Page 48 of Summer Lessons
“Oh God.”
“But youlikeCarpenter!” Mason was stoned, but he was also confused.
“I do. But he gets beat the hell up at those games and it’s hard to watch.”
Mason frowned. “Yeah, but if you give a shit, you deal with that. Why else would Terry drive me to the doctor’s office and stay for lasagna?”
Dane cocked his head and wrinkled his nose. “You know it sucks how often you’re right. I’m going to bed now—don’t pass out before Terry gets here to help you shower. You smell like ass.”
That thought alone kept him awake.
Terry came in a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist. “I was going to get dressed, but then I remembered you’d need help, so guess what? We’re showering naked.”
Mason thought hard at his penis, but it mostly yawned and rolled over sleepily. “Goddammit,” he muttered.
“Doesn’t do what you wanted it to?” Terry asked sympathetically, putting his shoulder under Mason’s arm. “Yeah—mine was getting all frisky when I got naked in your bathroom, and then I reminded it that you were hurt and, you know, nothing. I’m stunned. First time that thing’s been quiet since I was eleven years old.”
“What happened when you were eleven?” Mason asked, hopping carefully into the bathroom.
“Mikey Ingalls showed me what happened after he made his hard. It wasveryinteresting, believe you me.”
Mason chuckled, and he would have launched into the story of the puberty video and his social justice outrage at nine, but he needed to concentrate to undress and get under the spray.
Terry helped, undressing him in that impersonal way that people have when they’re focused on something. It wasn’t until Mason got under the spray that Terry’s hand slid across his stomach, and then the rest of Terry climbed into the shower and plastered himself along Mason’s back.
And Mason relaxed like he’d forgotten how to breathe for a week and only just now remembered.
“This is good,” he said, the comfort making his chest ache. “Thank you.”
“I needed it too,” Terry mumbled. “You’re not supposed to get hurt, Mason. Not with me.”
“Anything can hurt you,” Mason said, wondering if they were talking the ankle or his heart. “All you can do is take worthwhile risks.” Ah, there was his business school coming out. It was nice to know it was good forsomething.
“My stupid soccer team isn’t worth—”
“Friends,” Mason said shortly, thinking about how everybody had gathered around him. Skipper, Carpenter, Richie, the other guys—they’d all been concerned. It was dumb animal camaraderie, and he couldn’t remember ever having the rest of his herd giving that much of a shit. “You. Worth it.”
“Well, if you’re not healed by the end of this season, there’s always another one,” Terry said practically. He straightened then and grabbed the washcloth, soaping Mason’s back and then his chest with brief, practical motions while Mason used both his hands to keep himself balanced in the tub.
“You ticklish?” Terry asked at one point.
“Only a little—”
“I’ll go fast.”
It was his only warning that the cloth was going to get personal, violate his underarms, his ribs, and then, oh God—“Eek!”
“I’ve got to wash your balls, Mason. They’re sweaty.”
“Yeah, but—oh my God!”
“Heh heh heh.”
“That wasn’t my balls—eeee!”
“You’re cracking me up. Now let the water hit you and I’ll get your legs. You really are still wearing a mud puddle.”
“The water isn’t going to hit any of those places you just washed,” Mason said with dignity. His cock, balls, and asshole were sparkly clean, thank you very much.
