and mindlessly, he obliges. Primal desires reign victorious, and he
Heartbeats collide, knocking against synchronized chests.
All at once, Beau forgets about his past and his present. The only
sounds echoing in his mind now are the harmony of their fast and
escape and release.
Blinding lust courses through their intertwined bodies as
they lie tangled in the webs they weave. For a wistful moment,
E
***
Rubbing his throbbing temples, Beau curses the sunrise
as he whips his black Chevy truck into the Houma Heliport
parking lot. His bleary eyes struggle against the intruding rays.
They pierce through the tint of his sunglasses, unannounced and
uninvited, a sobering reminder of the previous night. Regret and
remorse relentlessly punish Beau during the two-hour drive in the
silence of dawn. Pushing those thoughts aside, he bounds inside
the small heliport and hurries through the weigh-ins, check-ins,
The waiting room speaker calls out, “Venus!” Beau and the
rest of the guys working the red-hitch line up to cross the windy
tarmac and climb into the helicopter.
A roaring hour later, the chopper approaches its
destination—a bright yellow platform smack dab in the center
of Mississippi Canyon Block 838. He smiles to himself because
amidst the crashing waves, constant chatter, and blinking lights
***
Working as a roughneck offshore is much like being
a Marine in Afghanistan—long hours, dangerous work, good
pay, and tough coworkers. They say that the hardest job of all is
problem.
Even after his two-hour drive to Houma, the one-hour wait
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