Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Eighteen

Elliot

It’s the whole reason for you being here… The words stick in my throat, lodged like a fishbone.

I want to tell him that his being here with me makes everything a million times better. I want to explain, to unravel my words that are knotted and twisted. His head’s bowed over his breakfast that he little more than picks at. This sudden, heavy awkwardness is my fault, so I need to fix it.

“Freddie—”

“Do you mind if I go back? I want to sort out my stuff for the boat trip, and I shouldn’t eat much, anyway. In case of sea sickness.” His smile’s as limp as week old lettuce.

“No, no of course not.”

A moment later he’s gone, and I watch his long-legged stride until he disappears around a shrub and out of sight.

Sipping at my coffee, I barely taste it, and I can’t help but feel like the sun’s retreated behind a cloud.

“Good morning. Ells.” Andrew sits down at the table, a bowl of breakfast in his hand that looks like a child’s play set in his huge, hairy paw. I swallow my groan. Somebody else I owe an explanation to.

“Drew,” I say, using the schoolboy name without thought. He tuts, but smiles.

I look around; there’s nobody within earshot, but I drop my voice anyway.

“Freddie told me everything. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough of an apology. I should’ve explained who and what Freddie is when I let you know I was bringing somebody, but I thought it’d be easier all round if Freddie and I kept it to ourselves — and that was my decision, not his. But it was deceitful, and I’m truly sorry.”

“Yes, you should have told me.”

Not us, but me.

“I was surprised you agreed to such a thing, but as soon as I heard James was the instigator…”

“James was always the instigator, but it was what made him so much fun.”

“When we were boys at school, yes, and later at university I suppose.” He hunches his shoulders as he digs into his breakfast, reminding me of a big, grizzly bear pawing honey from a bee hive. “But his pranks and his fun were always at somebody else’s expense,” he spits, as he jabs his spoon too hard into a melon ball and flips it out of the bowl. It hits him full in the beard, where it clings on for dear life.

I burst into a laugh, and Andrew’s chuckle is a deep, accompanying boom, melting the awkwardness between us. Leaning forward, I free the melon and set it aside.

“If it’s any consolation, although it probably isn’t, I was ready to say no to Freddie.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” I say, after a moment’s hesitation.

Andrew studies me, his dark eyes showing nothing of what he’s thinking. I’ve known him for so long, I know his good points of which there are many, and his bad points of which there are few, but I’ve never met anybody who could pull up the shutters so tightly. It’s what’s made him, I suppose, the top barrister he is.

“And why do you think that is?”

“Come on, Drew, I’m not in the witness box. I just decided James was probably right about not facing Gavin on my own, especially when I was led to believe he was bringing somebody.”

Andrew sighs. “For once I have to agree with James, even though it grieves me to say it. You took a big hit when Gavin left, but now you need to move forward, have some fun and not get too involved with anybody for a while. Just cut yourself some slack. Maybe cut it with Freddie?”

I shake my head. “No, we have an arrangement which lasts just for as long as we’re here. I’d been so determined to come here and face Gavin on my own, but when I met Freddie, I found myself questioning why. It’s funny, but James said pretty much the same thing to me, about cutting myself some slack.”

“He’s right.”

Andrew attacks the rest of his breakfast, as I drink my coffee, the silence companionable when it could so easily be strained and tense.

“Who was it Gavin was supposed to have been bringing with him? He made some remark about deciding in the end to come alone.”

“Somebody he met through work, apparently,” he says, pushing his empty bowl aside. “He seemed very keen on him — Marcus told me all this — and then, a couple of nights ago, we had a call to say he was coming by himself. That’s all I know, although Marcus had a long conversation with him in private. But you know those two, they’re tight and always have been. Marcus was pretty quiet for the rest of the evening, which isn’t like him. Whatever Gavin told him, he was thinking long and hard about it. Anyway,” he says, getting up from the table, “that’s Gavin’s problem, it’s certainly not yours. You enjoy your sassy student. Your secret’s safe with me, Elliot. The wedding’s drama enough for my taste, and I’ve got no wish to add to it.” With a quick squeeze of my shoulder, Andrew ambles away.

A few minutes later, I make my way back to the cottage, where I find Freddie sitting on the verandah reading a book, a small backpack on the ground next to him.

He’s absorbed and doesn’t notice me. He’s wearing denim cut-offs, and his long legs, stretched out and crossed at the ankle, are scattered with a light dusting of golden hair. Intent on the book, he’s frowning as though he’s found something he doesn’t like, or disagrees with. He shakes his head and opens up a notebook and begins scribbling in it. His hand stills, just as it did in Barista Boys, and like then he looks up and meets my gaze.

“Is it time to go?” he says, standing up as I walk over to him.

“Soon, but not quite yet.”

An awkward smile flitters across his face, as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“We’ve got time, but I need to speak to you first.”

“Speak to me?” His eyes widen, alarm in their rich hazel depths.

I’ve done it again, spoken without thinking. Maybe he thinks he’s done something wrong, when in my eyes he’s done everything right.

“Don’t look so worried, everything’s fine, but I just had a conversation with Andrew.”

Freddie’s already pale skin blanches even further.

“Has he changed his mind about me? Does he want me to leave? He seemed okay about it last night, but now he’s had a chance to think about it properly—”

“Nothing of the sort. Our arrangement, it’s between the three of us. He won’t say anything to Marcus, you can be assured of that. So we carry on as agreed.”

My eyes fall to the book and the notebook. “What are you reading?” It doesn’t look like the latest best seller.

“Oh, it’s research for a paper I’m writing.”

He reaches down and picks up the book, his cut-offs slipping a little on his narrow hips and revealing a strip of creamy flesh. The sun’s already hot and he’ll have to be careful not to burn. I clear my throat and try to push away the stubborn, and vivid, image of rubbing lotion slowly into his pale and creamy limbs.

“The man’s an idiot. He claims to be an expert on the dynastic struggles between Ognar Great Beard and Erik the Eunuch, but—”

“Excuse me? Erik — the Eunuch?”

“Not literally, it… Sorry, I get a bit carried away when I talk about, erm, Vikings.” He puts the book down, and again shuffles his weight from foot to foot.

“It’s good to be passionate about something. Even if it is about eunuchs.”

Freddie laughs, his moment of awkwardness falling from him.

“I can assure you, I am very much not passionate about eunuchs. And old Erik wasn’t one. Or as far as we know. I can knock down every one of his arguments like they’re a row of skittles. Ping, ping, ping. I really can’t abide thin, lazy research.” He gives me a small, bashful smile. “So, erm, a trip on a yacht, that’s pretty cool. Just have to make sure I don’t get seasick.”

* * *

Not long after, we all set off for the marina, a short walk away in town which looks more like an overgrown village. Walking along next to Freddie, our arms bump against each other. His hand slips into mine and a tremor of warmth runs up my arm. I turn to look at him, meeting his eye, and he gives me a conspiratorial little wink. We’re back to playing the game.

“Will we be expected to help crew, or can we just laze around in the sun?” Freddie asks under his breath.

“No. It’s just a pleasure cruise along the coast, maybe dropping anchor so those who want to can swim. There’s no need to get up close and personal with muscly sailors.” My words are tighter and more clipped than I mean them to be

If Freddie notices, he doesn’t show it, because all his attention’s taken by what stands before us.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes.

I can’t help agreeing with him. The yacht’s huge, and I wonder how much Andrew’s laid out for it. The guy’s seriously rich, a mix of old, inherited money, and his earnings as a top barrister, but still.

“This wasn’t quite what I was expecting,” Freddie says, his voice still little more than a whisper, as he stares with saucer eyes at the gleaming white vessel that’s very gently bobbing from side to side in its berth.

“Yes, she’s beautiful isn’t she. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been on anything quite like this, have you?”

My back stiffens as Gavin comes up behind us, and my teeth grind at the very slight emphasis he’s laid on you. He’s standing close, too close, enough for his breath to brush against the back of my neck. Freddie’s hand tightens in mine, before he swings us around.

“No way. The last time I was on a proper boat was when I was fifteen and my first boyfriend smuggled me onto his dad’s fishing smack. It was supposed to be romantic, like we were two stowaways, but I just got seasick and ended up smelling like an old cod.”

“Fifteen?” Gavin raises his brow. So, just a tiny handful of years back, he may as well add.

“Hmm, when I was young and innocent.”

“Well, I think you’ll find the experience a little different. Nothing fishy about this boat.”

Something in Gavin’s tone crawls along my spine, something that goes beyond him having a dig at Freddie’s age. Gavin’s eyes fix on Freddie, almost in challenge, but Freddie holds his gaze, the smile on his face big and bright and about as warm as the cold North Sea he loves so much.

“I’m more than happy to show Freddie the ropes. And I want to know more about this story.” I slip my hand from Freddie’s, and coiling my arm around him, rest my palm lightly on his hip. He turns his attention to me, the movement small but hugely dismissive of Gavin, and as though he’s already been forgotten.

“Oh yes, you’re very good at showing me the ropes.”

Freddie smiles, slow and secretive, and tilts his head a little, gazing up at me through his long lashes. It’s all for show, all for display, everything an act. It’s all part of the ‘I’ve moved on’ message I want thrust into Gavin’s face. But I can’t give a damn about Gavin, because in this moment it’s just me and Freddie, our gazes locked, my heart pumping hard as my cock stirs.

“All aboard everybody.” Andrew’s deep voice is a klaxon, jerking me out of my reverie. Freddie blinks hard as though he’s just woken up from a deep sleep.

“Andrew can be a bossy boots when he’s in organising mode.” My throat’s as rough and dry as sandpaper. “Come on, darling, let’s do as he says.” Without another glance at Gavin, I ease Freddie forward.

“Are you okay?” Freddie asks quietly when Gavin’s out of earshot. “Do you think he’s guessed? That comment about something being fishy—”

“I think he’s just digging. He’s being typically Gavin. He wants to get under your skin. It’s what he does. I warned you, remember?” My words are more confident than I feel, because Gavin does have a way of getting under your skin and just digging and digging and digging. Well, he can dig all he damn well wants.

We all clamber aboard the yacht and make our way to the top deck which is mostly uncovered apart from a small area towards the back. There’s more than enough seating for everybody, the benches strewn with cushions and, in the middle of the deck, a couple of rows of sun beds.

“Oh, I’m going to bagsy one of these.” Freddie claims one of the sun beds by dumping his rucksack on it, pulling the one next to it closer. “And this one’s for you.”

Without a further word he strips off his T-shirt, revealing lean muscles and the hint of a six pack. Like on his legs, there’s a scattering of golden hairs which catch the late morning sun.

Stretching his arms high above his head, he lets his head fall back and his thick, blond hair’s a heavy cascade of gold. His cut-offs, clinging so mouthwateringly to his arse, slip down his hips a little, revealing the V that disappears below the waistband. My throat thickens, along with my dick. He’s beautiful. Blond and pale and beautiful, shining like a beacon.

Real or imagined, a hush settles around us. Freddie’s a thing of beauty and all drink him in. But I don’t want that. A tightness grips my stomach, primitive and possessive. This boy’s mine, for a few days only, but he’s mine.

“If I’m not going to end up looking like a tangy cheese Dorito,” Freddie says, “you’re going to have to put some cream on my back.”

I try to catch up with what he’s saying, fighting my way out of the possessive, irrational fog that’s gripped me.

“What? Oh, yes, yes of course.” I clear my throat of the hot gravel that’s lodged there, as he thrusts a bottle of sun screen at me, before flopping down on the sun bed. He wriggles around, getting comfortable, loosening his shorts and edging them down a fraction, exposing the start of the upward curve of his arse.

He looks at me over his shoulder, his heavy hair falling across his brow and half hiding his eyes, and smiles, that same slow and secretive smile he’d given me earlier.

“And I can do you, if you like?”

Sniggering breaks out behind me and I swing round ready to face Gavin, but it’s one of the guys we’d briefly shared the breakfast table with. His smile’s wide, friendly, and good natured and he gives me an exaggerated wink as if to say lucky you. The tension that grips me falls away and I smile back.

Yes, I am lucky. I open up the sun screen as the yacht edges away from the marina and sails out into the open waters of the Mediterranean.