Page 21 of Summer Lessons

“No,” Mason said, as completely serious as Jefferson appeared to be. “You don’t wank off in the bathroom—that’s uncomfortable. Definitely in the bedroom. Soft mattress, nice lighting—”

“Right?” Jefferson’s excited nod was sincere as only a twentysomething talking about sex could be. “It’s like, hey, if this is the romance I’m getting, it had better be good!”

“Or at least comfortable!”

“I’m saying.” Jefferson gave a sunny smile, and they walked into the club in perfect synchronization.

And then Mason realized that they’d been talking aboutmasturbation,and his next conversation—the one with the girl registering golfers for their tee times—was not nearly so smooth.

“Uh, yeah. Just two guys and their clubs… uh, swinging their sticks… uh whacking… erm, beating balls around the bush, I mean into the holes, the ones with the sticks in them, I mean….” Meltdown. Complete and total verbal meltdown. Mason closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool varnished wood of the counter, linking his fingers behind his neck.

“I have a reservation for Mason Hayes and Terry Jefferson, please?” he tried in a weak voice.

“Yes, Mr. Hayes,” she said, sounding amused. Well, she was Jefferson’s age—that age group seemed to be perpetually amused by dorks who couldn’t speak. Or maybe Mason was projecting. “Your tee time is in five minutes. Here’s the key to the cart. You two had better hurry!”

“Yes, thank you,” Mason croaked, and then took the keys and the registration packet, shouldered his clubs, and slouched out of the lobby toward the carts.

Jefferson followed, barely containing his glee.

“ZohmyGod!” he chortled as they emerged into the chill of the fog. “I mean, you warned me—youwarnedme you had moments like that—but until I saw it in action… damn.”

Mason shook his head, glad that at least his penis was hiding in mortification, because for a minute there it had been peeping out in hopeful curiosity. “That’s not as bad as it gets,” he confessed, face burning. He handed his key to the valet, who trotted down to the end of the line of golf carts, gesturing for the two of them to follow him.

“Oooh… tell me.” Jefferson’s eyes were big and honey-brown, and they fastened on Mason’s face like he wasGame of ThronesandDestinyand the all-stars basketball tournament all rolled into one.

Mason laughed even though he didn’t feel like it and slid into the cart as the valet exited. “Maybe we should concentrate on your golf game,” he said mildly. “I’m dying to see you play.”

Jefferson snorted indelicately. “I’m surprised as shit you actually brought clubs for me—I swear, I thought this was a euphemism for sex.”

Ouch. “Was soccer?” he asked curiously, because that blow job hadn’t felt planned.

“Nope. Soccer was to see if you’d be interested in sex—”

“Or interesting enough to have sexwith,” Mason said dryly.

Jefferson was silent for a moment, and Mason turned his eyes away from the course long enough to see him frowning. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to blow you?”

“Because I am incredibly conventional,” Mason said.

“Except for when you start talking to random strangers about your balls.” Jefferson smirked.

“Not really a point in my favor.” Mason had stopped praying to be swallowed by the earth around the time he had to change schools for asking to see a guy’s penis—but as a way to cope, it hadn’t been bad. It beat the hell out of trying to find something to say to a guy he hoped liked him for more than his penis.

Jefferson’s buddy pat on his thigh was not reassuring. “No, no—it’s cute. You look all corporate guy, but you’re just not that smooth. I’m not a fan of smooth, really. Not always sincere, you know?”

Mason frowned a little and negotiated the cart along the path. “Never thought of it that way.” Ira, Gordon—smoother than turkey shit. Todd—another silver-tongued snake-fucker. All he’d ever put together about them was that they had a quality he did not.

He’d assumed he’d been the one lacking.

“You should,” Jefferson said grandly. “It’s always a lot easier if you assume the world is wrong and you’re right. If you assume the other way around, we may as well pray for the earth to swallow us up because we’re not doing jackshit right!”

Mason slid a sideways glance at him, wondering when he started reading Mason’s secret prayers from high school.

Then he saw it—that slight vulnerability to Jefferson’s lower lip, a glint in his eyes.

He’s talking about himself.

“You’re right,” he said, completely serious. “World’s wrong, we’re right—I don’t know why I’ve never seen it before.”