Page 78 of Summer Lessons
Oh. Oh wow. “You’ll be amazing,” Mason said. “When would you do that?”
Skip shrugged. “A couple of years. Apply for school, save money, that sort of thing.”
Good. Mason knew that a change in job didn’t mean a loss of a friend, but he was glad everything wasn’t going to change immediately. He’d just gotten used to having friends at work who didn’t terrify him with their judgment.
With a sigh, he started to help Carpenter with cleanup. “So, long-term,” he said, with a sort of resigned determination.
“Yeah,” Skip said, looking carefully at the two of them. “Long-term. As in, don’t give up. As in, if it’s important, it’ll happen.”
“Jesus, Skip, you sound all wise and shit,” Carpenter chided, but he didn’t sound like he was about to cry, and the moment lightened.
“Yeah, well, Richie and I knew each other for six years before we figured out what love was. I don’t know what you two are bitching about. If it’s worth anything, it’s worth a little bit of a wait.”
Mason reminded himself of those words when he went to help Terry with the last bit of work.
Terry’s mom was there—had been there for the past month of Sundays—reading magazines, watching television, and generally sitting and glaring while her son and his friends fixed her house from a ramshackle hovel into something she could be proud of.
It had only been in the past couple of weeks that Mason had realized that Terry wasn’t doing it for her.
He was doing it for himself, so that when he left, he could leave her with a good conscience, in a place where she couldn’t blame him for her life when he walked out. His whole life, she had told him that he owed her—he owed her for his life, for his clothes, for his food.
She’d inherited the house—he’d never owed her for that. Fixing it was his payback for all that other shit.
His indentured servitude was over.
Mason was so proud he could burst.
“So,” he said as they were putting the boards and the sealant away in the garage, “have you scoped out apartments yet?”
Terry shrugged. “One’s pretty much the same as the others,” he said, not sounding excited. “They’re all shaped like shoeboxes. They’re all small.”
Mason blinked at him. For the past month he’d been talking about nothing but getting an apartment. This was how he felt now?
“Well, yeah,” he said. “But some of them are closer to my house than others.”
Terry straightened up from his crouch at the paint cabinet and turned, a faint smile on his face. “That’s important?” he tested. “You know, that I’m close?”
Mason smiled even though his heart felt about at his knees. “It’s probably the apartment’s most important feature,” he said honestly. “That you can stop by and say hi and….”
A grin split Terry’s face. “I can run home and get clean clothes on my way to work in the morning?”
And a little part of Mason breathed easy for the first time in months. “Yes,” he said, trying to hold on to his dignity. “That’s really important.”
Terry laughed and, in one of those movements that made Mason think of squirrels, leaped into Mason’s arms right there in the garage. Mason barely stood firm as he wrapped his legs around Mason’s waist and started to plunder his mouth. Oh! God, his kisses—so bold, soexciting. They had only gotten better from that first grope in the bathroom. They had only become as essential as breathing, like water in the desert, those kisses in Mason’s soul.
Mason braced him up under his thighs and kept kissing, so glad his ankle had finally healed so he could do things like this, hold him, be strong and larger than life. Fiercely he cupped Terry’s ass through his shorts and kneaded.
Terry pulled away for a moment and rested his forehead against Mason’s.
“I’ll look for an apartment tomorrow after work,” he breathed. “You know what I wanna do now?”
“Come back to my place and have more sex?” Yeah, the day before had been Sexy Saturday—but it had also been Cookout in Skipper’s Yard Saturday and Be Horribly Defeated by a Bunch of Twenty-Year-Old Art Students on the Soccer Field Saturday.
Now that their last job was done, Mason really wanted Sweet Sexy Sunday to follow Saturday.
Just this once.
“God yes,” Terry murmured. “I’m gonna go get my clothes for work tomorrow and tell Mom.”
