"I'd gnaw on you," he continued, eyeing my torso.
My heart was in my throat, thumping fast as I tried to breathe, swallow, think.
What the actual fuck was happening here? Was he...hitting on me?
No. Of course not. This was an awkward bit of humor gone astray, not a revelatory moment where we simultaneously flashed our queer cards.
Or maybe it was exactly that moment.
"I'm not a piece of jagged, dried out meat," I said indignantly. "I'm tender, juicy meat."
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
"Yeah, you are." Owen barked out a startled laugh and pushed to his feet. "Whoa. Okay. Now I know I'm drunk," he said. "Get some sleep, McClish. Another early day is coming our way."
I nodded and babbled something in response, but I couldn't stop hearing his words in my head. I'd gnaw on you. It wasn't clear what I'd gained there, but I was satisfied with the venture.
Fresh Catch is available now!
Take a vacation, they said. Get away from Silicon Valley's back-stabbing and power-grabbing. Recharge the innovative batteries. Unwind, then come back stronger than ever.
Instead, I got lost at sea and fell in love with an anti-social lobsterman.
There's one small issue: Owen Bartlett doesn't know who I am. Who I really am.
*