Page 44 of Center of Gravity

He smiled, appearing impressed that I’d retained his color theory lectures, but shook his head. “White is possibility. Like a blank canvas. And it’s classic.”

“I’ve only seen you wear white once.”

His smile broadened into a grin. “That’s because I can’t ever keep white, white. But I’m a huge fan of the concept.”

An hour later,we sat on the porch watching late afternoon wane toward twilight as we’d done over the past few days. Beers and Cracker Jack that Alex tossed me kernels of now and again made a lazy cap on a day of hard work. For the record, Cracker Jack and beer did not mix well. I didn’t know how Alex could stand it.

“It’s fucking hot.” Alex flung his arm above his head, knocking it against the back of the Adirondack as he squirmed in the heat. We’d both stripped our shirts off long ago and were sitting around in our shorts, me in a pair of Nike runners, Alex in some cut-off khakis that looked like they’d been used as a rag for paint drips.

I polished off the rest of my beer and rolled the glass bottle across my forehead, trying to leach what lackluster chill remained in the glass. We were in the devil’s breath of summer, when even the wind coming off the ocean was lukewarm and exhausted. Alex’s bare feet were propped on the railing, his entire body stretched and sprawled to maximize airflow across his skin. Winslow was stretched likewise in a doggy version of Alex’s posture, panting heavily under his legs.

“Let’s go swimming.”

I considered the inviting sliver of blue through the gap in beachfront houses and palm trees across the street.

“Come on, man. I’m dying. We’re already halfway there.” He gestured at his bare chest.

I looked, of course I did, and could have kept looking.

“I’ll get the beers.” I nudged off my running shoes and stood.

Alex grinned and launched from the chair with more energy than I’d seen from him in the past hour. I took Winslow inside and returned with a couple of towels and the rest of the six-pack from my fridge. We walked down to the beach in companionable silence. These kinds of silences had become a stand-in for flirting, I’d noticed. Alex hadn’t fully withdrawn from me since the night of his birthday, but he’d kept a certain distance, as if someone had twisted the dimmer switch on his usual vibrancy, and I couldn’t blame him for it. We’d settled into an easy routine, but it did nothing to keep him from my mind. Maybe I’d wanted him to push back against me a little more, but he was right. I denied him over and over. It was hardly fair to have any expectations of him at this point.

Twilight had drained the noon scorch from the sand, but it still toasted the tender arches of my feet as we left the boardwalk behind. After dropping the six-pack on top of the towels, I trailed Alex to the shoreline where waves lapped at our feet. Without pause, Alex hit the sea spray and kept walking, diving when he got waist deep. I hung back, watching as he shook his head from side to side like a dog when he surfaced. He was stunning, as always, late afternoon light like golden sludge sliding over his body, water droplets refracting the light, his nipples pinched hard against the chill of the water. I could have just stood there gazing at him with that tension building low in my gut, but it was rerouting to my cock, so I followed, diving and coming up next to him.

“My mom wants me to invite you to dinner.” He angled in my direction, taming his hair with a sweep of his palm across the top of his head.

“Why?”

“I think she feels sorry for you.”

I chuckled at his honesty. “Tell her I’ll be fine.”

“You should come. Free meal and she’s a pretty good cook. Maybe I’d even show you some of my work that’s not just paint on drywall.”

“Sounds like charity to me, and if you can’t accept it, neither can I.” I smirked at him.

“So you’re admitting it was charity.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. Damn.

“That was your perception, not the reality.”

“Nice try.” He rolled his eyes and I could almost see the boy he’d been at sixteen. “Come to dinner, eat food, and leave. It’ll make her happy. Or don’t.” He shrugged and ducked his shoulders under the water.

“I’ll think about it.”

We swam out to the sandbar fifty feet off the shoreline and floated in silence. Alex’s fingers feathered and rippled through the water beside me.

At some point, I realized he was standing up and speaking to me. My feet sank into the sand as I righted myself.

“Did you ever do them? Breath-holding contests?”

I shook the water from my ears. “With my sister when we were little. In pools, mostly.” The feeling came back to me immediately. The water sealing around my body, invading my ears with cool silence, the increasing pressure in my chest until my lungs felt as if they were collapsing, then the exhilaration of surfacing and gasping for air, gulping it in heaving, ecstatic mouthfuls.

“What’s your sister like?”

God, how to describe Summer. “She’s a writer. Freelance.”

“Where does she live?”