Page 112 of Summer Lessons
“Well, yeah. My friend came with me—”
“I never did catch his name—”
“Porter. Like the steak, right? Or the liquor?”
“Port is the liquor and porterhouse is the steak, but porter is the guy who carries your luggage. Like transporter, right?”
“Whatever. His name does too damned much. But he was nice, and he was cute, and he was even my age. But at the end, he went to kiss me, and he wasn’t you. So I told him about you. Spent the whole rest of the night talking, and he said I may want to go see you somewhere, I don’t know. Neutral. Not a date. Someplace with people. And Thursday night we could barely breathe ’cause of the heat, right? And everyone was talking about your place with the pool, and I asked Dane, and….”
Mason understood. “Well, my brother didn’t want me to look… I don’t know. Alone and foolish, I guess. Which is how I ended up with all the extra men.”
Terry chortled. “Which did you no goddamned good at all. You… you followed me with your eyes that day, and I’d been feeling so low. So stupid for not knowing what I wanted and maybe losing you. But the way you looked at me—it reminded me of all the things I really love about you.”
Mason must have made a sound, a helpless, yearning sound.
“Yeah, love. You heard me right. Don’t shit your pants—you’re probably on a really fancy bed.”
Mason’s laugh was broken. “I… I need to say some of these things to you in person,” he apologized. “I—” His phone beeped. “I’m running out of power, and I have to plug my phone in.”
“It’s okay if you say it over the phone,” Terry said, his voice gentle. “You didn’t say it that day when I left because you didn’t want to tie me up. It’s okay if you say it now.”
“It hurts,” Mason admitted, feeling small. “I’m sorry, but—”
“No. Don’t be sorry. This here is my job, Mason. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Mason’s phone beeped again, and this time they could both hear it.
“You drive home safely tomorrow. I’ve got to take my mom to Concord—”
“Concord?”
“She’s doing some sort of rally where they take buses to DC and protest queers getting married and people using bathrooms. Whatever. It’ll take a month and hopefully she’ll get abducted by aliens, but I told her I’d take her to the meet. But you’ll hear from me between now and Saturday. I promise.”
“Saturday?” Mason almost hated to ask.
“The game. I’ll see you—”
And Mason’s phone died right then. He plugged it in and responded to Terry’s good-night text while it was charging, and then climbed into the crisp, impersonal sheets of the hotel room bed.
He fell asleep hugging that phone conversation around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him warm and safe as he settled down to dream.
Fall into the Future
MASON GOThome around one the next day and found Dane and Carpenter swimming—wearing trunks, thank God.
“Did you expect an orgy?” Dane asked acidly.
“No. I expected orgies all through college. They never materialized. I learned to live without.”
“Right?” Carpenter asked, treading water without getting breathless. “Everyone told me I’d get girls in college. Heinous disappointment.”
“I got laid,” Dane told them both as though bored. “Frequently. I think you two just had no game.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Mason said, standing up to take his stuff in the house and change into his suit. The pool was big enough to do laps in and still avoid Dane and Carpenter, and that was the best way ever to recover from a long, hot car trip.
“Hey—speaking of game. Go through the kitchen on your way upstairs. I think your game is better than you think.”
Mason blinked at him, feeling stupid. He’d needed ibuprofen to get out of bed that morning, because champagne was just not as good for him as he always thought it was.
