Top Secret

by Sarina Bowen

I drop my hand, and kiss the back of Annika’s shoulder. “Wake up, princess.” I give her smooth ass a playful nudge with my erection. “Sleepy,” she grunts. So that’s how it is. Only an asshole bugs his sleeping girlfriend for sex. So I give her a little squeeze, and then get out of bed for a shower and a shave.

Tim snickers. “How is that a reward?” “It’s not,” Judd says, rolling his eyes. “Because there’s no such thing as rewards during Hell Week. These losers need to suffer.” Why? I almost blurt out. Why do they need to “suffer”? To be honest, I’ve never understood the concept of hazing. It’s supposed to be about bonding, right? Creating long-lasting friendships with your fellow brothers?

The thing is? I don’t want his job. I don’t want his life. I want to spend three months sailing the coast of Chile, looking for an undocumented breed of orca. It’s the kind of hands-on research program that makes budding marine biologists come in their pants.

His eagerness is such a turn-on.

I tune him out. Again, I feel bad doing it, but my mind is elsewhere. This thing with Luke is confusing. I’m wildly attracted to him and I want to have more sex—that much I know. But anything else, whether it’s friendship or something more...I have no fucking clue about.

“Hey,” I say over the music. He glances up. Instantly, suspicion fills his expression, and I wonder if there’ll ever be a time where he sees me and his default emotion isn’t mistrust. I hope so.

“Dad says he’s happy to talk to you,” I tell Luke. “So what do you say? Let me use you shamelessly so I don’t have to engage one-on-one with my father?” “Sure. I’m in.” And although I’m pleased that Bailey accepted my help, I find it incredibly telling that he only agreed to it when he thought I was using him. Someone helping him from the goodness of their heart is completely inconceivable to him, and damned if that isn’t one of the saddest things I’ve ever encountered.

It’s fine to be jazzed up on your own interests. But to assume that your favorite things should be important to everyone else? It’s both self-centered and ridiculous.

He lifts his hand just as the waiter approaches, and so the guy passes the check to Luke. “Oh no,” Dad says. “It’s always my treat.” “It’s already taken care of,” Luke says, flipping open the wallet to add a tip to the receipt and sign the bill. “You saved my finance grade, and I’m grateful.” He must have slipped a credit card to the waiter when he went to the men’s room. Sneaky. Dad beams at this bit of trickery. He doesn’t care about the money, but I can tell that Luke has impressed him. Isn’t that hilarious? We’re both a little obsessed.

I reach a hand across the console and brush my fingers across his crotch. My increasing boldness surprises me. “When? Now?” “I should write this paper first.” I groan. He laughs. “You’re probably sore anyway.” “So?” Athletes don’t complain about pain. “So that’s off the table.” I can’t quite grasp the disappointment that fills my chest. “Forever?” I find myself asking. The look he gives me says he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “For today.” That tight feeling in my chest eases. My voice sounds too husky, and far too needy, as I say, “But…it’s going to happen again?” His low chuckle heats the air between us. “Yeah,” he finally drawls. “It’s going to happen again.”

“Fine. I won’t,” I promise. “Now will you come back here and finish what you started?” I fling the sheet off my lower body, and my erection bobs up to say hello. “Nah.” “Why not?” I demand. He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip. “Because you displeased me.” I sputter with laughter. “Are you serious right now? I displeased you?” “Yeah, by bringing up the work shit. Your big mouth cost yourself my mouth.” Luke’s eyes gleam dangerously. “Bad boys get punished, Hayworth.” Ohhh. I see where this is going and I ain’t gonna lie—I’m fully on board. So is my dick, judging by the way it grows impossibly harder. Luke doesn’t miss my body’s response. But when I slide my hand down my stomach toward my groin, he stops me with a swift, “Hands at your sides.” “But I’m horny,” I whine. “Don’t care. Hands at your sides.” When I hesitate again, he mocks, “Don’t make me ask you a third time.” My mouth goes dry. I slowly press my palms to the mattress on either side of me.

that. Not that I’m allowed to say so. My glance drifts toward my stereo, which is actually playing a Sam Smith song right now. I wouldn’t listen to this guy at all if it weren’t for a certain obsession of mine. But I can’t explain that, either. And honestly it pisses me off. Lying gets old pretty fast. And I’m not used to bottling up my feelings. “There is someone,” I admit. “I’m not comfortable discussing it with you. But I want you to know that I understand. We both needed to make some changes and try a few things out.”

We lapse into silence, just eyeing each other warily. My fingers itch to touch him. I want to use my thumb to smooth out the furrow between his eyebrows. I like Luke Bailey. A lot. That’s my other secret. And forget about my frat brothers—it’s Luke who can’t handle that one.

“You know what I think?” he says suddenly. “I think you need to justify us. Like you’re not a hundred percent okay with getting it on with a guy. And if I tell you we’re more than sex, you’ll feel better.” “That’s not true,” I protest. And get out of my brain. “I’m sort of scary to you, and you need to shape it into something that’s more familiar. But it won’t ever work.” “And why’s that?” He flops down on my bed with a sigh. “I’m going to put this into terms that you can understand.” “This better be good.” “You’re a yellow lab.” “I’m…what?” “A dog. A big, happy dog chasing Frisbees on the beach with his pals. You’re a pack animal.” I snort. “And you’re…a pit bull?” “Not even. I’m a tomcat in the alley,” he says. “Just passing through. No collar. Not very friendly. No good at catching Frisbees…” “I get it. Jesus.” It’s not the worst analogy. Although I think Luke secretly wants to be a dog and join the pack. He won’t admit it. But the guy rushed a fraternity, for fuck’s sake. He claims it was the cheapest way to find a place to live. But I call bullshit. Luke won’t admit all the things that he wants. Who am I to criticize, though? A guy who willfully ignored his attraction to men for many years can’t go around pointing out other people’s ignorance. Instead, I lay down on the bed beside him and run a thumb across his forehead, smoothing out his brow. He closes his eyes. Tomcat my ass.

I put a palm on his arm and give it a squeeze. I can’t stop touching him. I’d do it all the time if he’d let me.

“Anything I can do?” I ask instead. He rolls over. “Maybe that thing you do to my shoulders? Please? I think I strained something last night.” I get up off the bed, closing and locking the door. Then I get back onto the bed, straddling Luke’s waist, placing my hands on his shoulders. I grip them hard, digging in with my thumbs, massaging the tight muscles I find under my hands. He groans happily. “You are my favorite person in the whole fucking world.” It might even be true. I just hope it’s enough for my greedy little heart. I press my luck. “You want to watch that French movie together tonight? The one for your class?” “Maybe,” he mumbles. “We’ll see.” I roll my eyes. Mr. Elusive. My hands bear down on his traps and he groans with happiness. The sound does nice things to my insides. So I can’t help but lean down and kiss the back of his neck. Affection comes easily to me, damn it. I am a yellow lab. Sue me. I give Bailey a terrific massage, interspersed with kisses. And when I’ve turned him into a relaxed puddle of a man, I spread my body out on his back and sigh. “Now I’m horny.”

“Thanks for making me feel better.” “Any time.” If only you’d let me do it more often. I kiss him instead of saying it aloud.

I know it wouldn’t kill me to accept a bag of chips from Keaton. It wouldn’t kill me to spend more time with him, or to tell him more often how much I like his company. I don’t, though. Affection doesn’t come naturally to me, to put it mildly. And I’ve been on edge since Keaton brought up the “C” and “D” words. And no, I don’t mean cock and dick. I love those words. I’m talking about him asking if we’re a couple, pointing out that we’re dating. Fuck. How did we get here? I’ve had friends-with-benefits arrangements before, but none that have lasted more than three months. And clearly Hayworth is catching feelings. I see the way he looks at me. It’s an unsettling combination of fascination, tenderness, and frustration. I see him biting his tongue a lot, as if he wants to dig deeper into my psyche, peel back my layers like I’m an onion. I like Keaton a lot. But nobody gets to do that. Usually I’m good at keeping my armor on. I don’t let anyone see what I don’t want them to see. But it’s getting harder to do that with Keaton. I really do like the guy. He makes me laugh. Makes me come. But this couple and dating talk makes my skin prickle with discomfort. Makes me want to flee.

Why the fuck does Keaton want to date me, anyway? What’s wrong with him?

I stare at his muscular back as he saunters out of the room. I swear, nothing fazes this man. I can glower and glare at him all day long, and he won’t bat an eye. My brooding doesn’t bother him. My refusal to talk about my feelings doesn’t test his patience. He’s rock steady, and I don’t get it. Doesn’t he realize he’s wasting his time? And yet, despite my reluctance to lower my guard around him, I find myself sliding into the passenger seat of Keaton’s BMW twenty minutes later. Nobody ever said I was smart.

I look over with a wry grin. “Are we seriously listening to Beyoncé right now?” He grins back, turning the volume down. “Annika shared a playlist with me on Spotify. Queen B is her number one.” My stomach does a hot twist. For fuck’s sake. The tug of jealousy is completely unwelcome. What do I care if Keaton is still best buds with his ex-girlfriend?

This might have been a bad idea, I decide an hour later. Luke’s expression as he studies our hotel suite in Stonington isn’t as…encouraging as I’d hoped. A muscle ticks in his jaw when his gaze settles on the massive four-poster bed in the center of the room. Then he turns to me and sighs. “How much is this costing you?” I know I’ve overstepped a boundary by surprising him with a weekend away. But it seems he’s not worried about the intimacy of taking a trip so much as the cost of it. So that’s good news.

“So I asked what was going on next weekend, and Jako said it was your birthday.” Luke still doesn’t answer. “So I thought, hey, he’s got this weekend off, so maybe I’ll surprise him with an early birthday thing,” I finish lamely. The discomfort I’m feeling is nothing compared to the intensified version of it I see in Luke Bailey’s eyes. Hoo boy, this was a bad idea, all right. I didn’t expect him to jump up and down with joy, but I didn’t think he’d be this put off by my efforts. “You planned a weekend away to celebrate my birthday,” he murmurs. I gulp. “Yeah.” “What else did you plan? What exactly are we doing this weekend, along with boning on that huge bed.” He gestures vaguely to the California king. I meet his eyes. “Tonight we’re having steaks at the hotel restaurant. Tomorrow afternoon we’re going to a craft beer festival in Mystic.” He nods slowly. “Okay. And?” He knows me well. “Uh, Sam Smith is playing at Mohegan Sun. I got us tickets,” I mumble. The seats are front row, center. But I don’t mention that. He’d probably do the math, figure out the ticket prices, and have a nervous breakdown.

I sit down at the edge of the bed and run a hand through my hair. Shit. I feel like such an idiot. As Annika can attest, I tend to get carried away when it comes to special occasions. I mean, I arranged a threesome for her birthday, for fuck’s sake. And for her birthday last year, I took her to Paris. Money has never been a factor for me. My trust fund is enormous. I don’t dip into it often, but when I do, I don’t hold back. But Bailey isn’t Annika. Annika grew up as wealthy as I did. Bailey did not. I’m such a fool. Of course he’s freaked out by all this.

When the bathroom door opens, I half expect an outraged Luke to stomp toward me and demand to be taken back to Darby. Instead, I find myself gazing at a stricken Luke whose dark eyes are slightly rimmed with red. “Hayworth,” he starts. Then he stops. “Keaton.” I remain seated. “You okay?” I ask cautiously. He gives a slow shake of his head. Fuck. I open my mouth, armed with an apology, but he cuts me off with a strangled groan. “I want to be pissed off at you. I really do. Because this is so fucking extra. One dinner would’ve been a sufficient birthday present. Actually, way more than sufficient. But dinner and two nights at this fancy hotel and a beer festival and a concert? Are you out of your mind?” Once again, I open my mouth to tell him that all Hayworths like to party. It’s just in our blood. Our annual beach barbecue is legendary. But once again, he speaks first. “I’m not pissed,” he says helplessly. “I’m not pissed, because do you realize that the last time anybody remembered my birthday, let alone celebrated it, was back in high school?” I frown. “Not even your family?” Luke laughs bitterly. “Especially them. The last time my mother wished me a happy birthday was when I turned sixteen.” He shakes his head a few times. “I can’t believe you did this.” “But you’re not pissed,” I hedge. “Not much. I’m fucking touched, okay? Even if I want to punch you for making me feel this way—hey! Wipe that grin off your face! This isn’t funny.” I press my lips together to fight my...

“You are the most sex-starved person I’ve ever met,” he mutters against my greedy mouth. “You love it,” I mumble back. I’m already clawing at his clothes.

I stay quiet, because I’m terrified he’ll stop talking if I say something. This is the first time he’s spoken at length about his family. No, about his feelings. Luke Bailey doesn’t share.

I gulp down the lump in my throat. “So what do you suggest I say? Because I’ve tried asking him to back off, and it hasn’t worked.” Luke kisses the back of my neck. “Yeah, you’ve asked. And what I’m telling you to do is tell him. This is your life, not his. He doesn’t get a say in what you choose to do with it. That means you can’t let him bully you into stuff anymore—running for frat president, this finance internship that—no offense—you are going to suck at.” “No offense taken,” I mutter. “I hate business, and I particularly hate finance.” “Exactly, and you need to be firm about that. Draw your line in the sand, babe. When we get back to school, you need to phone him up and say, ‘Dad, this is how it is. I’m not interning at your company this summer. I’m going to Chile to play with Shamu⁠—’” I snicker. And I wonder if he realizes he just called me babe. But I don’t mention it, because it’d probably send him into a panic again.

Abandoning the massage, Luke twists me around so we’re facing each other. The combination of heat and tenderness on his face makes me shiver. “Come here, Keaton.” Keaton. He usually calls me Hayworth, and it always sounds like he’s keeping his distance. But not today.

I’m just plain happy. Last night was everything. The concert was a good time. We’d stood there at the foot of the stage, dancing, Luke’s hands on my hips. And naturally when we got back to the hotel, I was ready to give the king-sized bed another workout. “Are you sore?” Luke had asked me between kisses. “Kind of,” I’d admitted. We’d been crazy men the night before. “But athletes don’t complain about pain.” “Sure, but…” He’d popped the button on his own jeans. “Maybe you’d better fuck me, then.” He’d said it just like that. Like we were deciding between the stuffed mushrooms and the chicken wings on the appetizers menu. But I didn’t question it. I’m not a stupid man. A half hour later I’d had him gripping the headboard and moaning my name. Getting out of town was my best idea since throwing a winter beach party. My best idea ever.

“Uh-huh.” The sun is warm on my face, so I close my eyes. “I’ve never dated anyone who wanted to discuss my manual transmission before.” I realize my mistake the second I make it. “You know what I mean,” I mumble. He’s quiet for a second. “No, I do. We are heading in that direction, Keaton. I get it now.” I’m so surprised that I actually stop breathing. “No sense in me arguing the point. I just hope you know you’ve got an amateur on your hands, here. I’ll probably do everything wrong.” “I’m not worried,” I say quickly. “Really? You should be. People are going to notice how much time we spend together. What are we going to say?” “I haven’t figured that out yet,” I admit. “I’m an amateur, too. At this. Can’t we sort that part out on our own time?” “Maybe,” he concedes. “As long as there aren’t any leaks on our top-secret security team. Like Tanner grabbing your phone and opening up the wrong app…” I snort. “I have that sucker well hidden. But there will probably be a point in the future when you feel less like it matters, right? This semester ends in just a few weeks. Next year you’ll already be president…” Now I’ve done it again. I’ve assumed that we’ll be together next year. “Suppose it won’t be as big a deal,” Luke concedes. “Eventually.” We lapse into silence again, but my whole outlook has changed this weekend. All my patience has paid off. Luke Bailey acknowledges that we’re a couple? Pinch me.

When I woke up this morning, Luke was sleeping curled up against my back, his arm wrapped around me. It was so peaceful that I held still as long as I could, just to make it last. And when he finally woke up, he didn’t untangle himself right away. He kissed me between the shoulder blades instead. I want that again. And I like it a whole lot. I’ve always known that coupledom felt right to me. The part I didn’t understand is that it works even better for me when that other half is a man. Here’s the part I haven’t told anyone—even Luke. I’m starting to wonder if bisexual is even the right label for me. Lately my sexuality is tilted further toward men than women. Lately I notice men everywhere. It’s as if I took my blinders off and started seeing everyone differently. The shapely biceps, quads, and glutes of the men of Darby, Connecticut are everywhere suddenly. Which is weird, because I’ve been surrounded by athletes my whole life. Before, though, I might be admiring a guy at the squat rack thinking, nice form. These days I just think...nice.

“So what if I do? I just wanted to spend some time with you. And I’m going to keep on doing that. It’s nobody’s business but ours.” “Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat. “Sounds good to me.” I chuckle, because the discomfort in his voice is so hard to miss. “Go ahead and laugh,” he says. “But I am trying.” “I know you are.” I reach over the console and squeeze his hand. He squeezes mine back.

“How is this a surprise to you? I don’t like to owe people. You know this. I hate feeling like an ungrateful little bitch.” “So don’t be one!” he roars. “And I’m not talking about money. That’s beyond your control. When it comes to love, you’re a fucking miser. Like it would kill you to admit that you care.” It would kill me, though. Because when I look at Keaton Hayworth III, I see the kind of man who can never be mine. Whatever he thinks he sees in me will eventually get old. One day soon he’ll wake up and wonder what the hell he’s doing with a punk who nobody else ever bothered to love. His obsession will fade. Maybe it’s because he gets sick of my bullshit. Or maybe another, badder bad boy catches his eye. Either way, we were never going to last. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

And sometimes it’s Luke who is sneaking looks at me. On those rare occasions when we’re both around, I see the regret in his eyes. He’s not very good at hiding it. I know he still wants me. I know he never stopped. But you can’t make someone get over their issues and love you. I know that he’s never had anyone trustworthy in his life, and I really want to be that person. But what if he’s just too broken to let me? Luke is much like an abused stray. Okay, now I’m comparing the guy I like to a dog. But animals are my jam, so that’s actually a compliment from me. Anyway, you see these heart-wrenching videos of abused dogs who thrive with the right kind of attention. They gain weight, and their coats become glossy. If you believe YouTube, they’re the most loyal animals in the world. But if you read enough animal-behavior literature, you know it doesn’t always end that way. Some dogs never get past their terror.

“A new species?” She makes a skeptical face. “I know, right? There’s a strange kind of killer whale that people have reported once in a while over fifty years. But it’s never been filmed or tagged. This expedition aims to prove that it exists.” “How is that more important than curing diabetes?” my father asks. “I never said it was. But my interests are my interests. And nobody ever told you what to study.”

He sighs. Then his phone chimes, and he picks it up. “Bo seems to think that Luke wanted the internship but didn’t think he could make it work. Bo offered him an unpaid position.” “Oh.” I feel a pain right between my ribs for Luke. A job he wants but can’t afford? That’s just cruel. “Luke can’t work an unpaid internship. He barely has enough money right now to eat. He works late-night hours every weekend just to make the rent.” “Isn’t there financial aid for that?” my mother asks. “He has a full academic scholarship. But it only covers tuition. And his mother calls every couple of weeks asking him for money.” My father sits back in his chair, a disgusted look on his face. “What kind of mother asks her kid for money?” “His kind.” Dad picks up his phone and starts tapping again. “Honey, at the table?” my mother complains. “Just a sec,” he says. “I’m telling Bo to offer that kid an actual summer job and one of our corporate studios in Hoboken.” I wonder if Luke will kill me for interfering? Then again, what difference does it make? He’s not currently talking to me. If he gets this job, he’ll be better off and still not talking to me. Yup. Worth it.

By the time I get back to Darby, it’s evening already. I climb the stairs to the third floor with the usual amount of trepidation. Lately, I’m always listening for Luke’s key in the lock, so I can accidentally appear on the landing at the same moment. Subtle of me, I know. Tonight, though, I hit it just right. Luke is walking out of our bathroom and unable to reach the safety of his closed bedroom door before I arrive. “Hi,” I say quietly. “Hi.” He jams his hands in his pockets. “If you had anything to do with the job offer I just got, I appreciate it.” “What job offer?” I say stiffly. He rolls his amazing dark eyes. “Fine. Go ahead and yell at me some more. I may have nudged my father into checking into your summer application. But it’s only because I care about you.” Luke’s gaze drops to the floor. “Thank you,” he says so quietly that I almost can’t hear. “I’m sure I don’t really deserve it.” And before I can argue, he goes into his room and closes the door.

I’m going to text him back. He deserves that, and so much more. I’m still a wreck. And we’re still complicated. But at least I can reply to a fucking message. He said I was stingy with love, and he was right. I am really not sure that will ever change. But if there’s anyone in the world I could change for, it’s certainly him.

“I don’t know if I will,” I admit. “It’s the summer, and usually I stay at our house in Easthampton. Luke is somewhere in Hoboken.” “Then you should go to Hoboken and shack up.” The breeze snakes under Mateo’s shoulder-length brown hair, rustling the long strands. I snort. “My dad will kill me if I miss the annual Hayworth barbecue.” “Then go after that. You want to see him, don’t you?” “Of course.” So much that my heart hurts. But since I left, Luke hasn’t once mentioned us seeing each other again. “Then go.” Mateo gobbles down another piece of mango. “Make the first move.” I mull over the advice for the rest of the morning, but reach no conclusions. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to make the first move. I already made it before I left. I tried talking to him, connecting with him, reaching out to him. He pushed me away. And since I’ve been gone, I’ve messaged him every single day. I’ve made it more than clear that I’m thinking about him and that I miss him. That I want us to be a couple, a real committed couple, when I return. And he’s distant. So why should I be the one to fight for us? And is there even a point in fighting for someone who doesn’t want to love you?

I miss you and I want to be with you. I want a relationship with you. And I’m no longer interested in hearing excuses.

“Do you miss dancing?” “No,” I say, and then think for a moment. “Not really. I didn’t like having to be ‘on’ when I wasn’t feeling it.

“You’re great at teasing,” he grumbles. “Get over here already.” “Oh, I’d like to. But I can’t fuck you during a party at your parents’ house.” Anyone could look through the window, or walk in here looking for the john. He sighs. “I suppose not. Want to go swimming? Maybe that will cool the fire in my trunks.” “Sure, LobsterShorts. Take me swimming.” He sits up and smiles at me, and that smile makes me stupid. How did it take me so long to trust this man? “Keaton?” “Yeah?” “I love you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to get over my own bullshit before and just be your guy.” He swallows. “Can you be now?” “I want to. If you’ll let me try.” He gets off the bed. “Come here.” He pulls me into a hug. “We have to go swimming now, otherwise I’m going to maul you.” “Okay,” I whisper in his ear. “I love you, too. I know it’s easier for me to get there than it was for you. I don’t blame you for your scars.” “Thank you,” I mumble. I wrap my arms around his wide body and sigh.

You can hear the ocean from Keaton’s bed. How cool is that?