Page 115 of Summer Lessons

That was all the warning he had before Terry came hurtling down the rise to the field and leapt into Mason’s arms.

Mason was a tall guy, built like a tree. Not awesome as a soccer player, but strong and sturdy and able to take Terry’s weight and hold on.

And meet Terry’s kiss head-on.

It was better—so much better—than he imagined.

Terry smelled of bodywash and tasted like coffee and toothpaste, and none of that mattered. It was his body in Mason’s arms, his legs wrapped around Mason’s waist, his breath mingling with Mason’s as they kissed again and again and again.

Mason could have kissed him forever, could have made out with him for hours, standing in the middle of the soccer field, but, unnoticed by anyone on Skip’s team, the other team had arrived.

“Oh God, do we have to?” one of the other guys complained.

“You got a thing against gay?” Skipper asked, voice flinty.

“I’mgay, Skipper—I don’t give a shit. But we’re here to play some fuckin’ soccer!”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Terry, get off him!”

Terry pulled back far enough to laugh, brown eyes bright, Kewpie-doll mouth ripe and swollen with Mason’s kisses. “We’ll finish that when we’re done with the game,” he promised.

Mason smiled besottedly into his eyes, not caring if the world could see.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Terry hopped down and kissed his cheek. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, and then skipped to his position on the field.

The other team gave an “Oh thank God!” moan, and the game was underway.

THEY WON.

Part of it was that—like Richie and Skipper—Mason and Terry had a rhythm. They could read each other’s minds. It was as simple as that.

But Skipper told him that part of it was just that Mason and Dane were there, and they had four guys on the sidelines ready to go in, and everybody got a break. That helped too.

All Mason knew was that rush—one minute he was passing the ball to Terry, and the next minute the ref blew the whistle and they were up by two goals. Mason was engulfed in a big, sweaty hug of guys who were glad to see him—with the added benefit of Terry, right by his side, hugging those guys back too.

The celebration broke up, and Cooper and Menendez asked the logical thing. “Hey—are we gathering at Mason’s house today or Skipper’s?”

“Mason’s!” Dane called out, and just as Mason was wincing, because… becauseTerry, Dane met his eyes and gestured with his head.

“C’mon,” Terry muttered in his ear. “My place. We can shower and talk and go over later.”

Well, Dane had the keys to the Lexus.

Mason and Terry slipped away together and rode back to Terry’s apartment in his new vehicle, a used Ford Explorer. Mason’s legs fit better, and he approved. As they pulled up to the apartment building, Mason felt something in his chest untwist.

“What?”

They slid out into the heating air, and Mason said, “It was rough, passing this place on the way to my house every day. This last week, it’s been… better.”

Terry grabbed his hand and tugged at him gently. “Come see,” he said, sounding proud.

Throw rugs, framed posters, pillows on the couch. A toaster, magnets on the fridge, a computer desk, wall hangings in the bedroom in brown and red. An apartment that looked like a home, like someone who cared about themselves lived there.

Looked like a grown-up’s apartment.

It was beautiful.