Page 111 of Something Like Winter
Then Ben came through the sliding glass door, wearing a navy blue pair of swim trunks, a light blue tank top, and flip flops. He was dressed like a beach bum but still had finals gloom hanging over him. They would soon fix that.
“Monsieur.” Tim gave a cordial nod and brought the tray around, setting it down and pouring Ben a glass.
“Thanks,” Ben gasped after a big swallow, “but the pool is the only thing that’ll cool me down.”
“After you,” Tim said. He watched Ben strip off his shirt, wanting to do it for him, to run his hands along the sides of his torso, brush his fingers along his ribs and tickle the blondish-brown wisps of armpit hair. Ben locked eyes with him as he stepped out of his flip-flops. The last time they had been this undressed together, they had kissed in the grotto at Splashtown. Now it felt as if they were starting from where they’d left off. Or so Tim hoped.
Ben went to the pool and sat on the edge, testing the water with his feet before plopping in. Tim cannonballed after him. Ben bobbed beneath the water and came up again, his hair slicked back. “This is really nice.”
Tim waded closer to him. “It’s not bad. Too small to do any laps, making it a glorified bathtub.”
“Pools are meant for relaxing, not working out.”
“Working outisrelaxing.”
Ben smirked. “Whatever, muscle boy.”
“I don’t remember you ever complaining.” Tim dove underwater, showing off with an underwater handstand before surfacing again. “Finals out of the way?”
“Yeah.” Ben nodded.
“And Jace?” he said casually. “You two patch things up yet?”
Ben turned away from him, his expression hidden. “Kind of the opposite. We’re taking a break.”
Tim mentally exchanged a high-five with God. “Wow. Benjamin Bentley is back on the market.”
“Not exactly.”
“No?”
“I don’t know.”
Okay, that was vague, but a break was a break. Tim didn’t want him thinking about Jace, so he playfully splashed Chinchilla, who grumbled and barked from the pool’s edge. Ben laughed and joined in, missing on purpose. Then Tim challenged him to a race, a quick swim to the end of the pool and back.
“Ready?” he said, poised to win. “One, two, three!” Tim took off, reaching the end of the pool and turning to head back when he noticed Ben was still there.
“Beat you,” Ben said.
“You never left!”
“How do you know? Are there any security cameras around here? Check them and you’ll see my lightning-fast swimming skills.”
Tim shook his head and swam back to him. “Why don’t you show me while I sit this one out.”
Ben looked offended. “Are you kidding? Moving like that is exhausting! I need a break.” He swam over to the ladder and climbed out, the weight of the water pressing the swim trunks close to his body and revealing every detail. Then Tim followed, flopping facedown on the deck chair next to Ben’s.
“Put some oil on my back?” he invited.
Ben snorted. “Could you think of a more clichéd line?”
“Tried and true,” Tim argued. “It’s withstood the test of time for a reason.”
“Fair enough.”
Tim waited until he felt Ben sitting on the edge of his deck chair, blood already pounding at their closeness. Then he rolled over. “Think my front needs some, actually.”
Ben looked at him, his eyes almost pleading, but Tim wasn’t sure whether it was for him to stop or keep going—until Ben turned the bottle upside down, drizzling oil on to his chest. Then Ben placed his hand there, fingers warm despite the dip in the pool. Tim wanted to cry. The emotion turned to lust when Ben moved his hand across his skin, slowly making his way south.
