Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

he remembered the name of the resort: Cockatoo. Very bad idea.
    When he got off the plane he considered just staying in Miami, though he had no clue where and he didn't feel particularly adventurous. He pulled the now oft-folded itinerary and e-ticket out of his back pocket and figured out which flight would take him to the island. A glance at the Departures board said it was Gate E17, and he rolled the floral monstrosity of a suitcase behind him as he made his way to the next terminal.
    When he got to the gate a "CHARTERED" sign was posted next to the destination. Everyone on the flight must be heading to Cockatoo, he figured. He'd expected the passengers waiting at Gate E17 would be all men but he discovered it was a mix of men and women. The brochure said "Men Only," so this confused Burke. He hoped they weren't resort staff. He didn't have anything against women, but he was going to feel self-conscious enough without the potential embarrassment of female staff at the clothing-optional resort.
    He realized the women were part of a group wearing T-shirts that said "Cook This!" Some guys wore the same shirt, so they couldn't be heading for Cockatoo.
    He dragged the suitcase to a seat and settled in to wait for the call to board. Some of the men gave him the once over and then turned their gazes to others waiting for the same flight.
    Not an auspicious start to the trip, he thought, glancing down at his attire: baggy jeans and a blue-and-white striped button-down shirt. Untucked. Nothing wrong with his clothes. That's what he wore to work and sometimes he was the best-dressed guy there. He was a software engineer, one of the few who didn't wear T-shirts almost exclusively. But he realized the other men were wearing what was probably called "resort wear." Matching shirts and pants or light suits. Their clothes looked expensive. The resort was expensive, he knew that much, and he could afford it. He just didn't judge people on the clothes or looks very much.
    CHAPTER 2
    On the beach at Cockatoo, Burke sat blinking in the sun's overpowering brightness for a moment until movement to his far left caught his attention. A flash, the sun reflecting off metal. He turned his head and saw another row of lounge chairs, all full.
    Another flash from much farther up the beach.
    This time Burke's gaze zeroed in on the source. The guy in the very last lounger wore Hawaiian print board shorts and a blue baseball cap had a pair of binoculars to his face. He peered through them, his entire body tense as he sat on the edge of his lounger. He was wearing a short-sleeved pale blue cotton shirt, unbuttoned. He was close enough for Burke to see his chest was covered with a pale blonde fuzz, just like his legs. While the arms and legs were toasty tan, Binoc-guy's chest was pale. Burke couldn't get a good look at his face, given the cap and the binoculars. Too bad. At least the chest looked in good shape, the legs looked toned and the guy wasn't wearing one of those ridiculous tiny Speedos that left too little to the imagination and too much revealed.
    Burke watched as the guy put the binocs down and picked up a notepad from his lap and scribbled something then grabbed the glasses again. He repeated the sequence several times to himself, nodding and grinning.
    What was he watching? Ever more intriguing, Burke wanted to know what he'd been writing down. He glanced in the direction the guy was watching but he could see anything in particular. It was in the direction of the edge of this resort. Another private beach was located on the other side of a high wooden fence. Probably the destination for the women passengers. Something co-ed, or whatever the word was.
    Why would Binoc-guy be watching someone over at the girls' camp? This started to feel like one of those lose-your-virginity films aimed at high-school aged guys. Burke glanced back at Binoc-guy but the lounger was empty. He wasn't anywhere in sight.
    Burke shrugged and returned to putting sunscreen on his arms and legs.
    "Need some help with that?"
    The deep voice startled Burke and he looked to see who had spoken. Two sandaled feet stood next to his lounger and he followed them up, nearly blinded by the sun as he peered at the face of an attractive man in his forties. He was a bit older than the guys Burke usually spent time with, but he was in great shape and didn't have a trout-dick, as far as Burke could tell. So far so good!
    "Uh, sure."
    The guy sat next to Burke on the lounger and