Sean Maurice.
There are endless reasons why "Mothers" and "Gays" aren't terms that often go hand in hand.
One of them is the reason why I had to escape that bridal shower at all cost— To put it more plainly, Mothers can be too overbearing, too curious. And the Gays? Well, we are more inclined towards survival and desperately competitive.
All logics considered, The variables don't fit.
Yet, The mothers are too overbearing, too curious.
They gnawed at me, eagerly pressuring me to divulge which bachelor I found most attractive, and yes, including the straight ones.
Then again, what can I say, it's clearly what I get for choosing to be the only man at a bridal shower.
The truth is, most of the men are attractive, insufferably so; but my reason for ditching work and coming to New York is not to observe attractive bachelors. There are equally attractive men with spot on accents back in Boston, I practically bath in their overeager masculinity everyday. On the contrary, I'm here strictly for my best friend's wedding, and nothing more.
My first thought had been to text Jeremiah for the rescue; he's proven to be quite skilled at that, but then I recalled his early morning messages, letting me know he'd be out of state all day for a conference meeting. What a bummer! I had muttered to myself as I found myself surrounded by demanding mothers and nosy aunts.
Just then, a random text came in from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: I was wondering... want to join me on a drive? Rayan.
He's been AWOL since our meeting in the hospital, but that didn't matter; hell had already broken loose in an event I had spent the past couple of days looking forward to.
ME: Pick me up in Ivory's. I'll be waiting by the driveway near the stables.
We're currently driving to an interstate Island apparently located at the feet of Michigan— Varendale's Isle, as he called it. That name might have come up in one or two business discussions with clients, but I had never been there physically. I attempt to look it up but Rayan claims it's prettier in person. So, I'm reclined in the passenger seat instead, absorbing the beauty of the city as he drives.
Holocene by Bon Iver plays softly, capturing the vibe of our drive. He's quiet; I'm quiet. It's peaceful, safe, and serene. I like it. He's dressed in a crisp pollo shirt peeking out from an off-white cashmere sweater, over Golf shorts— a quiet wealth vibe that doesn't seek attention. I like it. His golf visor steals his hair, letting only the loose ends peek out, I like that too. Back at the bridal shower, I had been tempted to tell the mothers and aunts that the bachelor I found most attractive is the one I'm sitting next to now. But then there's Jeremiah, who is probably the most elegant man I've ever come across, and just like that, I wasn't quite sure who I found most attractive. They both make it hard, being nearly flawless gentlemen.
"What are you thinking about?" I blink, then blink again at Rayan's syrupy voice. He's smiling at me, and his eyes are doing that thing they do too well. They have that irresistible sparkle.
"Just... can't wait to see the highly praised Varendale's Isle." It isn't entirely a lie; That thought is indeed up and running through a part of my mind.
He glances between the open road and me, "You'll see." His smile widen. He has a sincere and genuine smile, one that lingers in your after thoughts. "I think you'll love it."
I shrug. "I can't even tell what I love most of the time."
"You love that Arman and Ivory are so in love that they are about to tie the knot," He says,
"Yeah, that's definitely something I love." I agree, chuckling.
I look away, admiring the green canopies lining the road sides, they are beautiful... I like them. "Why are we going there anyway?" I ask.
His reply isn't instant, but I let him take his time. "I have something to show you."
I huff, my jaw pressed against the window, the wind tossing and turning my hair. "Just that?"
"Maybe I also want some alone time with you." My heart kicks into gear, not in the way that would suggest romantic flutters, well, that, and also for reasons that one would normally appear inappropriate. It hasn't escaped my notice that since our first meeting, I've found Rayan attractive for those very inappropriate reasons. But I wasn't sure how far my thoughts were willing to go with that until this moment.
In this moment, it feels somehow impossible for my mind not to transcribe every word he says as something utterly...utterly sexy.
I clear my throat quickly, sitting up. Damn it. Why does he have to be such a sex God with everything? "That's not going to make me change my mind and husband you, if that's what you're thinking." I say.
"That did come to mind, yes, but I figured it wouldn't to be that easy." His voice lowers, taking on a darker tone. "But I have my ways." I flush with embarrassment.
"I'm sure you do." Is all I say. Then I dare to chance a look in the rearview mirror. There, our eyes meet, and I see a wicked smirk on his face; like he's figured me out. Like he knows what makes me tick, and right now if he offered it to me, I would foolishy put my pride aside and give in.
I quickly retract my gaze, effortlessly composing myself. Yes, I want him that way; I won't deny it. But I can't let myself have that. It's bad news. That's not why I'm in New York.
"Can we stop and get something to eat? I'm starving." I say, focusing my gaze back outside.
"Yes. Actually, there's an apple pie store close by." He replies, and I nod, mostly to myself, because I don't think I can look at him without imagining his muscular body pressed up against mine.
--
We arrive at the island just as the sky begin to mellow into twilight, when nature is lenient enough to turn everything gold.
Rayan didn't lie; this place is beyond astonishing! Especially now that everything is tinted with the gold hues of the sunset— the water, the mansions, even the serene air that whooshes through like a ghost from heaven. The island, although modest in size, is a graceful combination of mediocre and a sense of quiet luxury. The kind reserved for the people who can afford solitude...people like Rayan apparently.
It is true that Arman's entire family comes from a long generation of wealth; it is also true that I hold an entirely tenable distaste for wealthy people. But this place, as it appears, isn't solely about wealth.
I turn to Rayan from where stand facing his mansion, "This is why you were so sure I'd love it."
He looks golden too; the sunset here must be something extraterrestrial. "Come on." He says, taking my hand without warning and running along a trellised path framed by beautiful jasmine and glowing glass lanterns, rippling against the evening tide. We only stop when we reach the dock, where there's a ladder woven from fabrics climbing above the trellis. "Watch your step," he says as he begins to climb. When he reaches the top, he holds out his hand for me, guiding me the rest way up. We settle in a space that resembles a tree house but is more like a lifeguard tower. It feels like we've walked straight into a memory— One that shouldn't be. One reserved for people who fantasized a lot.
"Wow!" I can't contain my excitement any longer; it can't be helped that this entire place from up here feels like heaven carved on earth, "How's this place even possible? How's it real?"
He chuckles softly, pouring wine from a bottle that's been set out along with other foods in a picnic arrangement, like something he had planned beforehand. If I hadn't been so consumed with inappropriate thoughts of him, I might have realized he meant something like this when he proudly said he had his ways. "I ask myself the same thing every time I'm up here." He says, handing me a glass of wine. I take it without looking away from the awe-striking, breathtaking scenery.
"When I was a kid, my parents travelled a lot," he continues. "They would be gone for almost an entire year, and I would only get to see them just about three times a year. I ached for them a lot, missed them as much, so I started reading fantasies just to pass time, soon I grew to love reading, and I had started crafting a world of my own in my head." He takes off his golf cap, letting his hair free for the wind to play with as he lets out a sigh, " A few years ago, I bought this property in this island and started bringing my world to reality— the one where loneliness didn't exist because it would feel impossible that one gets lonely with a view such as this one. A place where intimacy between both the reader and the world is ultimately formed."
I've only ever read books about personal growth and finance, but a major part of me melts with immense resonance from his words.
"Did you buy the sunset too?" I ask and he laughs.
"No, that's all nature. Even the sea, the gardens, and you." He looks at me with those... eyes.
"I figured." I say, "I mean, I'm barely real in the midst of all this."
"You're the realest of all my imaginations." He replies. I blush, and don't even attempt to hide it.
"Do you come here often?" I ask,
"Only when it's summer here in the United States. This will be the first time I'm altering that pattern."
"There's a first time for everything." I say, my eyes locked onto his. It shouldn't be; there are so many things to be mesmerised by in this vast land, yet it's those glowing orbs that captivates me.
"I think your younger self would be so proud of you right now." I say, feeling the pull between us. It's on high current, the connection. It's electric.
"Yes," he replies, his voice barely a whisper. "My older self would like to embark on a different adventure. He'd like to know what it's like to explore his new, most vivid, realest imaginations."
We are only a breath away, "which translates to?"
"Can I kiss you, Sean?"
I'm on the verge of pulling him close, and unfastening his belts— and therein lies the problem. I don't just want to kiss him, I want more; I shouldn't want more. Wanting more is dangerous.
My gaze lowers to his slightly parted, puffed lips, so tempting. I swallow hard. Then I blink, and tease him with a gentle bite on his lower lip before pulling away and taking a sip from my drink. "Ask me again on a second date."