Page 66 of Sapphire Spring

It had takenallofNaser’s strength not to bolt from Mason’s house before the guyreturned from his AA meeting.

Instead, he’d paced Mason’s bedroom after the man drove off.Mason’s tears had frightened him, and that was saying something, given theseriously scaryshitthe man had done in his presenceover the years.

It wasn’t the crying, he’d finally decided. It was the wildswing from sexual aggression to total vulnerability, the speed of it.

Drunk or sober, MasonWortherwasa man in whom powerful emotions roiled with storm-like force.

Hadn’t some of these feelings once knocked Naser intolockers and chased him down hallways?

Had it been wrong—dangerous even—to go fast and hard withsomeone like that as soon as the clothes came off?

Had he awakened a violent beast—a violent beast who wasgoing to cry at the drop of a hat and rush off to AA meetings carrying traysfull of cookies?

Maybe Naser’s fears were off base. If violence was Mason’schosen mode of self-expression—drunk or sober—the guy would have reacted to theforgotten AA meeting with anger andballedfists, notsputtering tears. Naser was no therapist, but he’d always thought the peoplewho resorted to abuse were trying to vault over their fear, only to get burnedby its flames during the flight, so that they ended up punching and roaringwhen they landed on what they’d foolishly hoped would be the other side. Fistswere raised, he’d alwaysassumed, whentears weresuppressed, not the other way around. In those final, startling moments beforeMason had driven off, he’d suppressed nothing, it seemed.

Now the two of them were outside on the house’s concretebeachfront patio, bathed in brisk ocean winds as Mason grilled. Smoke billowedacross the house’s ocean-facing glass walls before blowing south. On thepatio’s sofa, Naser snuggled deeper into the oversized UCLA sweater Mason hadlent him. Far out in the night-dark sea, beyond the crashing waves, anchoredships sparkled like little jewels as the houses lining the beach threw alatticework of light across the powdery sand. A postcard perfect moment, if notfor the heaviness of fatigue—the hangover left by sudden and powerful emotions.So many of them at once.

He studied Mason’s movements as he worked. They seemedsignificant, and he wasn’t sure why. The more he thought about it, the more herealized this was why most guys ran out after the dirty deed was done. Becauseif you stuck around and watched the man who’d just kneaded and stroked you intobliss do things like flip a steak or suck a bit of seasoning off his fingertipor bring a glass to his mouth, it drove home the intimacy and gravity of whathe’d just done to you with those very hands, those very lips. A blissfulfeeling if the guy meant something to you; a little gross and weird if hedidn’t. Mason had always meantsomethingto him, whether he liked itor not, and right now, Naser felt caught between the sense that he’d donesomething perfectly right—preordained, even—but alsoabsolutelyreckless.

“It’s fine if you were going to leave,” Mason said.

They’d been chatting mostly about the beach, the neighbors,how long Mason had lived on this idyllic stretch of sand—less than a year, itturned out—and then, after a silence that had grown pregnant with Naser’sruminations, Mason delivered this sudden right turn.

“It was a lot, I know.” He worked the spatula under onegiant, sizzling piece of meat, flipping it with a force he probably wanted togive his words. “Honestly, I kind of expected you to.”

Sensing a gentle challenge, Naser rose, walked past thepatio table Mason had already set for them both, and hovered next to the grill,safely out of the smoke plumes. “I couldn’t come up with a good enough reasonto.”

“But you were looking for one.” Mason glanced at him, thenreturned his attention to the grill.

“No. I found one, but it was shitty.”

“Let me guess. Too intense, too fast.”

“Not really.”

“Oh, so it was worse, then.” Mason’s smile seemed forced.

“You stopped being a fantasy.”

Mason worked the spatula under the steaks to make sure theyweren’t sticking, which was clear after the first few seconds of effort. He keptdoing it anyway, which told Naser he was trying to distract himself. The answerhad stung him. “So that’s why you wanted to jet, or that’s why you’re stillhere?”

“A little of both, maybe.” Naser took a long swallow ofsparkling water, wishing it were something stronger. Knowing it shouldn’t be.

“Interesting.”

“One minute you were groveling and trying to earn myforgiveness. The next you were this incredible sex god and then, suddenly, youwere…”

“Crazy.”

“Emotional.”

“A mess.”

“Honest. I stayed because you were honest.”

“I’m still Messy Mason, I guess,” he said. “Probably will befor a while.” A note of warning there, Naser could tell.

“The meetings will help, right?”

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