Brian and Justin have their picnic. But will it go like Brian thinks?

The rest of the morning transpired fairly smoothly; I only had to spring 'into action' when a young boy who appeared to be around 12 or 13 decided it would be a good idea to jump barefoot from rock to rock out on the craggy line of boulders that jutted out underneath the abandoned fishing pier that used to be in better shape prior to a bad storm years ago, and had promptly wound up with a bad cut on the bottom of his right foot.

At least it gave me the opportunity to get down from my 'perch' and do a little walking around as I applied some antiseptic to the boy's foot and then bandaged it carefully afterward. Now, as I sat back in my chair, I tried not to notice my lunchtime fast approaching, but it was ever present in my mind. I could feel my pulse racing at the thought of having lunch with Brian. He still continued to be an enigma to me, and I still wasn't sure if he was just playing with me or not. So I decided I would have to tread very carefully around him in either case.

"Hey, Justin!" Zipper called up to me as I leaned over the railing enough to see him standing right below me. I watched as he hefted himself with surprising agility up to the balcony. "Ready for lunch?" he asked as I nodded. He noticed me hesitating to get up, however, as he asked, "Is there something wrong?"

I shook my head. "No...It's just that, well..." I wasn't sure how he would react to me having lunch with the man who had made a fool out of me yesterday. Truthfully, I wasn't sure how I was feeling about that, either. "I'm waiting for s..."

"Ready, Gidg?" I heard Brian say just then and I cringed. Damn man.

I heard Zipper chuckle softly beside me. "Well, well, well," he said with a grin. "He seems to have recovered well from yesterday." He eyed me curiously as I felt my face grow warm. "You're having lunch with surfer boy?"

I sighed. "It's kind of a long story..."

"Uh, huh," he said to me with one eyebrow arched. "Well, be careful. You know what sharp teeth piranhas can have."

"Actually, I think he's more like a barracuda," I confided in him as we shared a smile of amusement between us like some deep, dark secret.

"Or an octopus," Zipper told me as I blushed. I had to give him credit, though; there was no hint or reproach or even criticism in his statements; I imagined after being a lifeguard for over twenty-five years now, however, he had probably seen it all. "Just be careful, kid, okay?"

I nodded as I hopped off the chair and reached for my sunglasses, flip flops and hat, knowing I had to be careful out in the sun. At the moment, however, I wasn't sure what I needed to me careful of: the unrelenting rays of the sun above - or the man waiting for me below. Taking a deep breath, I gave a nod to Zipper as I turned to begin descending the steps, my back turned away from the water. I was just about to lower myself onto the sand when I felt a strong pair of hands grasp me by the waist and help me down. I couldn't help the soft gasp of surprise that escaped my lips as I turned around in Brian's grip. He stared into my eyes for a moment before he let go of me. "Ready for lunch?" he asked quietly, no hint of ridicule or disparagement in his eyes this time.

All I could do was nod initially as he asked me how long a break I had. I managed to croak out "an hour" as he nodded in acknowledgement. My curiosity got the better of me as I glanced down to see a plain, brown, wicker basket with a hinged lid and a handle lying near his feet. "You...you brought a picnic?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's portable and it's practical," he explained. "The concierge packed it for me, and that's what he chose to pack it in. Let's not read too much into it, okay?"

I shrugged as I began to follow along beside him. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

He turned to look at me as I wished (not for the first time) that I could tell what was going through his mind. "Why?"

"Well, I just thought we were going to go get a hot dog or something," I explained.

He snorted at me. "A hot dog? I don't 'do' hot dogs; at least not the shit that's filled with nitrites, anyway." He smirked. "I prefer a different kind of hot dog."

I squinted at him under my sunglasses, relieved that he couldn't see my eyes to tell that his response bothered me for some reason. I felt both highly inadequate - as well as just a bit jealous if I were truthful with myself. I tried to not let him see that, however, as I replied, "I'll bet you do. I guess in your case opposites don't attract, then."

He pondered that for a few seconds before he grunted, "I don't know if I would say that." He stared at me intently as he added, "I guess time will tell."

I nodded, not sure what to make of that, as I turned and gazed out at the waves; they were gently undulating ones now, it being closer to low tide, but the steady whoosh of the water still served to soothe and calm me, and the wet sand under my feet felt good as we walked. After a few minutes of silence - and continued walking, however - my curiosity got the best of me again. "Where are we going?" I finally asked him. "I can't be out in the sun for too long."

"...Or dogs will be hiking their leg on you."

"Huh?"

He smiled as he explained, "You'll look like a fire hydrant."

"Oh," I said in understanding. "By the way, do you know that fire hydrants aren't all red? They're painted different colors based on what the flow rate is. Red's actually the lowest; blue's the highest."

Brian looked at me like I had two heads before he burst out laughing; rather than being insulted by his reaction, I found his laughter to be contagious as I smiled back at him, one of the smiles that I only occasionally bestow when I am very happy about something. He seemed taken aback by the magnitude of my smile as I frowned. "What?"

He stopped to shake his head. "Nothing. I'm just not sure which one I'm more amazed by: your wealth of eccentric trivia information...or your smile."

I did blush deeply then to probably match the color of a fire hydrant with a LOW water flow rate as he finally began to turn away slightly from the beach itself as he urged me, "This way; we're almost there."

We walked perpendicular to the pier where I had hoped to get a job until we came to a grove of tall, pine trees that provided a good amount of shade, but also an open view of the beach and the ocean. Brian steered me toward a weathered, wooden picnic table that was a little more hidden from the rest by some ornamental grass as he placed the basket down on the bench. "I trust this table meets with your satisfaction, Monsieur?" he said in a fake, French accent as he swept his hand out to indicate I should take a seat.

I couldn't help giggling at his attempt to actually be charming as I sat down and he lifted the lid to pull out a red-and-white, checkered plastic tablecloth to unfurl it, spreading it over the table top. I watched in fascination as he began to pull out other items from the basket: A bottle of red wine with two plastic goblets, a couple containers of cheese and grapes, some type of sandwiches on crusty bread, and a couple pints of Cole slaw and potato salad, and finally some plastic cutlery and plates, along with salt and pepper shakers in the shape of two hula dancers that jiggled when he sat them down.

"How quaint," he muttered as I laughed. "There must be two million carbs in this lunch," he groused as he surveyed it.

"Why would you even worry about that?" I asked him as he began to open up the salad containers to dish some out. "You don't have an extra ounce of fat on your body."

"You noticed?"

I flushed. "Well...uh...yeah," I had to admit; I mean, who wouldn't have noticed? "You must surf a lot."

"I do," Brian told me with his tongue rolled into his cheek. "Both in the water and on the web. Both of them do wonders to keep my body in tip-top shape."

I nodded, my mouth dry and suddenly feeling like the proverbial fish out of water as I realized what he meant. I was too embarrassed to admit to him that I obviously have had far less experience 'surfing' than he did.

"Here," he told me as he sat down next to me on the same side of the bench and handed me a plate full of food. "Wine? I wouldn't want to corrupt your youth, though."

"Could have fooled me," came out of my mouth before I could stop it. He bestowed an amused look on me, clearly having heard my comment, as I hastily added, "Uh, thanks," before he unscrewed the lid of the wine bottle and poured me a half-glassful into a plastic goblet.

"I don't usually go for this cheap shit," he felt a need to explain for some reason. "But I'll lower my standards for today."

"Which ones?"

He grinned at my impertinence as our hands brushed against each other's as I accepted it, feeling a tingle all the way down to my toes upon contact. I raised the glass to my lips and took a large gulp to steady my nerves as I heard Brian say, "Hey, Gidget...Not so fast."

I bristled. "Will you PLEASE stop calling me that? I am NOT a 'Gidget.'"

"Well, you're acting like one when you drink so fast," he retorted. "How will you leap tall lifeguard stations in a single bound and throw stranded baby starfish back into the water if you're plastered?"

Everything that had been happening so far this summer seemed to culminate just then as I seethed at how he was treating me like a child - and how my dream of working with my art had evaporated much like the early-morning fog that frequently settled over the beach on most days. "Fuck you, Brian!" I snapped as I stood up, the goblet tipping over and spilling what was left on the tablecloth to add to my woes. "I'm tired of being treated like a little kid and being told what I can or cannot do!

Brian sighed heavily in what sounded like a patronizing gesture as he rose to intercept me before I got more than a few feet away. "Justin..."

I whirled around, my eyes flashing. "Oh, so you remembered my name after all? Well, you can just forget it now - and forget lunch!" I turned around and began to stomp - well, as much as I could stomp in the soft sand - back toward the pier, my stomach growling in hunger as I walked. But I would not give that arrogant man another second of my time. If I was that immature for him, he could go find someone else to wine and dine.

"Justin, you're being ridiculous!" I heard him shout before he added for good measure, "Fine! Don't count on me chasing after you! There're plenty of other fish in the sea! And plenty of other guys to fuck!"

"I'm not stopping you!" I shouted back as I crossed my arms over my chest and trudged along the sandy path that led back toward the pier. Of course, that only reminded me even more of my present, uninspiring job and made me feel even more miserable, but I refused to look back as I turned and headed toward my patrol station. At least I had enough time to grab a hot dog - if I had any money, that is. "Damn it," I muttered in realization; I hadn't brought any money with me because I didn't think I would need it today, and I didn't have time to go back to the resort. Pride was a poor substitute for food, and I really wasn't in the mood for my tuna salad sandwich now, either.

Giving my dilemma some thought, I settled on a possible solution as I walked up to the surfer shop and slipped inside, enjoying the escape from the heat.

"Hey, Baby!" Emmett greeted me as he handed some change to a deeply-tanned man at the counter. The patron gave me an appreciative sweep of his eyes and smiled at me hopefully before I turned my head, not interested in being hit upon by yet another jerk. He thankfully got the idea as he hesitated for just a moment before he turned and headed outside.

"Hi, Em," I began tentatively, relieved that the shop was presently deserted. "Uh...I have a favor to ask. Can I borrow a few bucks to get some lunch?"

"Sure thing," he told me with a smile as he reached in his pocket. He frowned at the weary, distressed look on my face, however, as he started to hand it to me. "Everything okay, Sweetie? You look kind of out of it today somehow. You feeling all right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

But Em knew me too well to accept that pat statement as gospel. "You don't look fine, Justin."

I sighed in concession. "No, I guess I'm not."

"Well, I tell you what," Emmett told me. He handed me a ten-dollar bill. "Go get us a hot dog, fries, and a chocolate shake and come back here. I'll get someone to cover for me and we can have lunch together in the stockroom and talk. Now scoot!" he playfully urged me as I accepted the cash and nodded, knowing he wouldn't take no for an answer. Besides, I felt like I needed someone to talk to, and my father certainly wouldn't understand.

A few minutes later...

"Okay, so spill, Sweetie. What's going on?"

I was sitting on an overturned, wooden crate in the storage room off to the side of the store as Emmett slurped on his shake. "How long have you got?" I asked with a shake of my head. I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket as I informed him, "I only have about a half-hour anyway until I have to get back."

"I thought you got an hour for lunch."

"Yeah, normally, when someone isn't harassing me."

Em frowned at me in concern. "Someone's been bothering you?"

"You might say that. Brian Kinney."

Em's eyes widened. "The surfer god?"

I snorted. "That's not exactly the words I would use, but yeah, him. He asked me to lunch and then proceeded to make fun of me."

Em seemed to take a moment to digest all that information before he replied, "I'm sorry to hear that, Baby. What did he say?"

I shook my head. "It's not so much what he says, I guess, as the way he says it. He treats me like a little kid."

"How so?"

"Well, that damn Gidget reference for one. He keeps calling me that, even though I've told him to stop. And then...Then this morning he insisted on putting some of my sun blocker on me. And...Then when we had lunch just now, he was scolding me because I was drinking my wine too fast. Not to mention how he took that tumble off his board and then pretended that he was really hurt when he wasn't." I huffed in indignation as I looked over at my friend and noticed him trying to hide a smile. "It's not funny, Emmett!"

But to my consternation, Emmett laughed out loud. "Oh, Baby, can't you see what that hunk of a man is doing? You should be flattered!"

"What the hell are you talking about? He's driving me nuts and he's being an asshole!"

"Well, yeah, that, too," Emmett conceded. "But he's flirting with you, Justin, don't you see that? He likes you."

"He likes me? That sounds so...Third grade."

Emmett shrugged. "Maybe his emotional growth was stunted or something at an early age, and he doesn't know how to properly express how he feels about someone. But I'm telling you, Justin Taylor, he has all the signs of having a full-fledged crush on you."

Hope began to flicker inside me, but I refused to properly acknowledge it. "What would he want with me? He's got to be years older than me!" Although I had to admit, he was 'well-preserved.' It didn't bother me in the slightest; I thought he was hotter than hell, actually. Sighing over the knowledge, I replied, "Em, the only thing he wants out of me is the obvious, and after he has it, he'll drop me like a broken seashell on the beach."

"Maybe he will," Emmett responded truthfully as I nodded in agreement. "But then again, maybe he won't. You'll never know unless you find out for sure." He paused for a moment to take a sip of his shake as he told me, "I think the truth is that you're afraid."

My eyes bugged out. "Afraid? What are you talking about? I just told you..."

"I know, Baby. But I also know that any man who looks like him can have any guy he wants. And that also means that he's got to be well-versed in all forms of sexual pleasure; something that you are woefully lacking in but definitely need to improve upon. You don't know what you're missing, Sweetie, and you're too delicious-looking not to imbibe, if you know what I mean. What would be the harm in it?"

My face turned red. Em and I had spent several hours discussing sex - he was a virtual encyclopedia when it came to most questions that I had - and not being very experienced, there have been many - but hearing about it and doing it were two different matters. And just the thought of 'doing it' with someone like Brian Kinney made my heart thump in fear as well as excitement.

"But, Em, even if he is attracted to me, I don't want to be a one-time fuck to him. I'm sure that's what all the guys are to him."

"Would that be so bad?" he insisted. "What I mean is, which one would be worse? Wondering what it might be like to be with him - or only getting one night with him? If you ask me, Sweetie, I'd take my chances. I mean, look at him! He's a virtual advertisement for sex on two legs! So maybe it would be for just one night. But oh, what a night that would be! I'd trade with you any day," he added with a wistful smile. "But you're obviously the one he's infatuated with."

I struggled to rationalize everything. Maybe Em was right; God knows I had wondered about it - and jacked off to the idea - numerous times before. But it couldn't be anything like the real thing.

"I don't know, Em. If he just wasn't so damn cocky and condescending..."

"Well, think about what I said," he told me as he finished off the last bite of his hot dog and scrunched up the paper into a wad as he stood up. "I have to get back out to the shop."

I nodded as I wolfed down the last bite of my hot dog, too, sweeping up the rest of my lunch to toss what little was left into a wastebasket nearby. I held onto my shake as I stood up, thinking it would feel good going down my throat while I was sitting under the beach umbrella in the mid-day heat. "I will," I promised him as he nodded. I smiled. "Thanks for treating me to lunch; I'll pay you back tomorrow."

He shook his head as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just consider it part of Emmett Honeycutt's Seminar on Sex 101."

I grinned. "Okay." My expression sobered, however, as I told him, "I still don't know what to do about him. After what just happened, he may take what I said to heart and not want anything to do with me anyway."

"Somehow I doubt that," Emmett predicted with an affectionate smile. "But when the time comes, you'll know what to do; you have good instincts. After all, you befriended me, didn't you?"

I smiled at him, lost in thought. "Yeah," I answered softly. That was the pivotal question, though, wasn't it? What WAS I going to do about him?

Brian scooped up the remnants of his and Justin's lunch and tossed them back into the picnic basket; his appetite was pretty much ruined the moment that Justin went out on a tangent with his "I'm not a kid" temper tantrum speech. He shook his head. What exactly was with this kid? Perhaps that was the problem, though; Justin may be quite a bit younger than him, but he was no 'kid.' Yes, a young adult, certainly, but when he looked at him his thoughts were anything but 'child-like.' The more he was around him, too, the more those thoughts surfaced with increasing intensity.

He really knew practically nothing about him, other than the fact that he was apparently a very talented artist, at least if those paintings and sketches out in the hallway were any indication. And he seemed quite intelligent, as well as had a razor-sharp sense of humor. He could keep up with him in conversation quite admirably. And, of course, there was the obvious; the boy was beautiful. Creamy, smooth skin, a strong jaw, button nose, full, kissable lips, golden-colored hair and those long-lashed, blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through him, especially when he was getting all indignant with him. His body was perfectly proportioned, and fuck, that smile! When he had flashed him a full-fledged smile, he had been taken aback by his reaction to it. His heart had actually skipped a beat. He had never seen anyone with a smile like that. It made him want to see that same smile over and over again.

Now, though, it appeared the chances of that were slim to none. What exactly had just happened here? He already knew that Justin had a sense of humor; he had displayed it time and time again just now over lunch. But he had practically exploded at him all of a sudden, merely over his use of that inane "Gidget" nickname and a joke about him getting too smashed to handle his lifeguard duties. Why would he get so upset over that? Was there more going on with him than he knew about?

He closed up the picnic basket and sat down heavily on the bench, deep in thought. What the fuck? And more importantly, why should he care? He could have anyone he wanted, when he wanted. But for some reason with this one, he did care about what he thought about him.

"Fuck it," he finally decided as he snatched up the picnic basket and stood up. He would drop it off in his room at the resort and then find someone else to scratch his itch for now.