high tide that was predicted along with this storm, the beach is going to need to be cleaned up in the morning. There will probably be a lot of seaweed and lobster traps that washed ashore. Then, once the hotel is open, we’ll need wait staff for Widow’s Walk, the hotel restaurant.”

  “We’re near the beach?” Drake was shocked.

  Presley laughed. “We’re on the beach. It’s about fifty yards from where you’re sitting.”

  “The weather was so loud I guess I didn’t hear the ocean.” If the water was that close, he was damn lucky he didn’t end up in it. Even though he lived in California for seven years, he hadn’t been much of a beach person, unless he was there to do a shoot.

  “I would need to talk to the others about hiring you on, but Noble was just saying this morning that he could use some extra help now that Landon was hip-deep in writing his new book.”

  Drake thought that over. Would he want to work at Sand Dollar Shoal? At the moment, it was his only option. “I’d also need a place to live.”

  “I’d be able to help you out there too. There are five other cabins like this one on the property. Gregor lives in the one next door. Griffin, the owner of the hotel, has the next one and then Noble and Landon have the one closest to the water. The cottage to the right of mine is empty.”

  “What would the rent be?” From what he’d seen of Presley’s cabin it seemed to have all the bells and whistles, hardwood floors, brand new appliances and a washer and dryer. With only his savings to fall back on for now, he’d have to be careful how much money he spent.

  “There is no rent. It’s one of the perks of working at Sand Dollar Shoal.” Presley let out a loud yawn. “I’m off to bed. It’s been a long day. I made up the spare room for you. My room is on the other side of the bathroom. Knock if you need anything.”

  Drake nodded. “Thanks, Presley. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Goodnight, Drake.” Presley turned and headed toward the bathroom.

  “Night, Presley.” How on earth had he gotten so lucky? Not that he was going to hold his breath, but his host had seemed serious about talking to his partners about getting him a job here and the idea of not paying rent was an absolute dream.

  All he needed to do now was keep his mouth shut about his past so that his new dream didn’t turn into his old nightmare.

  3

  Presley was awake long before the alarm was set to go off. He thought about dealing with his morning wood before starting his day, but decided there would be time for that later. He wanted to go check on Drake first.

  It had almost seemed like a dream when the handsome young man, soaked to the skin, had knocked on his door last night and then stripped down to his boxers. Pres shook his head, thoughts like that were only going to make his needy cock more demanding.

  Opening his bedroom door, he was shocked to see the door to Drake’s bedroom was open and the bed was neatly made. Maybe Drake was a dream. After all, he’d been having a pretty vivid dream about Channing Tatum last night.

  He tip-toed down the hall to see the pajamas he’d loaned Drake were folded neatly on the light blue chair that sat in the corner of the spare bedroom. At least his handsome houseguest wasn’t a figment of his imagination. What he was though, was gone.

  Presley sighed and headed out to the living room where a navy blue suitcase was set against the wall near the front door. Flipping over the luggage tag, he saw that it belonged to Drake. He must have left in the car last night and retrieved it this morning.

  On the one hand Pres was bummed that he wouldn’t get to see Drake wearing his own too-small clothes anymore
. He’d always thought it was sexy as hell when lovers wore his clothes. On the other hand, with the way Drake filled out the tight-fitting jeans he’d had on last night, Pres imagined it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship to stare at that boy’s tight ass in clothes that fit him to a T.

  He wasn’t just using the word “boy” arbitrarily, he’d guess Drake was in his early to mid-twenties, which compared to his thirty years qualified his houseguest as a boy.

  Shaking his head, Presley headed back to the bedroom. He loved living on the beach and took advantage of it every morning by going for a run. Some of the others usually joined him and this morning he had a lot to tell them.

  Dressing quickly in his running clothes, a faded Harvard tee and a pair of loose, black running shorts, he shoved his feet into his running shoes and headed out the door. He was surprised to see Gregor leaning against the spilt-rail fence separating his tiny front yard from the access road to the hotel. “Mornin’.”

  “Jesus Christ, I thought I was going to have to go in there and drag your ass out.” Gregor was frowning, not an unusual look for him.

  “Where’s the fire?” Pres bent over to touch his toes and stretch out his back.

  Gregor’s bald head shone in the early morning sunshine. His hands were fisted on his hips. “Uh, the fire is in the form of a Zulu 5 Oscar.”

  “Speak English for fuck’s sake. You know I hate that Navy shit. No one understands it but you.” Gregor had been one week into his freshman year at Yale on September 11, 2001. He’d dropped out of school on September 12, much to his parents’ annoyance, and joined the Navy. Six months later, he’d joined the SEALs.

  Gregor rolled his eyes. “There’s a handsome, shirtless stranger running on our beach.”

  Presley snorted. Handsome and shirtless did seem to describe Drake. “Dark hair and eyes? Half a foot taller than you?”