Seb’s Summer by K.C. Wells
Chapter Eight
June 22
Seb ached like a son of a bitch. The haul had to be the biggest he’d seen yet. About time we had a decent day. He waited by the Liza Jane while Tim had the catch weighed. Judging by Tim’s smile, he was a happy bunny too.
“Six hundred and fifty pounds, yow’un,” he said as he headed back to the boat. “That should put a smile on the ol’ bastard’s face.”
Seb cackled. “If Gary smiled, his face would crack.” He pulled off his muck boots and grabbed his flip flops from his bag. The oil pants were already gone.
“Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”
“Hey, you know where I can get a boat? A friend wants to go fishing on Sunday.” Maybe a friend was a slight exaggeration. Lord knew, Seb wanted to get real friendly with Marcus, preferably when both of them were naked, but that was looking about as likely as the next Pope being called Betty.
Tim narrowed his gaze. “You’re not taking this boat out.”
Seb snorted. “I wasn’t even gonna ask. One, it’s too big, and two, I couldn’t take it out without a license. I’m not that dumb. I just wondered if Gary had another boat someplace that I could use. Small enough for two guys to go fishing in.”
Tim cocked his head to one side. “How far out you figure on going? Because if you’re gonna stick close to shore, there’s the Little Liza. She’s a lot smaller than this one, and she doesn’t guzzle fuel like the Liza Jane does. Plenty of places to fish close to shore, especially if this friend of yours wants to catch a striper. He got a license yet?”
“He needs a license?” As if Seb would know that.
Tim nodded. “You gotta register over’t the town hall. Costs two bucks. But if he’s going after stripers, he can only catch one. You could catch a shitload of mackerel though. If you like mackerel. Some folks don’t.” His eyes gleamed. “You startin’ up your own charter business?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m gonna give up teaching for it.” Seb rolled his eyes. “Like I said, he’s just a friend. He hasn’t done this in years, so I said I’d help him out.”
“That all he is? ‘A friend’?”
Seb wasn’t sure how to take that. Gary had no issue with him being gay—Seb didn’t know about Tim. It wasn’t exactly something they’d discussed.
Tim waved a hand. “Relax. You’re safe. I’m not one of them holy rollers, out to save your soul. Got a cousin who’s into guys.” He shrugged. “He’s all right. And it’s none of my beeswax what you do with your tackle. But if you’re gonna do it in the boat, make sure no one sees ya. You get arrested, Gary will kill us both.”
“Why will he kill you?”
“For lettin’ you use the damn boat. And clean up when you’re done.” He smirked. “I don’t wanna be steppin’ into that boat and slippin’ on something.”
Seb almost choked. “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem. He really is just a friend.”
“Sure he is.” Tim gave a gleeful grin. “But if I look out and see that boat a-rockin’, I won’t be in the least bit surprised. I’ll tell you the best places to go. Just bring the boat back in one piece, that’s all I ask.”
“Thanks, Tim.”
He waved his hand again. “We’re good. Now get your ass home, and I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Let’s see if we can get more than six hundred and fifty pounds.”
Seb said goodbye and started the stroll back to Pier Road, weary but grinning.
Sex in a boat. Sounds kinda interesting. Then he huffed. And it ain’t gonna happen, so quit thinking about it. Save it for the spank bank.
June 28
Marcus couldn’t believe his eyes. He stared at the boat tied to the pier. “Oh my God, I’m in a time warp.” He handed the rods down to Seb, who stowed them beside the wooden console. Marcus did his best not to stare at Seb’s ass as he bent over, but damn, it was hard work.
And speaking of hard… Marcus grabbed the cooler bag and held it in front of him.
Seb gave him a quizzical glance. “Excuse me?”
He pointed to the 1969 Boston Whaler Seb was standing in. “My dad had a boat just like this. Christ, this thing is older than I am. And it’s still going?” The boat was a sixteen-footer. The gel coating on the blue interior seemed like it had seen better days, but the console, the bench toward the stern, and the center seat looked good. A large tank sat in the bow in front of the console, a hatch on top. “What’s that for?”
“That’s the live well,” Seb told him. “Tim says if you want to catch a striper—that’s a striped bass to you city folk—the best way is with live mackerel. So the first thing we gotta do is catch some mackerel. We keep ’em in there.”
“We’re going to feed the mackerel to another fish? What about keeping some for us?”
Seb laughed. “Hey, if there’s any left at the end of it, you get mackerel too. In fact, you might get a lot of mackerel.”
Seb’s words sank in. “I know what a striper is. Do you have any idea how many summers I spent here?”
Seb arched his eyebrows. “Are you gonna stand there, or are you getting in the damn boat?” He held out his hand for the cooler.
Marcus handed it over. “There’s the lunch, as promised.” He willed his erection to wilt. Jesus, this was why I jerked off this morning. Fat lot of good that did. One look at Seb waiting on the pier, tall and lean, those worn jeans tight across his ass, and Marcus’s libido roared into life.
Down boy.
Seb grinned. “Got any beer in there?” He placed the square bag between the benches.
“There might be a few beers in there, as well as water.” He’d brought the micro beers Seb had liked so much. “Plus snacks. I had no idea how long we were going to be out there so I came prepared.” He was buzzing. “I can’t tell you the last time I did this.” He glanced at the sky, shading his eyes. “And it’s such a beautiful day.” Not a cloud to be seen, and if it hadn’t been for the stiff breeze off the ocean, he could have said it was warm. The temperature had to have been heading for the high sixties.
“Then let’s stop wasting it talking, and get out of here.”
Marcus got into the boat and Seb gestured to the bench toward the stern. “You can sit there. I’ll steer.” His eyes gleamed. “You say you haven’t been fishing in years, but you probably have more experience at line fishing than I do.”
Marcus buffed his nails on his T-shirt. “I’ll teach you everything I know.” Then he grinned. “That’ll take about a minute.” He peered at the wooden bench. “Dad’s boat had seat cushions. I think my mom made them.”
Seb guffawed. “I don’t think Gary knows what a seat cushion is.” He switched on the engine, then untied the rope.
Marcus hadn’t expected it to be so loud. “Guess I should have brought ear muffs,” he yelled.
Seb cupped his ear and shouted, “You say something?” He laughed. “Once we find a spot I’ll turn it off and we’ll drop anchor.” He glanced at the rods lying beside the console. “Do these belong to your dad?”
“Yeah. I even found the old fishing hat he gave me when he first took me out.” Marcus removed the floppy green hat from his bag, lures fastened around its band.
Seb’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. That is so cute. Put it on.”
Marcus gave him a mock glare. “Sure. Then you whip out your phone and take a picture of me looking like an idiot.”
Seb cackled. “And who am I gonna send it to? I’m not likely to post it online. ‘Hey, look at this guy I took fishing.’”
Marcus sighed. Seb had a point. He put on the hat. “There. You’ve seen it.”
Seb bit his lip. “I’ve seen worse.” He reached into his own bag, pulled out a baseball hat, and stuck it on his head. “There. Just no laughing when I take it off. Hat hair is a bitch.”
Marcus could have told Seb his hair begged to be mussed against a pillow, or tugged from behind while—
Christ, I really need to stop thinking with my dick.
“I promise.” He was in such a good mood. He’d been looking forward to this all week. Marcus wasn’t sure whether it was the promise of time spent out on the water, or time spent with Seb that was most alluring.
It didn’t matter how much he tried not to think about Seb—the lean, hot guy still managed to slide into his thoughts. And there had been moments when the idea of stripping Seb bare and fucking him through the mattress seemed like a perfectly reasonable course of action.
One night couldn’t hurt, right?
Except Marcus had the feeling one night with Seb would not satisfy him.
Then he remembered he was supposed to be avoiding distractions.
Yeah right. At this rate, it’ll take until Rapture to finish the damn book.
“Got another couple!” Marcus hoisted the glistening mackerel from the water.
Seb laughed. “We’ve already got too many. Throw ’em back.” The well was full. “How about we try for a striper?” He cocked his head. “You like it cooked whole or in fillets?”
“My mom always cooked it whole.” Marcus glanced at him. “Do you know how to fillet a bass? Because I don’t.”
“Nope. Never done it.”
“Well, there’s always Jess’s method. It seems to work for her.” When Seb gave him an inquiring glance, Marcus grinned. “Watch a YouTube video on it.”
He laughed. “Pick a rod, we’ll bait it with mackerel, then we’ll cast it out and see what turns up.” Tim had gone over the basics with him on Friday. He hooked a fish on the end of the line and lowered it into the water. Then he handed the rod to Marcus. “Let the line out, and let it swim around.” He sat on the bench by the console, and inclined his head to the rear seat. “Sit. This might take a while.” He grinned. “It’s time to play the Baiting Game.”
Marcus groaned. “Oh, that’s bad.” He leaned against the back of the bench, but was on his feet a heartbeat later, reeling in the line. “I’ve got one!”
“Fuck, that was fast.” Whatever was on the end of Marcus’s line was certainly tugging on it, the rod flexing. Marcus reeled faster, and from the water burst a large, wriggling— “Fuck, it’s an ocean death snake!”
Marcus dropped the conger eel onto the floor of the boat, where it thrashed, its huge mouth wide, its black eyes glassy. “What do I do?”
“Throw the fucker back in!” Seb yelled.
Marcus attempted to pick up the writhing eel. “It won’t stay still long enough for me to grab it,” he remonstrated.
“Here—you grab its body, and I’ll unhook it and throw it back.” Between them, they wrestled the unwieldy eel off the hook, and Seb flung it over the side.
Marcus’s eyes danced with amusement. “‘Ocean death snake’?”
Seb gave him a sheepish grin. “It’s what I called them when I was a kid.” He opened the well. “Lemme get you another mackerel.” He baited the line again, and Marcus let it out. They sat, staring out at the calm waters, the sunlight sparkling on the ripples. “So, you got any other brothers or sisters, apart from Jess?”
“I have a brother, Chris. I’m the middle one.”
“The second son, eh?” Seb grinned. “Then it’s true what they say.” When Marcus arched his eyebrows, Seb continued. “Guys with older brothers are more likely to be gay.”
“According to whom?”
Seb gave him a wide-eyed stare. “NBC. They did a feature on it.”
“Oh, then it must be true.” He rolled his eyes.
“And now that I think about it… I’ve got no brothers and three sisters.”
“Which sounds a more plausible argument for growing up to be gay,” Marcus said with a smile. “Do you see much of them?”
Seb’s stomach quivered. “Nope. Can we change the subject, please?”
Marcus’s face tightened. “I think I just hit a nerve. I’m sorry.”
His throat thickened, and his cheeks grew hot. “You’ve got nothing to feel sorry for, okay? It’s not your fault I have a homophobic bitch for a mom, and that my sisters seem to have come out of the same mold. I’m better off without them.” He studied the horizon, unwilling to meet Marcus’s gaze, forcing himself to not think about them.
A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder. “No, it’s not my fault,” Marcus said quietly, “but I can still regret asking a question that brought you pain.”
Seb turned his head. Marcus’s eyes were warm. Seb let out a sigh. “Gonna guess your upbringing was nothing like mine, if Jess is anything to go by.”
“I think you’d be right. I was luckier than you. I have a supportive, amazing family.” He bit his lip. “My Aunt Carol was the only one who struggled when I came out, but she rallied eventually. When I was growing up, we spent our summers here in Cape Porpoise. There was not only my immediate family, but my cousins Lisa and Robert. They’re older than me. I wish you could have seen the house back then. Packed to the rafters with people. I remember one summer—I think I was seventeen—all you could hear was laughter. Lisa had two kids by then: Ashley was six and Matt was four. And Robert’s son Josh was nine. Jess was thirteen. She and I spent that summer playing with them on the beach in Kennebunkport, helping my dad repair our tree house out back so they could play in it…”
There was a lump in Seb’s throat. “Your family sounds awesome.”
Marcus gave a wry smile. “I might not find them so awesome next weekend. They’re coming here for the Fourth. I’ve just gotten used to having the place to myself, and I’m about to be invaded.” He stiffened. “Seb. Something’s taken the bait.”
Seb grabbed the net as Marcus lurched to his feet. “Keep a tight hold and reel it in slowly.” Something thrashed in the water several feet away. “I hope it’s not another conger eel.” Marcus reeled it in, and Seb peered into the water. “Oh, that’s a beauty.” He lowered the net, and when he raised it, a large striped bass wriggled in it.
Marcus beamed. “Biggest thing I ever caught.” Seb lowered the net to the bottom of the boat, and removed the hook from the fish’s mouth. “Look at that.” Seb loved the note of awe and pride in Marcus’s voice. Then Marcus frowned. “It’s still alive.”
“And it could stay like that for hours, so we’re gonna put it out of its misery, okay?” Tim had prepared him for this. “If you don’t wanna watch, look away now.” He reached into his bag for the spikes and wire Tim had given him. Within seconds, the fish was brain dead, so that meant it didn’t feel any more pain. Then Seb lifted the gills and made a couple of cuts, then another to the tail, so it could bleed out. He pointed to the bucket in the bow. “Take off that lid.” He’d filled it with ice from Gary’s freezer. Then he lowered the bass into the icy water and popped the lid back on.
“I’m impressed.” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “That was always the part I hated whenever Dad caught anything. His method wasn’t so… humane.”
Seb grimaced. “I can imagine. I asked Tim to show me the best way to kill a fish so it doesn’t suffer. He says fish are just like us. They have a central nervous system too.” Marcus gazed at him thoughtfully, and Seb frowned. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” Marcus smiled. “I think I have a handle on you, and then you go and say something that shows me I still have a lot to learn about you.”
That sort of implied he wanted to learn more, which Seb found intriguing. What’s going on here? It was so easy to be around Marcus, so comfortable, as if they hadn’t just met a week ago.
He glanced at the bottom of the boat. “Ew. I think the first thing I do when we get back to land is clean this up. Fish blood and guts everywhere…”
“I’ll help,” Marcus responded promptly. “After all, it was my fish that made all this mess, right?”
Seb grinned. “I guess I know what you’re having for dinner tonight.”
“Correction. What we’re having for dinner.”
He blinked.
“Look, you got us a boat, you caught half the mackerel in there, you saved me from the ocean death snake….” Seb laughed. Marcus gazed at his catch. “I do have an ulterior motive.”
“Oh really?” Seb was dying to know.
“Well… we’ve got a lot of mackerel here. We could throw them all back or…” Marcus gave him a coaxing smile. “You could come back to the house with me and help me clean and gut them all before I put them in the freezer. That way, dinner would be my way of saying thank you.”
Seb tilted his head. “Do you know how to gut and clean mackerel?”
“No, but there’s bound to be—”
“—a YouTube video on how to do it,” Seb concluded, laughing. Not that he minded the idea of spending more time with Marcus. Gutting fish wouldn’t have been his first choice of activity, however. “Fine. Besides, I love bass.”
“I’ve got steak fries in the freezer,” Marcus told him.
Seb shook his head. “Bradbury’s do the most awesome corn and clam chowder sauce, and I can make a salad.”
“Deal.” Marcus’s eyes twinkled. “And we’ve got beer to go with it. We didn’t drink any.”
“You got any of that wine left? That would be great with fish.” When Marcus arched his eyebrows, Seb gave him a mock glare. “So I like wine over beer. Bite me.” Preferably on my ass. And leave marks. He took a moment to rein in his libido. Ass-biting would definitely not be on the menu.
“Can we go in now? My butt is numb from sitting on this bench so long.”
Seb burst into laughter. “Sure.” He wiped his hands on an old towel he’d brought along, pulled in the anchor, then started the engine. As he steered toward the pier, one thought dominated all the rest.
I want to know you better, Marcus Gilbert.
