Sandbridge Box Set

Chapter 9-1

Chapter 9

No, it wasn’t a problem. No problem at all. Why would it be a problem? Andy stood in the middle of the messy little apartment with one hand over his face, listening to the water splash in the shower and rather desperately trying not to think about the elephant in the room that was Scooter—his boss—being naked, less than fifteen feet away, water running down his body—Not thinking it.

Nope, no problem at all.

Andy was f****d. He’d known Scooter was attractive from their first meeting, but that first week or so, he’d been too overloaded on terror and anger and betrayal and grief to even think about his libido. The last few days, however, had been torture.

Maybe it was because Scooter was safe—he’d been very clear about his rules, the lack of intent toward Andy. Andy could fantasize, and it was harmless. Not risking anything.

Except of course that every time Andy looked at Scooter, now, he couldn’t help thinking about it. Couldn’t help wanting. Couldn’t help feeling the press of Scooter’s arm around his shoulders, which seemed to be happening more and more often, now that he knew Andy wouldn’t shake him off. When Scooter had put a hand on Andy’s hip to steady him, earlier, Andy had damn near popped a stiffie for all the world to see. Well, the part of the world that had been standing on the beach watching, anyhow: a gaggle of kids and his co-workers, which somehow made it worse.

So now Scooter was just on the other side of a flimsy, slightly warped door, naked and wet and…touching himself (Not that way. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.) and Andy…Yeah, Andy was so, so screwed.

And not in the good way. He groaned and flopped onto the couch next to Trick, then pulled a towel over his lap, as if he’d just dropped it carelessly and not that he was trying to hide anything. He rearranged it a few times, aiming for maximum casual.

The water turned off. Metal curtain rings slid back. Andy tried not to visualize naked, dripping wet Scooter stepping out of the shower, running his fingers through that mop of dark hair, slicking it away from his face and—

“Aw, f**k!”

That was definitely not part of the fantasy. Andy hadn’t heard anything like a crash or a thump that would have resulted in injury, but…”You okay?” he called.

The sound that came out of Scooter’s throat might have given a grizzly bear pause, a low, fervent growl. “I’m an i***t,” he said, after a moment. “Might have a problem, though.”

I’m having a problem out here, too, Andy didn’t say. “Anything I can do?” he tried, and winced at how much it sounded like a line from a terrible porno. Or maybe that was just his overactive imagination.

Scooter opened the bathroom door in a swirl of steam, one of Jeff’s hunter-orange towels around his waist. “Didn’t get the curtain quite closed. There’s water all over your floor. And…I don’t have any other clothes over here.” In one hand, he held his jeans, sopping wet, out away from his body. It wasn’t like Andy was seeing anything new, between the shirtless morning coffee and the surfing, but…The towel was wrapped tightly enough to outline the curve of Scooter’s ass, the split of the wrap teasing with a hint of pale, well-muscled thigh. His hair was dripping, covering his chest and shoulders with rivulets of water that Andy desperately wanted to lick away…

Fuck. This was not getting any less like a cheesy porno. Andy squashed that thought before it could tell him the next lines in the script. “Okay, we can…Um…” He looked around, somewhat wildly. “Oh, here!” He snatched up a pair of sweatpants from the back of the chair and tossed them toward Scooter. “You can wear those until the dog and pony show have cleared out of your place.”

“I am not going to ask who’s the dog and who’s the pony in that scenario,” Scooter said. He tossed his soaked jeans on the bathroom sink.

Andy laughed, and was proud of himself for making it sound natural and easy. “No, probably best not to. I’ll just sop up some of this water.” And now he had an excuse to keep holding the towel, strategically placed, as he made his way to the bathroom. He gave himself a high-five.

The bathroom floor had become a lake, water spreading from the shower stall lip all the way past the toilet. One towel was not going to do the trick, here. s**t. Well, Jeff had bought out an entire store’s worth of ugly orange towels, so there were plenty. Andy dropped his towel next to the door and turned to grab another one—

—just in time to get a perfect, clear view of Scooter’s ass as he pulled on the sweatpants.

Andy’s knees nearly gave out. He leaned against the doorframe, and barely managed to drag his eyes away and snatch up another towel as Scooter turned around.

Oh, God. Those were his sleep-pants. The other sweats Kat had brought him weren’t nearly as worn and comfortable. Which meant Andy was going to be sleeping in the same pants that Scooter had worn. Sans underwear.

Fuuuuuuuck. Not now, boner.

It didn’t listen, of course.

Scooter made a grouchy, disgusted sort of noise. “Why don’t you ever complain, Andy?”

Andy paused in the midst of scattering towels on the bathroom floor and twisted his head around to try to read Scooter’s expression “What?”

“I told you weeks ago,” Scooter said, gesturing around to the boxes and bags of Jeff’s stuff that Andy had been stepping around since he got to Sandbridge, “that I’d get a storage unit and get this junk out of your way. I forgot.” He chewed his lip and pushed his fingers through his hair, slicking it back, giving him the appearance of a 1920s gangster. If mob hitmen wore too-tight sweatpants. “You shoulda said something.”

Jeff’s stuff did, in fact, take up at least a quarter of the available space in what was already a crowded floor plan. Andy had sort of tuned it out after a few days; it was just static, really, like the constant rhythm of the surf or the outdated, ugly wallpaper. He didn’t spend a lot of his waking time in the apartment anyway. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, toeing the towels around on the floor to soak up the water. “You’ve already done so much. I wouldn’t want to be ungrateful.”

That was a fairly constant refrain in his life, anyway. His father, telling him he should be grateful for their privileged station and comfortable lifestyle. Nick, telling him he should be grateful for having escaped his father, for the way Nick took care of him.

Andy thought this might be the first time in years that he’d felt genuinely grateful for anything—and here was Scooter wondering why he didn’t complain more. It didn’t make sense.

“You’ve worked hard for everything you’ve got,” Scooter said. “And this is your home. You shouldn’t have to give up space because Jeff’s an asshole and I’m forgetful. I’ll get it taken care of, right after the storm, okay?” He didn’t turn around, but the muscles in Scooter’s back were stiff, uncomfortable.

Andy didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong or how to fix it.

Before he could think of a response, Scooter said, “You should get your shower in. That seaweed down your trunks is gonna stick to your skin if it dries all the way.”

That sounded like something learned through hard experience.

Aaaand now he was back to thinking about what was down Scooter’s swim trunks. That he wasn’t wearing anymore. Because he was wearing Andy’s sweats, commando, his d**k brushing against the same fabric that Andy’s had. Would.

“Yeah,” Andy managed, shoving the towels around until he could close the bathroom door. “That’s a, uh, a good call.”

He’d just gotten the water on and hot when Scooter tapped the bathroom door. “They’re done. I’ma go change and I’ll see you for storm prep when you’re ready.” And a moment later, the front door banged shut.

Andy sagged against the shower wall in relief. At least now he could deal with his most embarrassing issue.

He was too tightly-strung to bother with a tease; sitting there thinking about Scooter naked had been plenty of foreplay—and then it had been topped with nearly-naked Scooter and a brief but thorough look at his ass.

Andy wrapped his hand around his c**k, hissing at how oversensitive he was already. He stroked slow, and then a little faster, letting his eyes fall closed. Christ, but Scooter was a menace. Standing on the beach, hair dripping salty water down onto his chest and back, making paths Andy wanted to trace with his tongue. The steady, reassuring rumble of his voice as he’d helped Andy stand on the surfboard, his hands firm and gentle. His shoulder bumping Andy’s as they leaned on the deck railing in the mornings, sipping coffee and watching the waves. The way his arms and shoulders flexed when he was rolling a beer keg into place or holding a broken shutter steady so Andy could re-attach it.

Thick thighs, all muscle, and an ass Andy would love to get his hands on. The rough edge to his voice when he laughed, the roll of it when he and Kat were firing Ukrainian at each other. Caring eyes and the kind of abs a man only got from real labor…

Andy gritted his teeth and a whine escaped his throat as he pushed into his grip faster yet. He dragged his thumb over the tip to smear pre-come around, slicker than the water, and a jolt of electricity juddered along his nerves.

And Scooter’s mouth, God. He was always biting his lip, leaving it red and swollen like he’d been kissing passionately. And then he’d flick his tongue over it, and he had to know what that did, didn’t he? It was impossible to watch that and not imagine that tongue teasing at n*****s and balls, tracing the vein up Andy’s c**k before—

Andy’s whine spiraled into a shout as he came, surge after surge spattering the wall and floor to be rinsed away in the next instant.

He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Only the certain knowledge that he was expected and needed—that someone would come looking if he took too long—gave him the strength to turn off the water and clamber out of the shower.

At least the apartment was empty so he didn’t have to get dressed in the tiny little bathroom. He was reaching for his jeans when he saw his sweats, neatly folded on the table, a post-it on top with “Thanks!” scrawled across it.

Scooter had come back into the apartment while Andy was in the shower. While Andy was jerking off. While Andy was jerking off and thinking about Scooter.

He might even have heard Andy moaning and known.

Andy picked up the post-it note, brushed his fingers across the fabric of the sweats, and did something he hadn’t done for a very, very long time: blushed.