Page 93 of Summer Lessons

“Do you know what taking a break means?” Mason asked softly.

Terry glared at him, struggling out of his arms. “It means you’re breaking up with me!”

“No.” Mason pulled him back. “It means when you know how you want us to be, all you have to do is tell me. Text me and I’ll be there. Knock on my door and I’ll probably bang you before we make it to the stairs. Call me and I’ll teleport through the phone. But… but until you tell me what you want us to be, you take your time. You go out with friends. You sit in your apartment and listen to whatever goes on in your head. You… you beyou. And then….” His voice got wobbly. “Then you invite me along for the ride, okay?”

“Can we at least have sex tonight?” His glare was almost comic, and Mason placed a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“Only if you want to hurt me,” he said honestly.

Terry blinked hard. “I never… in a thousand years, I’d never want to hurt you.”

“Then let’s go back and eat. The guys are going to start leaving soon.”

“I should go with them,” Terry said, wiping his face on his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

PEOPLE LEFTin waves. Terry sat down and ate, far away from where Mason was finishing up with the grill. The first wave of people left, and he stayed to talk.

That wave of people left, and he went with them. He came to Mason and kissed his cheek hurriedly before walking with his group. Mason had heard mentions of a movie and thought wistfully of the latest action hero vehicle that had been released.

He’d had hopes.

Richie was out running the last of the go out of the dog, but Skip watched the whole thing from a conversation with Carpenter. He wandered, super-extra-casual-like, to where Mason was assembling his own hamburger, and offered him an imported beer.

Mason looked at the bottle dumbly. “I didn’t bring this.”

“Nope. But Richie said we should bring something fancy for you because you’re smart and all.”

For some reason that felt like all that was wrong with the world.

“I’m not that smart,” Mason said, setting his plate down so he could use the bottle opener on the side of the grill. “But the beer is appreciated.”

“You let him go,” Skip said, following Mason to the now-empty, glass-topped table. Mason sat and Skipper pulled up kitty-corner, close enough to have a conversation and not be overheard but far enough away that Richie couldn’t imagine something that would never be there.

“Course I did,” Mason said, taking a gulp of fine import. “’Cause I’m a good guy. And he’s a good guy too. And if you’re a good guy and an old fart, you don’t marry your newly emancipated boyfriend like a goddamned child bride.”

Skipper watched impassively while Mason killed the beer and belched, then stared dumbly at his hamburger.

“I problably did that backwards,” he muttered. “Probly. Probably.”

“Probably,” Skipper said gently, taking the beer bottle out of Mason’s hand. “You eat that and I’ll go get you another one.”

Sure. Why lose weight when your younger lover had probably just left to go see a Marvel movie and might never see you again?

“Another beer or another burger?” Mason clarified.

“One of each. I think I’m about to watch my boss get toasted.”

Mason stared at his hamburger. “Well that’s embarrassing,” he mumbled, taking another bite. He dedicated himself to eating for a moment, and realized he hadn’t had so much as a potato chip since breakfast.

Maybe that would help.

Skipper returned with another plate and two more beers, and then Dane and Carpenter returned from seeing the last wave of people off. Richie came back with the dog—who jumped in the pool, shook himself on all of them, and collapsed at Richie’s feet—and they started to talk.

Skipper talked about the last girlfriend he’d had and how bad he’d felt when he’d broken up with her.

Richie talked about the first girlfriend he’d had and how he’d tried so hard, for so long, to make her happy.