Under the Boardwalk

By Felice Stevens

Beneath the famous Brooklyn landmark, love is hidden but not denied:

All his life, Alexi Kharpov has dreamed of traveling to unknown exciting places instead of working at his family’s frozen custard stand on the famous Coney Island boardwalk. Every year is the same until a gorgeous man picks a spot in front of his stand to sing, captivating him with his beautiful voice. After two summers of listening, it might finally be time for him to cross that boardwalk and take a chance.

Opera singer Cameron Maxwell has traveled the world, but the sight of the beautiful man serving custard to tourists touches his heart like nothing ever has before. A summer fling might be exactly what he needs to put his problems out of his mind, but the last thing Cam expects is to want the summer to last forever.

It’s a season of discovery for both men who learn to dig deep within their heads and hearts to decide whether secrets old and new should remain buried, or if love is too important to keep hidden under the boardwalk.

This is a 37,000 word novella

• Language: English
• Publisher: Felice Stevens
• Release date: Aug 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386513575

Felice Stevens

Felice Stevens has always been a romantic at heart. She believes that while life is tough, there is always a happy ending around the corner. Her characters have to work for it, because just like life in NYC, nothing comes easy and that includes love.Felice is a Lambda Literary Award winning author in best Gay Romance and two time e-Lit award winner in romance.To keep up-to-date on all things happening, join Felice's Newsletter and get a free book!https://tiny.one/FelicenewsletterFollow her on BookBub: https://geni.us/FeliceBB

Book preview

Under the Boardwalk

By Felice Stevens

Prologue

‡

Last summer

Who was he? That seductive voice flowed like hot fudge melting over ice cream, smooth and rich with a hint of sweetness. It had left Alexi mesmerized all summer, but fear prevented him from ever approaching the singer on the boardwalk. From the distance, Alexi could see his wide smile as he thanked people for their tips. He wished he had the nerve to walk over there and listen.

Alexi, you asleep with your eyes open, or you gonna take the next customer?

His father elbowed him in the side, startling him out of his daydream.

Sorry, Papa. Putting aside his fantasy that the man was gay and they’d meet, fall in love, and travel the world together, Alexi smiled at the waiting customer and began swirling custard. Two hours and what seemed like a hundred cones later, his father put a hand on his shoulder.

You should take a break. It’s a busy one today, and you’ll probably need to stay late. Your cousin has a cold and can’t come in.

Without a word, Alexi nodded and opened the door to the stand that gave him access to the boardwalk. He took a bottle of water with him and headed across the newly renovated expanse to the beach, hesitating at the top of the steps leading down to the sand. If only the crowd wasn’t so big around the singer, he’d stand close by. But with the beautiful weather—bright sun and low humidity—came throngs of people strolling on the boardwalk, and it seemed like half of them had congregated around the man with the mellow voice who’d invaded Alexi’s sleep, providing him with sweaty, explicit dreams.

So Alexi did what he had all summer long: he sat on the sand, in the cool shade under the boardwalk, and listened. It was almost as good as talking to him.

Maybe next summer…

*   *   *   *

Damn. Cam Maxwell took a swig from his water bottle between sets. He’d had high hopes the cute guy from the ice-cream stand would finally get close enough to make eye contact and see if there was any interest. But at the last minute, a huge group of tourists from Japan had descended, asking for selfies and pictures with him, and he couldn’t refuse. So Blondie (which was what he called the guy since he didn’t know his name) veered off and went to sunbathe on the beach. Probably not his type, Cam thought, although the lean legs and that tight little butt of his certainly were.

Cam squinted as he searched the beach. He was entitled to a break, and he wanted to go meet the guy, strike up a conversation—maybe flirt a little if it seemed right. All summer they’d been on crossed schedules; whenever he took a break, either the guy was nowhere to be found or he was at the stand. Cam gave up, knowing he couldn’t hang around and flirt if he was too busy. And now the season was at an end. Labor Day was the coming weekend, and that meant back to the day job and no more singing on the boardwalk, no more cute guys with firm, tan legs and skin that held the scent of coconut.

Maybe next summer…

Chapter One

‡

This summer

He was back. Alexi poked his head out from inside the tiny wooden booth to stare at the man sitting cross-legged on the boardwalk, and even though he still didn’t know who he was or what he looked like other than the mop of wavy, dark-brown hair under his cap, the sound of his soulful voice had made the past two months of serving frozen custard to hot, sweaty tourists a bit easier to take. Like the prior summer, he’d often find himself staring transfixed at the singer, wishing he had the nerve to cross the eighty feet separating them but instead, Alexi remained inside the weather-beaten concession stand, listening to the beautiful voice flow over him. Today it was Beatles melodies, and Alexi swayed on his feet, listening to Here Comes the Sun as he swirled the cones.

A sticky-faced boy and his harried-looking grandmother stepped to the front. In a heavy Russian accent she asked, Can I get chocolate in a cup and… She turned to the little boy. "What do you want, myshka?"

Alexi hid a smile at the nickname. He’d always hated it when his babushka, his grandmother, called him her little mouse, and from the frown on the boy’s face, he wasn’t too thrilled with it either.

I tole you not to call me that. My name’s Micky. He flashed bright blue eyes at Alexi. An’ I want strawberry with sprinkles.

Perfect, unaccented English. Most likely one of his parents was American and insisted on English-only in the house. Alexi would bet the boy’s name was Mikhail, but he wanted it to be as American as possible. Alexi had already finished swirling out the grandmother’s custard and handed it to her. Here you go. And do you want a cone or a cup, Micky?

That won him a gap-toothed smile. Cone, please.

He doused the custard in extra rainbow sprinkles and handed it to the boy, who immediately began to lick around the edges then ran across the boardwalk to where the singer had now drawn a small crowd with a lively rendition of Yellow Submarine.

Mikhail, the grandmother yelled after him. "Stoye! Come back here!" Torn between needing to pay him and keep an eye on her grandchild, the woman’s eyes grew frantic.

Don’t worry. Go to him, and you can come back and pay. It’s eight dollars and twenty-five cents.

"Spasibo." She hurried across the boardwalk and took little Micky’s hand, bending down to lecture him about running away from her in a crowd.

It was four o’clock, close to the end of his shift, and Alexi couldn’t wait to escape. For five years he’d been here every summer, helping his family. For the first few years, it was fun; he’d met tons of people from all over the world, got to hang out by the beach all day, and even flirted with cute guys when no one else was looking.

But five years was way longer than he’d planned to stay. Ever since he was a child, he’d wanted to travel and see the world beyond Brooklyn, beyond the Coney Island Boardwalk and Little Odessa—what the small, overly crowded area of Brighton Beach was called, for the huge numbers of Russians who’d settled there over the past thirty years. The century-old elevated Brighton subway line rumbled and screeched overhead, while in the shadows below, fruit and vegetable stands with cardboard signs written in Cyrillic nestled side by side with the drugstores and hole-in-the-wall stalls selling cell phone calling cards for various Eastern European countries.

At home, Alexi avidly watched the Travel Channel and dreamed of exotic locations like Bora-Bora, Australia, and Hong Kong. Anywhere but New York City and home.

But family obligations had ended that dream for the present. Instead, he took accounting classes at Kingsborough Community College at night and worked in his family’s import-export business during the fall and winter months. The warm summers brought the tourists back to Coney Island and its famous boardwalk, where the biggest thing to happen was the resurfacing of the splintering landmark structure.

Alexi. Go on. You can leave. Dmitri is here to take over. His father nudged him, and Alexi flashed him a relieved smile.

"Spasibo, Papa."

Giving his cousin a high-five, Alexi exited through the side door, stepped out onto the boardwalk, and was instantly assailed by the smells of sweet, fried funnel cake and grease from the burger shack two doors away. Sweat trickled down his back, and he adjusted the Luna Park baseball cap shading his eyes; conversely, he raised his face to the sun, worshiping its warmth. He loved the heat, loved everything about summer, especially the beach and the boardwalk. Like a magnet, the ocean drew him close, and still keeping an eye on the singing man, Alexi stood by the railing and leaned against it.

Normally he’d walk down to the water to listen to the shuush of the surf and dig his toes into the cool sand, but not today. Not today, when this man’s voice held sway over him so that he remained on that boardwalk, hearing him sing about love.

What do I know about it? Alexi thought. He’d never been lucky enough to be in love or have someone say they loved him. Sex in a club, or in a guy’s car if they were lucky, didn’t last longer than the rush of physical release.

He eyed the man’s tanned, lean body, the strong muscles in his legs flexing under his board shorts, and Alexi swallowed heavily, wondering what all the smooth skin dusted with dark hair would feel like against him.

Thank you.…Thanks. With the song finished, the man collected his tips, putting them in a drawstring bag, and rewarded everyone with a beautiful smile. Grateful that the brim of his hat shielded his face from view, Alexi continued to study the man’s golden-brown legs and narrow hips. He didn’t wear a shirt, and his tan chest had a nice swirl of dark-brown hair rising up from the waistband of his board shorts. A loud cough startled him, and he raised his eyes to meet the singer’s amused gaze.

Busted.

Embarrassed at being caught, Alexi turned away and faced the ocean, his cheeks burning, heart pounding. For two summers now Alexi had snuck looks at the man but managed to slip away unseen, without him knowing. It was one thing to flirt back, but to be caught staring…Alexi knew what happened to guys who made unwelcome advances.

Hi.

Oh shit. His gaze darted to the side to see the man standing next to him. To his mortification, he gave Alexi a wink and a slow, easy smile. The screams of the children on the sand and the music blaring from the beach below seemed to fade away until all he could hear was that soft voice.

Uh, hi.

You work the ice-cream stand, right?

"Da, I mean, yeah. It’s custard, but yeah."

Irked that he’d allowed himself to become so rattled by a mere question he’d slipped into speaking Russian to a stranger, Alexi could’ve slapped himself on the head for his stupidity.

Maybe we could take a walk on the beach and you could teach me the difference between the two?

Caught up in the man’s dazzling smile and sun-kissed cheeks, Alexi could only stare in disbelief.

What’s your name? Laughing at his obvious infatuation, the man moved closer. I like to know someone’s name before we go out on a date.

His name? Uh, Alexi. He blinked. Date?

Hi, Alexi, I’m Cam. He held out his hand. Alexi took it and shivered from the contact of their palms. And yes. Date. I’m thinking a walk on the beach and then maybe dinner?

That sounded like a dream. His dream. Maybe he was sleeping, but if so, he didn’t want to wake up. Sure, yeah. I’d like that.

Cam gave him that brilliant smile again. Then let’s go.

They descended the stairs from the boardwalk to the sand. Alexi took a few steps, kicked off his flip-flops, and picked them up.

"I can’t walk with