Page 18 of Brushed and Buried
The boat is sleeker than I expected. White fiberglass shining in the sun, seats upholstered in that bright blue vinyl that always seems designed for spilled beer. It looks like it either belongs to someone’s uncle with too much money or was rented with an insurance policy none of them have read.
George stands at the helm with sunglasses on and a beer in hand, steering like he was born on the water. Trevor sprawls near the bow with a cooler between his knees, handing out drinks like it’s his own private festival. Lance is shirtless,dramatic as ever, stretched across the deck like some social media influencer, sunglasses sliding down his nose, and body arranged for maximum effect.
The second my foot hits the deck, they light up like I’m the last beer in that cooler.
“Adrian!” Lance lifts his can in salute, grinning. “Finally! Another minute and I’d have busted into your room to drag you out, half-hoping you’d be naked under the sheets.”
Trevor shades his eyes, giving me a slow once-over. “Sleeping Beauty graces us at last. I was about to start drinking without you.”
I shake my head, struggling to keep a straight face. “I was trying not to intrude, but since you insist, who am I to refuse such an honor? I’m just a humble servant at your disposal.”
George snorts a laugh. “Lance hasn’t stopped talking about your ass since Thursday night.”
Lance flushes, then lifts his chin, mock-serious. “As if I’m the only one talking about it. I mean, can’t a straight man appreciate a good ass once or twice in his life? Or get a little…attention in return?”
I raise an eyebrow, dry. “Wow, philosophical and filthy in one breath. Impressive.”
Everyone laughs except Vince, who leans against the cabin doorway with his arms crossed, watching like he’s keeping score. He’s swapped his usual black top for just black beach shorts, and the sunlight catches the planes of his abs and the curves ofhis shoulders and chest, muscles honed but effortless. My eyes betray me, following the way his body moves even when he’s still, and I feel that familiar pull in my gut.
The morning blurs into a rhythm of waves and warmth, the boat carving clean lines across the water while the sun bakes our shoulders. I slip into the role I always do, somehow, barefoot and ferrying bottles of water like a stern camp counselor, reapplying sunscreen to Trevor’s already pink neck, fussing over details no one else notices.
“Sit before you burn,” I tell him, rubbing lotion across his shoulders. “You’ll peel like pastry by tomorrow.”
Trevor groans. “Perfect. Becca’s gonna marry a rotisserie chicken.”
Lance leans lazily against the railing, sliding his sunglasses down just enough to smirk. “Are you always like this? Hovering over others like a mother hen?”
“It’s my fatal flaw,” I say, tossing him another bottle. “I nurture. I nag. I keep you hydrated. You’re welcome.”
Something softens in his grin as he cracks it open. “I guess we lucked out, then.”
The words slide under my skin, gentle but loaded.
“Unofficial fifth member,” George adds, squinting against the sun.
“Honorary groomsman,” Lance declares, clinking his can against mine.
I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure you say that to every stripper you hire.”
“Only the ones who fuel us,” Lance quips, lifting his drink. “With water…or with other bodily fluids.”
We all laugh at that, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel like a performance. It doesn’t feel like I’m standing outside the circle.
Trevor catches my eye, and his expression shifts. It is more serious now, but still warm. “You know what it is, right? Why we like having you around?”
I tilt my head, curious.
“You make it safe,” he says simply. “For us to be…whatever we’ve been since that night.” He gestures vaguely between all of us. “No judgment. No pressure. Just…space to explore.”
Lance nods slowly, like Trevor just put words to something he couldn’t name. “Yeah. It was like we can just exist without having to explain ourselves.”
George grunts agreement from the helm.
The heaviness of their words settles over me. I think about the way they touch me casually now, the lingering looks, the questions that dance around edges they’re still learning to explore. How they seem to breathe easier when I’m around, like I give them permission to be curious without shame.
Then Lance says it, too lightly. “Even Vince must like you.”
The words land like an anchor.
