Page 11 of Lucky Shot
Azure complies and gets to his feet, following me with my sunscreen in hand. Something that makes me try to hide my grin. I’ve misplaced like eight bottles of sunscreen in the last week, but somehow they always find their way back into my cabin. That’s some attentive crewmen tending to us needy athletes.
We pass through a lounge where the Buffalo trio are playing a board game with Sports Spot on. I’m impressed that we have enough reception to get the channel, and that they’re so interested in keeping up with what’s happening in the sports world right now.
Taking the stairs down further, I find a room that’s stacked with every form of entertainment one could ever imagine. Azure and I begin opening cabinets and scanning our options when I get to one filled with body paints. I grin.
“Come here, Azure,” I say. He’s at my side in the next minute and I load his arms with tubes of different colors, dishes for the paint, paintbrushes, and a basin for water. While I grab a tarp.
He’s looking at me, perplexed, which only makes me grin. “Meet me by the helipad, okay? I need to visit the captain.”
Despite his confusion, Azure doesn’t question me. He heads up the stairs and we part ways when he gets to the main level while I continue up. On the very top deck is a lounge area that leads into a pool and then another lounge area on the opposite side that looks over the back of the boat. Neither is occupied as I head for the captain’s cabin.
The captain himself answers. Sure, I could ask anyone on deck, but the captain is like a damn supermodel, and I can’t help myself. He hides away behind his glass windows and never lets us look at him, so rude! The crooked smile he gives me suggests I’m not the only one who does this. He’s used to it.
“So, I found the paints,” I say. “I just want to make sure they’re marine safe? Skin safe?”
Captain Tal nods. “Yes. They’re water-based and made with natural dyes. You can paint yourselves safely, though they might leave your skin tinted for a while.”
“Okay, cool. Anything else I should know about them?”
His smirk climbs a little. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay off the carpets.”
Grinning, I nod. “Got it. Thanks, Captain.”
“No problem, Noah.”
Yes, I might have visited him a few times. The first year that I joined the ‘Gays Can Play’ group on the yacht, I’d been overwhelmed by how much attention I got from the other guys. Always wanting to hang out, fuck, drink or something. They’d find me easily enough in my room, so I’d hung out in the captain’s office (yes, there’s a name for it that I always forget) and learned a bit about the ship and how to sail it.
In the years since, I learned to put some distance between me and everyone else. I’ve learned to say no. I’ve learned a lot since my face is all over the place and there’s no shortage of interested people. Growing up, I always received a lot of attention. Being gay kept a lot of it manageable since teens are assholes.
I avoided places where there were gay crowds after the first club incident. That had been horrifying for far too many reasons to relive, so I’ve never gone to a club since. Sometimes, I even choose to stay onboard the Opulence instead of joining the group on the Isle of Kala—which is like the gay capital of island chains.
Azure was right where I’d asked him to meet me and already had the tarp laid out with some of the paint poured out on the plates or whatever they are. The crewmen had even put up a shade that kept the sun from baking us directly.
“What are we painting?” Azure asks as I pull up my hair and secure it with the elastic band.
“You are going to paint me,” I say and drop to my knees.
He looks at me in disbelief. “What makes you think I can paint?”
“Nothing. This is just for fun.” I lay onto my stomach and rest my cheek on the deck so I can look at him. “Make me pretty.”
He raises a brow and then his gaze scans my nearly naked backside. It’s several minutes before he picks up a brush, dips it into the blue paint, and I feel the first few cool strokes across the backs of my shoulders.
We’re quiet for a while until I say, “Tell me something.”
“What do you want to know?” he counters.
“Anything.”
The movements of the brush are rhythmic. I sigh and close my eyes. Until he answers with, “My parents are dead.”
My eyes snap open. “What? When?”
“When I was ten,” he says.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They weren’t good people.”
