Page 105 of Summer Lessons
They all gaped at him, horrified. Dane especially.
“You weren’t going to get laid again for a year? God help us. That much sexual energy has to go somewhere, Mason—that’s not healthy.”
Richie broke the shock by cackling. “Heh heh heh… yeah, if it bled off on us, we’d fuck each other raw. It’d be better if you guys made up.”
“Thanks, Richie,” Skip said, fair skin flushed and rosy with embarrassment. “I’m so glad they know that.”
“Well, we’re friends now. It’s only right.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Mason said, shaking his head. “How about you guys all go downstairs and talk about the kinetics of sexual energy, and I’ll hide up here?”
From three guys he didn’t care about and one guy he did.
“Not on your life,” Dane said, grabbing his arm and dragging him down the hallway.
“I was getting towels!”
“Skip, Richie—”
“Got it, Dane,” Skip said, voice mild. “Be careful. He might bruise, and then Jefferson would kick your ass.”
“Terry doesn’t care about me,” Mason snapped for Dane’s ears only. “He’s supposed to be out living independently and learning how to date.”
“I think that’s a great idea. How about if he lives independently and learns how to dateyou!” Dane snapped. “Because right now, I’m going to start slipping lithium into your oatmeal.”
Mason glared at him, outraged, because from Dane that could be kidding or not kidding. Then he was down the stairs and thrust into his own living room.
Where Hugh had been welcomed by the guys with open arms, and George was standing talking to Galvan and Owens from the team, looking happy as a clam.
“We need to know women,” Mason muttered. “This looks like Fire Island circa 1980.”
“Good thing George brought his sister and her kids,” Dane supplied easily. “And Carpenter got his niece and nephew, and Singh brought his family again. Voilà! Women.”
Mason shook his head and walked past the gaming tournament in his living room toward the card game in his kitchen, picking up bottles and soda cans and putting them in the recycler, while making sure everyone had a fresh drink and the chip bowls were full.
As a chilling out in the house and pool party went, it wasn’t bad. People moved slowly, spoke quietly, and simply enjoyed the fact that theyweren’tsomewhere it felt like 112. The guest rooms were put to use for quiet television and naps, and the expensive pool pump pretty much paid for itself by not sucking too much power and continuing like a champion.
Mason worked hard at being a host and managed to avoid meaningful eye contact with George, Stuart, or Hugh, although he couldn’t seem to take a step without one of them asking him if he needed help. He managed to make small talk and appear to listen attentively, but the whole time…
His eyes were on Terry.
The hair on the back of Mason’s neck had risen the minute Dane let him in. Dane had been polite, shaken hands with Terry’s new friend, and told them to make themselves at home.
“Where’s Mason?” Terry asked, and Mason had closed his eyes in the middle of Hugh’s riveting tale of being stuck in traffic over the Folsom Bridge, and tried to decide if he sounded excited about seeing Mason or not.
“He’s around,” Dane said airily. “You’ll have to fight past his swarm of guys to get to him.”
Mason had blinked, not wanting to be seen with his swarm. Not wanting to be seen at all.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “I need to check on something upstairs.” He separated himself from Hugh and was heading for the stairs like a laser pointer when George interrupted his trajectory.
“Hey, Mason—where are you off to? We were just going to start a game of Qwirkle!”
Mason was fishing for an excuse—any excuse—when Terry came and touched his elbow. “Hey, Mason.”
Mason turned and looked at him full on.
And drank him in.
