Making waves an m m roma.., p.1
Making Waves: An M/M Romance, page 1
Making Waves Copyright
Copyright © 2024 by Harper Robson
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission requests, contact harper@harperrobson.com
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
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Editing by Sandra and Julia at One Love Editing
Also By By Harper Robson
The Hot Dam Homes Series
From The Ground Up: Mason & Jackson
https://mybook.to/fromthegroundup
When The Walls Come Down: Dylan & Reed
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Built To Last: Tyler & Sam
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Part of the Hot Dam Homes World
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Drew & Eric's Story
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Case & Matthew
https://mybook.to/anunexpectedgift
Part of the Seattle Sasquatch World
The Night Before: Aleks & Ben
https://mybook.to/thenightbefore
Contents
Content Info
1. Penn
2. Hunter
3. Penn
4. Hunter
5. Penn
6. Hunter
7. Penn
8. Hunter
9. Hunter
10. Penn
11. Penn
12. Hunter
13. Hunter
14. Penn
15. Penn
16. Hunter
17. Hunter
18. Penn
19. Hunter
20. Hunter
21. Penn
22. Hunter
23. Penn
24. Penn
25. Hunter
26. Penn
27. Hunter
28. Penn
29. Hunter
30. Penn
31. Hunter
32. Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Also By By Harper Robson
Coming Soon From Harper Robson
All About Harper Robson
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Content Info
There are brief mentions of the following in Making Waves (not described on the page): death of a parent in childhood, bullying experienced as a child and general family bullshit. None of these subjects are discussed in any detail, but if you're extremely sensitive to any of these topics, please be aware.
Chapter one
Penn
“Come on, guys. I don’t wanna go alone. Please, someone has to come with me,” I moan to my group of closest friends while also giving them my most pathetic puppy-dog eyes. We’re all sitting around our favorite booth at Pixels & Pints, our favorite spot for after-work drinks. The level of begging I’m engaging in might make you think I was asking them to do something crazy, like bury a body or donate a kidney. But nope. The huge favor I’m asking is for one of them to join me on an all-expenses-paid Caribbean cruise. And let me tell you, it’s some serious game-show-prize-type stuff: a five-star vacation with a suite on one of the fanciest cruise ships in the world, first-class flights to Florida, and a night in a fabulous hotel before boarding the ship. Plus, there’s an open bar, and gourmet meals included.
Seriously, this trip is going to be amazing, but instead of jumping at the chance, my friends are sitting around coming up with excuses for why they can’t make it work. Honestly, I never would have thought it would be such a chore to convince a bunch of millennials to take free shit.
“Penn, you know I’d go if I could,” Serah says, her earnest, blue eyes wide and innocent. “But there’s just no way I can leave work right now.”
I huff with frustration, trying not to roll my eyes. It’s always a delicate balance when teasing my friends about spending too much time at work, since it isn't something I have to worry about. Because I don’t. Work, that is. Yeah, I’m one of those trust-fund babies who spent college trying to “find myself” and still hasn’t figured it out. So I’ve spent my post-graduation years trying a bunch of different stuff. I’ve dabbled in various things—writing, art, acting, dance. I’ve also traveled, done some volunteer work, and taken a shit ton of different classes. But nothing seems to stick. At least until recently. But my friends don’t know that yet.
“Okay, let’s figure this out.” Kelly takes charge as usual when the rest of us start chasing our tails. No wonder they just got themself a fancy new job as the executive assistant to the guy who will be the general manager of Seattle’s newest NHL team. That one’s got some sweet hyperorganization skills. “We’ve gone through me, Serah, Cooper, and Logan, and none of us can make it.” Kelly turns their eyes to Hunter Davies, the dark-haired, dark-eyed, quietest member of our group.
Suddenly, Serah pipes up. “Hunter, you should totally go!” I shoot her a glare, but she’s a lightweight, and she’s already downed a couple of beers. Her filter goes directly down the toilet when she drinks, bless her heart. “You know you have a ton of vacation days, and if you don’t use them in the next quarter, you’re gonna lose them!” she blurts out.
Hunter and Serah both work at Rainy Day Games, the video game developer where they both got hired after we all graduated from the University of Washington a few years ago. Serah is in HR, and Hunter is a software engineer. Serah’s probably not supposed to be publicly blabbing Hunter’s confidential information around, but as mentioned, girl has a filter problem when alcohol is involved. Aside from a subtle eye roll, he doesn’t seem particularly put out by it though.
Everyone turns their focus to him, and I can almost see him squirm with discomfort. Hunter doesn’t talk much, and I get the feeling he’s not a fan of being the center of attention. I also have a feeling that Hunter doesn’t like me. There’s nothing obvious about it, but I always get the sense that he’s holding back an eye roll whenever I open my mouth to speak. We’re complete opposites—he’s reserved and serious while I’ve always been the life of the party—but it’s not like we’ve had any major disagreements, so I don’t know what it is about me that he finds so distasteful. I always try to brush it off though, telling myself it’s his loss. I mean, I’m a delight to be around. Sure, I can be a little… extra… sometimes, but I’m not a complete idiot or a bad person. If he wants to walk around with a stick wedged firmly up his ass, well, that’s his business, I guess.
I shoot him a cautious smile. “Yeah, you should come, Hunter.”
He looks decidedly uncomfortable, chewing on his lip and fidgeting with his coaster while everyone stares at him expectantly. And as much as I enjoy my own company, I would still rather travel with someone else than by myself. The truth is, I don’t really like being alone all that much.
When I booked this trip months ago, I was hoping it would help solidify my relationship with my boyfriend at the time, Jeremy. We’d been off and on for a while, and I think I truly believed that if I could make this relationship work, it would somehow prove to everyone that I am actually growing up, the way my friends seem to be doing. It turns out that was one of my worst ideas ever. Not long after booking the trip, I caught Jeremy pressed up against the wall of the bar bathroom, getting railed by one of the bartenders. Suffice it to say, that was the end of Jeremy. But I ended up with nonrefundable tickets for this amazing vacation. Yeah, I could eat the cost, and it wouldn’t be a big deal, but honestly, I really want to go. Plus, it feels like letting the tickets go to waste would be letting the dickbag win in some way. And I really don’t want that.
“Uh, I could probably get time off that week,” he says, setting his beer on the table. “But Penn, won’t you want some privacy for… stuff?” There’s judgment in his tone, and it bothers the shit out of me, even though no one else seems to notice. Okay, sure, maybe I’ve been sowing some wild oats since the breakup, but he can take his attitude and shove it where the sun don’t shine.
I snort. “You mean, do I want privacy so I can bang a different dude every night of the trip?” I keep my voice light, trying to make it sound like a joke, but I'm clenching my jaw so hard it clicks. I’ve never been bothered by someone thinking I’m a little on the slutty side before, so I have no idea why Hunter’s attitude is getting under my skin right now. Apparently, I really do need a vacation.
“You don’t have to worry,” I say, holding up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute. “I promise to keep it zipped if there’s any chance you’ll be around. Any hookups will happen outside of our room. Slut’s honor.” Hunter blushes and stammers out an apology, but I wave him off while admiring my shiny, new black manicure. “It’s fine, Hunter. But just so you know, I’m not planning on spending the whole week on my knees for random guys. Turns out, I can do that right here in Seattle if I want to.” I take a sip of my appletini, ignoring his raised eyebrow and Logan’s guffaw from his spot beside me.
“Thi s trip is about taking some time to clear my head. Put this whole Jeremy thing behind me once and for all. It’ll be like an Eat, Pray, Love–type situation, only without the praying and the love. So mostly it will just be about the eating,” I say with a shrug.
I’ve been comfortable with my party-boy image for a long time now, but in the last couple of years, I’ve felt like the kid at the adults’ table. While it’s true that of the six of us, no one has actually settled down in a relationship yet, everyone except me seems to be moving forward and growing up. They all have careers that mean something to them. Serah and Hunter are at the video game company, Cooper has his own startup tech firm with some guys he met at his first job, Logan keeps getting promoted, going back and forth between the big tech giants like Microsoft and Amazon, and not only did Kelly just get their awesome new job with Seattle’s upcoming NHL expansion team, but they’ve also been steadily moving forward with their gender transition. I mean, talk about having your shit together… Meanwhile, I’m pretty much the same party animal I’ve been since arriving at UW all those years ago.
Everyone at the table chuckles at my Eat, Pray, Love joke except for Hunter, who barely cracks a smile. God, lighten up, dude.
He finally looks me in the eye, still fidgeting with the coaster, and pauses for a second. I guess he sees whatever he's looking for, because, with a little smile pulling at his lips, he finally says, “Okay, sure. Count me in for the free Caribbean cruise. I’ll take one for the team.” He grins, and I can’t help but notice how good he looks when he smiles. Too bad he doesn’t show it off more often.
“Yay! That makes me so happy!” I squeal, clapping my hands. My reaction’s a little over-the-top, but whatever.
Fucking hell, I’m going on vacation with Hunter Davies? Sharing a cabin for an entire week?
Well, spank my ass and call me Sally.
I did not see that one coming.
Chapter two
Hunter
Well, isn’t this just a fine kettle of fish , as my grandma would say. I cannot understand what in the world possessed me to agree to go on vacation and on a cruise, of all things, with Penn Bloody Thompson.
The two of us have been part of the same friend group for years, but we don’t actually know each other all that well. To be honest, I’ve never put much effort into trying to get to know him. I’ve always thought of him as a bit of a himbo. Okay, so maybe “himbo” isn’t the right term since I’ve never thought of him as dumb. But he’s always reminded me of every rich, asshole kid I’ve ever met, and I’ve met more than my share. His thick, wavy blond hair is always styled in that perfectly effortless way designed to make you think he just rolled out of bed when it probably took him an hour of primping to get it right. He’s slim but not skinny, with the kind of body that looks great in every kind of clothing. Unlike me, who can never find shirts that aren’t too short in the arms, making me resemble a scarecrow that’s dressed for the office. His face is somehow both delicately beautiful and strong at the same time, and he plays up his eyes using guyliner, and his cheekbones with some kind of sparkly bronzer stuff.
Penn never got a job after we all graduated from UW, deciding to take a year off instead. That year off has somehow turned into nearly a decade at this point. I’m not sure whether the guy has ever worked a full day’s job in his life, while I’ve been accused more than once of being a workaholic. I’m very focused on my job, not only because I love it but also because, unlike Penn, money wasn’t something I had much of as a kid, so it’s important to me that I earn a good living. I take my job and finances seriously because I’ve always had to, unlike Penn, whose high-end lifestyle has always been funded by his family’s money.
With the topic of vacation plans settled, the conversation shifts, and Penn catches my eye from across the table, pulling me out of my thoughts as he leans in close to speak quietly.
“Hey, Hunter,” he says, his voice barely audible above the noisy bar. “I don’t want to pressure you. If you’re not into it, please don’t feel obligated to come with me. I’ll be fine on my own.”
Penn’s eyes are a unique color, with a dark ring of indigo surrounding the icy gray-blue at the center. They’re oddly mesmerizing, especially when he’s got them focused on me so intently.
“It’s okay, Penn. I actually want to go,” I say, forcing a smile I can only hope looks sort of genuine. “I haven’t taken a trip in years, and your offer is too good to pass up. Plus, you’re making Serah do her happy dance by helping me use up my vacation days.” I raise my eyebrows at Serah, who gives me a cheery, slightly drunken wave from the other end of the table.
Relief washes over Penn’s face, and he grins at me, his features lighting up and setting off sparks in my lower belly. Okay, fine. In the spirit of total honesty, when I first met Penn, back in our freshman year of college, I thought he was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. If anyone ever forced me at gunpoint to detail all my sexual fantasies, I’d be forced to admit that Penn Thompson used to play a starring role in many of my hottest fantasies. But that was a long time ago, and I haven’t thought about him that way in years. So why, all of a sudden, is my stomach doing somersaults when he flashes that smile at me? It’s not like anything’s changed just because we’re going to be spending more time together. The guy is still a spoiled trust-fund kid. And even if he wasn’t, he’s way, way out of my league.
“Oh my god! Yay!” he exclaims with a giggle that probably shouldn’t be cute but somehow is. “We’re going to have so much fun!”
I take another sip of my beer, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to Penn’s attention on me. My anxiety starts ratcheting up as my mind starts to criticize every social interaction I’ve had tonight. Like clockwork, sweat starts trickling down my back as I try to silence my inner critic.
Thankfully, Penn doesn't notice and moves on to discussing logistics. “I’ll call and change your ticket next week, and I’ll let you know all the details. Sound good?”
“Yeah, that works for me. Thanks, Penn,” I reply, forcing another smile while trying to smother my internal freakout. How the hell are the two of us going to share a tiny little cabin for a whole week? Penn is the epitome of a social butterfly, while I require alone time to recharge. I hope there will be some quiet places on board for me to escape to.
Fuck. I hope I haven’t made a mistake by agreeing to go. I realize I'm not always the most easygoing guy. I don't want to put my friendships with the others at risk if things go sour with Penn. If the two of us can't spend time together, I could lose this group of friends who have become my family. After losing my grandparents a few years ago, they're all I have, so losing them isn't a chance I can take.
Dammit. I’m gonna need to talk to someone about this shit.
Chapter three
Penn
Monday morning, I pull my electric Jaguar SUV into the parking lot of my small office. Sighing, I grab my bag and my Venti Caramel Macchiato and step into the small but welcoming space. Maybe one of these days, I’ll actually be brave enough to tell people about this project that’s been taking up most of my headspace for the last few months. My problem is that I don’t have the best record of following through with stuff, and I don’t want to have to watch my friends struggle to figure out what to say to me when and if this becomes just another entry in my long list of “tried it out but couldn’t make it stick” projects. The thought of my friends believing I’m a failure is a lot worse than the thought of them thinking I’m a shallow party boy. After all, that’s the only side of me they’ve ever really known.
For some reason, though, this project feels different. I keep waiting for it to hit me, but so far, I’m not getting the restless, uncomfortable feeling that means I’m losing interest in something. Instead, the bored, agitated feeling has been replaced by the constant feeling that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Normally, I’m Mr. Optimistic, never doubting my ability to pull things off, even though my track record suggests otherwise. But this time, I’m constantly looking at the enormous mountain of stuff I still need to figure out and worrying about never being able to scale it. So far, though, I’ve managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other, with a lot of help from the handsome silver fox who’s sitting at one of the two desks and smiling at me as I let myself in.
