Page 33 of Summer Lessons
THE COOKIESwere gooey and delicious, and Terry made yummy porn sounds as he forked lumps of warm cookie into his mouth with two fingers.
“You sure you don’t want the las’ one?” he asked through a mostly full mouth.
“Nope. I’m old—I’ll get fat.” Which was partly the truth, but most of it was that he hadn’t made that bagel he’d planned on, and Terry obviously needed cozening.
“You’re not old,” Terry said, taking another bite of cookie and closing his eyes in bliss. “You’re hot.”
Mason guffawed. “Uh….”
“No, seriously—you’re… groomed.”
“I’m old,” he said. “That thing you’re doing with your hair? I’d look like a jackass. I’m still listening to Offspring and the Killers, and you’re listening to Imagine Dragons and Grouplove. I’m old.”
“Imagine Dragons is passé,” Terry said ruthlessly. “But that’s okay. They’re still pretty hot too.”
“D’oh!”
Terry’s throaty laughter followed, and conversely, Mason didn’t feel so old anymore.
But he did feel awkward and sad as they pulled up next to Terry’s car. “So, uh… Thursday?” he said brightly.
“Yeah. Practice!”
“Do you want to get dinner or something, you know, afterwards?”
Terry blinked. “You want to?”
“Notsex, Terry.Dinner.”
“Oh. Okay—yeah. After the beer in the parking lot, we can go to Denny’s or something.”
Awesome. “Sounds like a plan,” Mason said. “Look forward to it!” And some of his desperation must have broken through his voice.
“It’s a plan,” Terry said softly, pausing with one hand on the door handle.
“Then have a good week.” Mason tried a smile. Failed.
Terry turned away from the door and kissed him softly. “Was the best… making love, I guess, ever,” he said, brown eyes intent and sober on Mason’s. “I’ll… I’ll text you over the week.”
“Deal,” Mason breathed. He’d never been anyone’s best ever. “See you Thursday.”
Terry grinned and bounced out of the car. Mason waited until the piece of junk started up before pulling away.
The sun was peeking out of the fog, and Mason thought that a nap would feel good about now. He really felt like pulling the covers over his head and not coming out.
CARPENTER ANDDane almost had the kitchen cleaned by the time he got back, and he passed up the nap for a corner of the couch while the two of them went after electronic enemies with bloodthirsty glee.
“Mason—Mace!” Carpenter urged, poking his shoulder. “You’re up. Don’t you want to play?”
Mason shook his head and leaned his chin on his hand. “Naw—you guys are entertaining enough. I’ll watch.”
To his embarrassment, Dane put the game on pause. “What’s up?”
Mason glared at Dane and tried not to flick his eyes at Carpenter like a sitcom hero.
“Give it up, Mason,” Carpenter said gruffly. “I was here long enough to make cookies, and you guys weren’t quiet.”
“Aces,” Mason snarled under his breath. “He’ll be thrilled.” But Mason couldn’t be too mad—Dane had been doing something with a friend, something safe and happy, and Terry hadn’t been too upset in the end.
