Page 26 of Ship Happens

“Yep.”

Owen sips the drink, letting the awkward silence be filled by an old Usher song.

“Here you go, handsome,” the bartender says, sliding Jacob’s beer across the bar, not paying any further mind to Owen. “That all I can get for ya?”

“Yeah, for now, thanks.” Jacob reaches out to let him scan the rubber medallion on his wrist.

“Oh, no. You’re all good.”

“Are these drinks included?” Jacob asks.

“These ones are.” The bartender even pulls down his sunglasses, so that Jacob can see the wink that he gives him. “So, is there anything else you want while I’m on shift, handsome?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself, big man,” the bartender says, leaning across the bar. His uniform is a bit different from the rest of the staff’s, his arms on full display in his teal tank top. And he knows they look good. “So . . . are you on vacation alone?”

“No,” Owen interjects. “He’s not.”

“Oh, well . . . the more the merrier?” the bartender half offers.

Owen glowers at the bartender, unblinking. The man’s face turns pale, his expression sinking.

“Right . . . you two have a fun time!” the bartender says, scurrying away with his tail between his legs.

“Down, boy,” Jacob says, going to press a hand to the small of Owen’s back. Then, he remembers. If only he could read Owen’s mind, Jacob would know in an instant how badly Owen wants Jacob to touch him.

Just one last time.

“I’m fine,” Owen scoffs, downing more of his drink, like there’s any actual alcohol content to quell the growing mess in his brain.

“Are you sure?” Jacob asks, leaning in closer, hands around the neck of his beer bottle. “Because that was scary . . . almost like you were jealous.”

“Pfft, you wish.” Owen stares straight ahead, not wanting to give Jacob the attention that he’s desperate for.

“Come on, Owen. We can’t just ignore each other.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” Owen says. “I’m talking to you, am I not?”

“Yeah . . . I guess. But it doesn’t feel good.”

“Maybe that’s your fault? Did you ever consider that?”

Jacob’s shoulders sink, and Owen hears him let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

“I don’t know why you do either,” Owen tells him, finally turning to face Jacob. He can see the slight flush in his cheeks now. That’s certainly not his first beer. He’s also shirtless, his hairy chest on full display.

The black lines of the squid tattoo are still vibrant despite the fine detail of some of them, tentacles spreading out toward the underside of Jacob’s plump pecs, the shading covering up his top surgery scars.

It’s still the tattoo Owen is most proud of. Even if he can still see some of the mistakes. A crooked line near the mantle, and a spot in the shading of the eye that needs to be touched up. Still, it’s Jacob’s only tattoo. And he’d been kind enough to give Owen that privilege.

“I want to try, Owen. I really do,” Jacob says. “I thought that in coming here we could—”

“We could what, Jacob? What was your grand plan, exactly?”

“Well, if you’d stop interrupting me, I’d—”

“Actually, never mind.” Owen turns on the stool, water splashing around his legs. “I don’t want to hear this.”