Honeymoon for One: Gay Romance
: Chapter 9

Clay woke to the faint buzzing of his phone on the side table. Since Pete never seemed to remember time differences when he was overseas, Clay had taken to switching to vibrate mode overnight when he was working. He needed every wink of sleep he could get before the long days behind the wheel. The odd text wouldn’t rouse him, but if someone rang with an emergency, the vibrating usually went on long enough to wake him.

Instantly awake as he realized it was indeed a call coming in, he lunged for his phone, heart racing as he blinked at the picture of Sam’s smiling face on the screen. With clumsy fingers, he swiped to answer. “Sam? What’s wrong, love?”

“Everything’s fine now, no worries. Had to take Gilly to the vet, but he’s on the mend.”

Clay’s chest was painfully tight. “What was it?” He missed Gilly when he was on the road, and the thought of something happening to the poor boy while he was so far away made him sick to his stomach.

“Bloody paralysis tick. Was getting ready for bed, and he just seemed a bit crook. Hadn’t finished his dinner, and I didn’t want to take any chances. We took him straight over to the vet, and sure enough. I checked him earlier, but might have missed the little bastard.”

His heart still thumped. “Good girl, not waiting. Gilly not wolfing down every bite’s always a cause for concern.” God, he wished he was there with them. Gilly was a hairy beast, a mess of brown and reddish-tan fur, and they checked him daily for the ticks that could kill a dog with just one bite. “He’s bucking up now?” Clay realized he hadn’t even checked the time. There was faint light around the edges of the curtains, and he reached for his watch on the table and saw it was just after six. His alarm would be going off soon.

“Yep. Just spoke to the vet. They got the antiserum in straight away. We only came home for a few hours since they said there was nothing else we could do. Hated leaving him there, but they said we couldn’t see him again until this morning. We’re going back in a minute.”

“All right. Give me a ring once you do. Jase was over, was he?”

Sam sighed loudly. “Yes, Dad. I’m a grown woman, and you know I’m going to sleep with whoever I want to and you don’t get a vote.”

“Strewth! No need to get the shits. Can’t I ask who my daughter’s spending time with?” For the past year, it had been Jason, and he wasn’t a bad lad. Not a no-hoper like her first boyfriend back in the Curry, and he had a good job at a bank. Clay had to admit he still wasn’t keen on the thought of his little girl…well, being a woman, but she was grown, like she said.

“Of course it was Jase. Now remember we’re supposed to be leaving Friday arvo to drive down to Merimbula for the weekend. Coming back Monday since Jase took an extra day off. He’s borrowing his mate’s camper van, and we’re taking our bikes. But we’ll see how Gilly’s doing. Since we caught the tick early, the vet says he should be right. Hoping we can bring him home by Friday for sure.”

It was Wednesday now, and Clay would be home Saturday morning. He’d actually be back in Sydney on Friday night, but it was such a long slog of driving that day that he stayed in the hotel since Saturday morning he and Shiv took the guests around Sydney before the tour ended at noon. He’d discovered it wasn’t worth hauling himself out to Parramatta because he had to drive any guests that didn’t want to walk back to the hotel after the farewell dinner.

“All right, love. Let me know how you get on. Looking forward to seeing you on Monday. Poor old Gilly. Give him an extra cuddle from me.”

“I will. How’re you going? Roads have been all right? Nice guests?”

“Yeah, not too much traffic. Guests are a nice lot.” He was about to tell her about Ethan, but then felt strange about it. Would she think it odd that he was being so chummy with someone not much older than her?

It’s not strange, is it? Just being friendly.

Before he could say anything else, Sam asked, “Did you look at those profiles?”

Clay groaned. “Not yet. I will, I promise.”

Her voice softened. “You don’t have to. I just hate to think of you being lonely. Mum has Barry, and it’s been a couple years.”

“I’ve got you when I’m in Sydney, haven’t I? And Gilly. I’m not lonely.” He wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but he just wanted to relax in his time off. Or spend the day with a bloke like Ethan. No stress, no mess. “Have you spoken to Pete and your mum this week?”

“Uh-huh. Pete and I send Snapchats most days. He’s having fun. You know, the usual Pete stuff.”

“Is Snapchat the one where the damn things disappear?”

She laughed. “Yep. I know, I know, you don’t see the point of it. And I Skyped with Mum on Tuesday. She took me through her garden. She’s obsessed with it. But it makes her happy.”

Clay chuckled. “That it does. All right, love. Ring me when you speak to the vet.”

“Will do. Love ya. Drive safe.”

After turning off his phone, he scratched his chest and yawned. Clay always slept naked and cuddled up under the blankets, although the air con was a little weak, and he’d pushed the covers down to his waist.

He smiled thinking about what a great day it had been. He was normally content to be by himself on the few off days during the tour, but he was glad Ethan had come across him.

They’d had their fair share of grog, and he knew he should get up and chug some water, although he’d made sure not to get pissed since it wasn’t professional. Although he had to admit he hadn’t worried too much about professionalism the night before. Not that he’d broken any rules—not really.

Still, he supposed he didn’t think of Ethan as a guest at this point, but as a mate. Hell, Ethan was only a few years older than Pete—Clay was just looking out for him. Nothing wrong with that. The bloke was lonely, and he’d had quite a turn when he realized his batteries were gone. Clay certainly wouldn’t want to be alone in an unfamiliar place—hell, an unfamiliar continent—and not be able to hear.

Ethan had looked so stricken, and Clay had almost given him a hug right there in the lobby. But that would’ve been an odd thing to do, so he’d bucked him up, and they’d spent the rest of the day and evening together after playing around in the pool and relaxing. It’d been good to see Ethan’s dimples again.

They’d gone for dinner at the island’s pizza place, drinking more beer and sharing a meat-lovers pizza. Sitting outside on the torch-lit patio after night fell, it had been peaceful pushing a notepad Clay had gotten off one of the staff back and forth, asking each other questions and answering.

He wasn’t sure why he’d kept the pad. It just hadn’t seemed right to chuck it in the bin. Now, Clay read through it again, smiling to himself at their notes. The first one was from Ethan.

Do you mind if I write too? I don’t like talking when I can’t hear myself. It’s still hard to modulate the volume and I feel really uncomfortable. Especially in public. Sorry, I know it’s a pain that you’ll have to read too.

After passing over the pad, Ethan had watched him, biting his lip as if he was afraid Clay was going to throw up his hands in disgust. Clay had given him a smile and written:

No worries, mate. Reading isn’t a hardship. Why, have you heard otherwise? I’ll have you know I rated a B in school.

When Ethan read the note, he’d looked up at Clay with a smile, and they’d shared a laugh. Clay truly hadn’t minded at all. It was a good feeling, to be on a level playing field. He didn’t want Ethan to be self-conscious or feel…lesser.

Ethan: Favorite cop movie?

Clay: Always liked Lethal Weapon, but Mel Gibson’s turned out to be a real dickhead. Die Hard is still a good one. Before your time, I reckon.

Ethan: It’s my fave Xmas movie. A classic.

Made Clay feel a bit old to think of Die Hard as a classic, but he supposed it was nowadays. He flipped the pad, laughing out loud in the stillness of his room. He should get up and shower soon, but he couldn’t seem to stop paging through the silly notes.

Clay: What do you think of the Bourne Identity flicks?

Ethan: They’re awesome. Matt Damon was super hot in those.

It still made Clay squirm to see those words. When he’d read them the night before, he’d felt his face turn beet red, even though there was no reason for it. He knew Ethan was gay. Why had it been a shock to see proof of it in black and white? He read the next note with lingering embarrassment.

Ethan: I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.

Clay had shook his head and insisted it was all good before jumping up to fetch a couple more drinks. When he’d returned, Ethan had slid across another note, his eyebrow raised.

Ethan: What’s the most Crocodile Dundee thing you’ve ever done?

Clay: Reckon it was wrestling a croc.

Ethan had whipped his head up and shouted, “Shut up!” before narrowing his eyes. A few people nearby turned to look at them, but Clay had ignored them, watching Ethan write something and slide the pad back.

Ethan: I’m 99% sure you’re fucking with me.

Clay hadn’t been able to keep a straight face, and he laughed to himself now thinking about it. They’d gone on like that back and forth as the evening had worn on, a breeze lifting Ethan’s hair from his forehead from time to time. Goosebumps had tickled Clay’s skin even though it was a humid night.

His prick decided to come to life now. He spit into his palm and reached down and gave it a few tugs, teasing his thumb over the head absently. Still looking at the notebook, he flipped the pages, chuckling at his own terrible drawing of a wicket as he’d tried to explain more about cricket. Ethan had seemed genuinely interested, and it pleased Clay even now. He was still idly jerking himself, warmth tingling through his body as he read another page.

Clay: What kind of music do you listen to?

He’d slid the pad across the table and realized a moment too late that it might be a stupid question. He’d said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” before he remembered that of course Ethan couldn’t hear him. Ethan had had his head down, writing his answer. He’d glanced up and gave Clay a little smile before writing more.

Ethan: It’s okay. I still do listen to music sometimes. Not as much as I did before, but I can hear music in my hearing aids through Bluetooth if I play it on my phone. It’s pretty cool. I like more lyric-driven stuff, I guess. Where I can hear the voices better and it’s not just noise. Sam Smith, Ed Sheeran. It’s probably lame, but I’m an old man at heart. How about you?

Clay: Oldies, I guess. Men at Work, Bruce Springsteen. Melbourne band called Crowded House. Don’t really follow the new stuff.

He remembered Ethan’s mischievous smile as he’d asked Clay: Just how old are you?

It had been a cheeky question, and Clay grinned now to think of it, still tugging on his dick. He’d replied: Not ready to cark it yet, you ratbag. He remembered the way Ethan had eagerly read his response, eyes widening and laughter bursting from him. The way his knee had knocked against Clay’s under the table when he’d shifted his chair to let a family with a stroller get by—the warm pressure of it, and how neither of them had moved once the family was gone…

Now Clay stroked himself faster, spreading his legs and bending one knee, pushing up with his hips, using his heel for leverage. He’d never been one to wank too often, but as he thought about Ethan’s smile and brown eyes twinkling in the firelight, he got harder and let out a low “Uhhh.”

His heart skipped, and he tensed, the knowledge that it was weird to be wanking and thinking about Ethan thundering through him. But his prick was so bloody hard and aching, and he fucked up into his fist, working his thick shaft. He just wouldn’t think about—

Ethan laughing a little too loudly. Ethan’s shirt riding up when he stretched his arms overhead, his belly looking pale and ticklish. How nice his full lips were. His long fingers. How pretty he looked when Clay made him really smile. Ethan’s slim, firm limbs pressed against him, their bodies colliding as they splashed around the pool playing. The sprinkling of hair across Ethan’s chest that had rubbed against him as they tussled. Ethan’s cheeks rosy with drink and happiness as they passed the pad back and forth, not saying anything very important, but worth being said all the same. The way the sunrise on Mission Beach had cast a pink glow over Ethan’s skin.

Clay was too close now. He couldn’t stop, sweet lust filling every bit of him even though he couldn’t stop thinking of Ethan as he stroked. Needed to come…

Ethan was gay… What was it like to kiss another bloke? Touch his cock and—

Shouting in the still of the early morning, Clay climaxed, his balls tight as he shot his load all over his stomach. He gasped, eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure burning hotter than it had in a long, long time. He jerked himself as he spurted again, his whole body seizing. He saw stars—and Ethan.

Letting go of his half-hard, twitching prick, Clay opened his eyes, his chest heaving. Strewth. He stared down at himself with wonder and a pulse of horror. It was almost as though he was a stranger. There was his prick and his semen on his skin and caught in his short and curlies.

Bolting out of bed, he hurried to the bathroom and turned on the shower. But even as he scrubbed himself clean, he couldn’t pretend. No two ways about it: he’d flogged himself off thinking of Ethan. Ethan, who was a bloke. Ethan, who…

Under the hot water, Clay stood motionless. He’d never had feelings like this for a bloke. He’d never wanted… He took a deep breath, the desire pulsing through him undeniable. He’d never wanted to kiss another bloke. He’d only ever had such tender feelings for Barb—the urge to protect and care for.

And that was there with Ethan, but it was deeper than that. A lust scratching inside him, clawing to break free even though he’d just shot his load. He had to admit his romance with Barb had never been particularly hot and heavy. They’d gotten on fine in the bedroom. Hadn’t they? Maybe he was simply forgetting, but he couldn’t recall desire for her ever scorching him this hot, turning him inside out.

Clay tried to make sense of it, water streaming down his back, starting to cool since the eco resort only had so much hot water. What the devil was the matter with him? He couldn’t stand around all day, and he wouldn’t hear his phone in the shower if Sam rang about Gilly.

He had to pack and get down to brekkie, and once they reached the mainland, it would be a long day of driving. And he had to replace a chemist for Ethan’s batteries.

Ethan.

Clay didn’t have a clue what to think. His stomach twisted into knots. He was embarrassed, confused…

Excited.

Then the strangest memory floated up in his mind, breaking the surface like something lost to a river’s current getting caught in an eddy. The name—one he hadn’t thought of in decades—swirled around his mind.

Tony Taylor.

That was it—Clay apparently had a few roos loose in the top paddock. Stepping out of the shower, he wiped the condensation from the mirror and stared at himself as he brushed his teeth harder than the dentist said he should. He was strangely relieved that his reflection was familiar—as if he’d somehow expected a stranger to be looking back at him.

He managed a laugh at himself. Everything was fine. He’d keep his head down and do his job over the next couple days until they reached Sydney. It was nothing against Ethan, but Clay had made a mistake not maintaining a professional distance.

Besides, he wasn’t into blokes, despite what he’d just done. Nothing wrong with it, but that wasn’t him. Must have had more grog the night before than he’d reckoned. Scrambled his brains. Simple as that.

Except panic rose up in him now, along with the memory of Tony Taylor leaning over the engine of a ute, waving as Clay rode by on his bike, legs pumping as hard as his heart.

Noises in the night, headlights cutting through the darkness. That voice so thick with disgust.

“Filthy fucking queer.”

Standing by the sink, gripping his toothbrush so hard he thought the plastic might snap, Clay shoved the memories back down. Leaning over, he rinsed his mouth, spitting and spitting until he was clean.