I was supposed to be partying with a bunch of celebrities in paradise this week, okay?

But then I made one teeny, tiny error in judgement before leaving New York, and suddenly the paparazzi expected me to give a command performance as “the other man” in their straight celebrity “outing” of the week.

Um, no, precious. So much no.

Instead, I did what any self-respecting, secret-keeping man would do in that situation: I cancelled my trip and fled New York to hide out in the last place anyone would look for me–a weird little Florida island where nothing exciting ever happened.

Or at least it didn’t… until I arrived.

Now I find myself shacked up with my fake boyfriend Beale Goodman, Whispering Key’s most adorable, most enormous, most virginal cinnamon roll—a guy who rescues feral cats, believes in soulmates, and talks about happiness like it’s free for the taking.

A guy who nearly convinces me, with every smile and kiss, that it is.

Stranger still? I find myself falling for the people on the island. Fitting in, instead of sticking out. Making, you know… friends. And for the first time ever, I think I’ve found something I want to run to, rather than from…

As long as I can keep my secrets from catching up with me.

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“I’m sorry if I seemed rude,” Beale said as he settled in. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Slept?”

“In a bed. With someone else.” He hesitated. “Except the summer I spent off island at Adventure Camp. But that… wasn’t like this. Platonic.”

My eyes popped open. I wanted very much to ask what his experience at Adventure Camp had been, because that might be the kind of adventure I could actually get behind, damn my overwhelming natural curiosity.

Instead, I sniffed and admitted to the ceiling, “I don’t have experience with it either.”

“Really?” Beale sounded bizarrely eager. “I sort of figured you would.”

I shrugged, though he couldn’t see me. “When I sleep with men, I don’t sleep-sleep with them.”

“Oh.”

I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Yet I somehow knew he wasn’t sleeping, either.

“So… do you have a boyfriend?” I demanded. I cursed myself for an idiot the second the words were out of my mouth. “I only ask because if someone’s going to show up tomorrow demanding a duel to restore your honor, advanced warning would be nice.”

“No boyfriend,” he said softly. “No duel.” He sounded like the most innocent of innocents, which should have been grossly unappealing.

It was not.

“Excellent—”

“But I’d still like to keep things platonic. I don’t… know you.”

Part of me wanted to laugh at the very idea of knowing someone before fucking them, but then who the hell knew what life for a gay man was like on an island where people were so old-fashioned they had keys to each other’s houses and let random strangers inside?

Besides, this big dude could have thrown me out to sleep in the yard, and instead he’d offered me… tea.

“Fine. I’ll stay on my side if you stay on yours,” I promised, holding up my pinkie finger over the mound of blankets in the center of the bed. “Pinkie swear.”

He huffed out a breath, and a second later, his hand rose, too. The moonlight through the blinds turned our skin the exact same shade of silvery white. He wrapped his enormous pinkie around mine, and the contact made me shiver.

“Pinkie swear.”

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May is an M/M author who lives in Boston. She spends her days raising three incredibly sarcastic children, finding inventive ways to drive her husband crazy, planning beach vacations, avoiding the gym, reading M/M romance, and occasionally writing it. She also writes MF romance as Maisy Archer.

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