Page 3 of Party of Three (Sapphire Cove Suite Secrets)

After their first date, Mateo had a crazy dream about Buckley that inspired the first couples costume they wore to a Halloween party together. It was a Game of Thrones kind of thing, which was weird because he’d petered out on the show after the third season.

In the dream, he was riding a horse through deep, dark woods, when suddenly there was a burst of light in the branches above.

Buckley came floating down toward him, a cross between Cupid and some magical wood nymph, smiling and shimmering and shedding flecks of silver and blue that happened to be the same color as the polo shirt he’d worn to their first coffee date that afternoon.

He raised some kind of wand and suddenly a burst of light enveloped Mateo.

The horse was gone. The woods were gone.

And he woke up painfully hard against the mattress and convinced that the guy with whom he’d only spent two blissful hours at a Laguna Beach Starbucks the day before was going to change his life for the better.

And he was right.

“Maybe shirtless was too much,” Buckley said at the kitchen table.

He was nibbling on a tray of cantaloupe Mateo had cut for him.

This was their ritual—they’d fuck like animals and then he’d make his luscious power bottom boyfriend some food.

“Like, maybe next time I’ll come to the door in a tank top and you can peel it off me really slowly.

What do you think? A little more resistance might amp the whole thing up.

I’m thinking maybe it went too fast this time.

Delayed gratification is better gratification, right? What do you think?”

Mateo smiled. Typically, Buckley would ask him what he thought of something about three times before finally letting him answer. Twice meant he was still worn out by passion.

He set a glass of juice he’d blended for him on the table, then bent down and kissed his boyfriend on the forehead. “It was perfect, papi . You don’t need to change a thing.”

“Even the best sex could use a little fine-tuning.”

“Not sure that’s possible if it’s the best.” He kissed him again, this time on the lips. “And trust me, it’s the best.”

Mateo was telling the truth, but he also wanted Buckley to get off his own back.

No man had ever done what his first real boyfriend had done for him, created a safe space to not just share, but act out his deepest fantasies.

But he was pushing himself too hard, never giving himself credit for a job well-done.

They came from different backgrounds, to say the least.

In the beginning, it had seemed to Mateo like his boyfriend’s childhood had been the better one.

His parents had worked themselves to the bone to support their kids while preaching fire and brimstone to them morning, noon, and night, while Buckley’s lived off the sale of their start-up, got stoned at lunch, and sent him to schools where the teachers put flowers in the students’ hair every morning.

But parents who set you free to be yourself at an early age sometimes forgot to give you the attention you needed, and he figured that’s why Buckley sometimes talked and moved at a mile a minute, afraid of being forgotten or ignored.

He’d spent a fair amount of time around Buckley’s parents this past year.

They were nice enough people, supportive of Buckley’s sexuality.

But they only paid real attention to him when he was being funny or putting together some special project for their house.

The minute Buckley started talking about something serious, something that might qualify as a personal problem, Mitch and Dana got distant.

And kinda bored. There was no other word for it.

The thought they might have treated Buckley this way when he was a little boy—like he was a friend who was supposed to entertain them and not their child—made Mateo’s heart heavy.

As a result, grown-up Buckley was so busy trying to make everyone else happy, Mateo sometimes was left wondering if Buckley was truly happy.

“I’ll tell you what I’m more worried about,” he said. “Our little role-play days are feeling kinda one way. When are we doing one of your fantasies, babe?”

“ You’re my fantasy,” Buckley said with a sweet smile.

Mateo pinched one of his baby cheeks, which was what he always did when he knew Buckley was being evasive by putting others’ needs ahead of his own.

“Besides, it’s your birthday. This weekend’s all about you. Remember, your sister’s picking you up at seven tomorrow and driving you to the hotel because I have to get there early to set up.”

“Don’t worry. I saved all five instructional emails.” He winked. Really it had been three, but who was counting? Each one had made him smile. “Anything else I should prepare for? A water gun salute maybe?”

“I’d prefer the details of your shindig be kept under wraps until the final hour.”

“Gotcha.”

He turned to the cutting board he’d laid out earlier.

On weekends and in between study sessions, he always prepped food for them both.

Buckley’s shifts as an EMT had him crawling home at all hours, ready to scarf down leftover doughnuts for dinner if it was the first thing within reach.

He also hated vegetables, so Mateo was always looking for ways to sneak green things into dishes he already loved.

This week’s recipe was a healthy version of a taco—the meat was ground lamb, and he was blending it with zucchini he’d diced so small he’d barely know it was there.

“Sapphire Cove,” he said as he started chopping again.

“Lotta drama at that place. Hope it doesn’t fall into the sea before tomorrow night. ”

“Alright, now. It’s had its moments, but it’s doing great.”

And the general manager was an old high school friend of Buckley’s, so he’d probably been able to finagle a great discount on something really classy.

Lose the snark. This is going to be the best birthday you’ve ever had .

But there was a dark edge to his gratitude. He knew why the love of his life was really knocking himself out for his birthday this year. To make up for the two people who wouldn’t be there—the parents who’d told Mateo his relationship with Buckley was against God .

“I’m so psyched, babe. Seriously. Nobody’s ever thrown a party like this for me before.”

Had he washed the second zucchini? He couldn’t remember, so he ran it under the faucet.

Something next to the phone caught his eye.

An orange envelope. It looked familiar. It should, he realized, as he picked it up.

The handwriting on it was his. The bright yellow sticker was covering up the Oceanside street address right underneath the name Jeff Braxton.

Return to sender. Unable to forward.

Rejection stung his face like a hot, quick slap on both cheeks at the same time. The Marine who’d saved his life, the Marine he’d worked for and worshiped in more ways than one, had thrown up another wall between them.

So Jeff had moved without telling him? Last he’d heard he was still stationed at Camp Pendleton, but he’d stopped returning Mateo’s messages about six months ago, and he’d never been a big social media guy, so who knew?

His head spun with possible explanations, all of them dark.

Jeff thought he was a wuss for getting out of the Marines after his accident.

Jeff couldn’t be bothered now that he’d been promoted to master sergeant.

Jeff regretted those few nights they’d spent in each other’s arms and the awkward conversations after when they promised not to let it wreck their friendship.

The list of possible explanations could turn into a panic spiral in his head if he didn’t slam on the brakes.

But he was allowed to have hurt feelings now and then. Buckley had taught him that. He’d been reaching out to Jeff for over a year, and each time he’d scraped his knuckles on a brick wall. And yeah, that hurt. No point in pretending otherwise.

The envelope contained a personal, handwritten invitation to his birthday party at Sapphire Cove.

He’d placed it inside a greeting card with a beach scene that reminded him of the stretch of cliffs and sand down in San Onofre where they used to surf, a last-ditch effort to re-establish contact with a man who’d been more important to him than his own father.

And here it was, returned without a forwarding address.

* * * *

Shit , Buckley thought as he rose to his feet.

He’d been ninety percent sure he’d hidden the damn thing, but apparently not.

“Guess Jeff’s not coming.” Mateo dropped the envelope back on the counter.

Head bowed, he returned to the cutting board.

It always twisted something painful in Buckley’s chest to see Mateo hide his pain under a task, the way he was doing now—chopping zucchini too hard and too fast, head bowed, nostrils flaring.

On most occasions, a wondrous light came into his eyes whenever he talked about the crew chief who’d rescued him from a sinking Osprey during a training exercise gone to hell.

Jeff Braxton hadn’t just been Mateo’s split-second savior, but his mentor as well.

An older man in his life who’d actually accepted him before he’d been ready to fully come out.

He’d even hung a framed picture of the two men on their living room wall, a picture that made Buckley’s heart race and his skin prickle whenever he looked at it too long.