Page 65 of Summer Lessons
Mason wrapped his arms even tighter. “Like how?” he asked, kissing the edge of Terry’s ear. He had holes along the rim like he’d worn studs at one time, but not now.
“Like I matter,” Terry said, turning his head sideways so they could look into each other’s eyes. “You look at me like I matter. Like my opinion, and the things I say, and whether the sex is good for me—like it all matters.”
Mason’s eyes burned with the truth of that. “You do,” he admitted, raw and open and naked in his living room. “It does.”
Terry nodded and blinked rapidly, then rolled off Mason and turned to help him sit up. “Here, let me put your boxers on,” he said. He slid them up, gentle and mindful of Mason’s wrapped ankle, and then heaved Mason to his feet and gave him his crutches. He managed all of that without making eye contact, and Mason sighed in exasperation.
“Terry?”
Terry shook his head and looked away.
“Baby, look at me.”
Reluctantly he turned back toward Mason, eyes limpid in the falling light of late afternoon.
“It was important to me too,” Mason told him, knowing it was foolish to say this so soon, after so little between them. But dammit, he already knew there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to spend an afternoon this way. Even if it involved soccer on television and throw pillows that needed washing.
Terry nodded, wiping his palm under his eyes, one at a time. “I’m not sure I can trust that yet,” he apologized. “But the way it makes my heart feel—that’s new too.”
Mason pulled him against his chest for a moment and then wobbled. Terry helped him get his balance—and apparently achieved his own in the process.
“Go,” he said, voice firm. “It’ll take you forever. I’ll be there before you even get in the shower, probably.”
Mason nodded. “Bring up snacks and water and stuff,” he said, starting toward the stairs. “We’ll build a fort and watch TV and pretend we’re six.”
“I never did that when I was six,” Terry said, and Mason half turned toward him.
“Dane and I did that whenever it rained. Mom would give us Kool-Aid, and lace her own with vodka, and we’d have a good time.”
Terry laughed then, hard, and Mason turned around and left him to it.
THEY SPENTmost of the day in bed, taking turns with the remote and catching each other up on their favorite movies. They’d pause and talk and then start again, Mason sitting up on the bed and Terry lying with his head on Mason’s stomach so Mason could play with his hair.
They were in the middle ofOffice Spacewhen Terry started talking, blindly, without reference to what was happening on television or even their last topic.
“See, I think the thing is, my mom, she just never had anybody tell her there was a world like this. Like she could take a class and get a better life. I mean, this movie, all these guys took college and they got a better job—and it made them not appreciate it, I think, because they’rereallyunhappy. But she doesn’t know any of it. As far as she’s concerned, all of the nice jobs, the nice clothes, the good things—those are for other people. She gave up on those when I was born.”
“You’re not the reason she’s unhappy,” Mason said, his heart aching a little.
Terry turned his head and smiled up into Mason’s eyes. “I know that,” he said. “Now. I mean, even just a couple of times, I think I made you really happy. And you’re like, part of this whole other life. I don’t know the password or the secret handshake to get me into the whole other life—all I know how to be is nice to you.”
“That’s my favorite secret handshake,” Mason said, pulling Terry’s hair back from his forehead. Gah! His face was so young, so pretty and vulnerable—Mason felt unworthy, oafish and gawky, just looking at him.
Thank God Terry’s earthy laugh came next. The laugh that made Mason’s cockandheart swell, both at the same time. “You’re sort of easy, you know that?” he asked. “As long as someone grabs your dick, you’re happy.”
“And yet so few takers before you came along.”
“And I don’t get that.” Terry scrambled up so he could rest his head on Mason’s shoulder. “I mean, why wouldn’t people like a nice guy like you?”
Mason shrugged, careful not to dislodge him. “There’s not really a premium on niceness,” he said, hating to whine. “People like the aggressive corporate type or the guy who likes to talk a lot. I just….” He grimaced. “I guess I only care about being nice to people who are nice to me back. I’m horrible at kissing ass at work—seriously. The reason Mrs. Bradford and I get along so well is that she looks at my schedule and tells me who’s an asshole and who I should bother to talk to. Then I work with those people and we get stuff done. It’s not that hard, really.”
“Yeah, it just took an MBA,” Terry said dryly. “I don’t even know how you went to school for so long.”
Mason thought of Todd Slezcyk and snorted. “I was trying to get laid. It’s how most of us made it through school, you knew that, right?”
Terry gave a long, slow blink. “That had never occurred to me,” he said. “You mean people spend as much time thinking about sex as I do?”
Snort. “God, no. Just me, I think. Because I’ve been looking my whole life to find someone who thinks an afternoon in bed is as awesome as a hike to a farmer’s market to find organic brussels sprouts or something.”
