Page 91 of Refraction

23

Every sooften it got really hot in New York. Like, kids opening fire hydrants and can’t breathe on the subway hot. Even rolling blackouts hot. Sleeping on the fire escape hot.

But it never, ever got this kind of hot.

Calvin was making his third trip back to the barn from the house, and it felt like the sun was trying to shrivel him up. And Tucker said it got worse in July. Good God.

He made it into the air-conditioning and closed the huge barn door behind him like he’d been running from a serial killer or a rabid dog.

He’d been hanging paintings. He wanted the entire series of six paintings that Tucker had done the other morning to go inside. He loved them, partly because they were hopeful and breathed with a different kind of air than he was used to from his lover, but also because of what they reminded him of—that amazing night that Tucker had given him, without wanting or asking anything in return.

He’d lost track of Tucker during one of his trips and wasn’t sure where his happy little artist was right now. Tucker might have gone back to the house or maybe out to the pool or something. Who knew? He couldn’t go too far.

He heard whistling from close by, Tucker’s happiness like a real, physical thing. Okay, where was his artist? Up in the loft?

He was thirsty, so he grabbed a bottle of water, stuck it in the waistband of his shorts, and climbed up the ladder to see.

Tucker was stripping the bed, stark naked, wiggling his butt and just dancing around.

Calvin sat on the top of the ladder and opened his water. “Hey, tiger. Keeping busy?”

“The sheets are fixin’ to get up and walk themselves to the washer.” God, that smile. It lit up the whole loft.

“Yeah, I hear that. They’re getting a little colorful too.” He finished off his water that quickly. “I’ve been busy. I’ve hung three of your new paintings in the house. I’m going to hang the other three next.”

“Do you need help carrying? I’m heading toward the house. It’s warm today.”

“That would be great. You have enough hands with the laundry?” He climbed back down the ladder so Tucker could come down too. “It’s not warm, baby. It’s hot. Like fry your eyeballs hot.”

“You don’t know from hot, my northern lover. This is just getting started.”

“That’s crazy.” He reached up and took the bundle of sheets from Tucker. He might not know from hot in Texas, but he sure as hell knew from hot on that ladder. He watched Tucker’s naked ass make its way down, mouth going dry all over again.

“I started—” Damn. Now it was hot in here. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I also started loading up that stuff you painted before I arrived onto that little flatbed attached to your utility tractor. I meant it about setting those things on fire. Just a few more to go.”

“Okay.” Just that easy. Just okay. Calvin wasn’t sure Tucker ever thought about those paintings now. It was as if Calvin had seen them, accepted them, and Tucker let them go.

“Cool.” He handed the sheets back to Tucker. He didn’t think much about them either; he just didn’t want them around anymore. He kind of got how Tucker might have felt in New York. Maybe he was throwing his own little tantrum about them. He snorted and shook his head at himself. Whatever. Fire sounded like fun. “Want to see what I’m doing inside?” He made his way over to where the last three paintings were stacked, leaning against an easel.

“I do. Absolutely. Can I have a kiss, please?”

“You may.” He smiled and took two steps back, moving right into his lover’s arms. The way Tucker asked for kisses was always so sweet, as if maybe he had it in him to say no. “Anytime, tiger.”

The kiss wasn’t a huge thing, but it was breathtaking, maybe just for that reason. Tucker kissed him because Tucker wanted a kiss. Because Tucker enjoyed their connection. Because Tucker could.

And it made him smile like a fool every damn time. “Mmm. Right back at you, baby.” He leaned up and kissed Tucker’s nose. “I love you.”

Saying that was as natural as breathing now, and he was kind of in awe of that idea.

“I love you. Come on. I’m going to make a limeade. I’m thirsty to death. What am I carrying, honey?”

“Can you get this one?” He handed Tucker one of the paintings. “I can get these two, they’re smaller. I’ve been jogging them in. I was worried what the heat and sudden temp change and all might do to them.”

“That would be interesting to find out. I should make one and put it outside.”

“I could photograph it for you, like a record, you know?” He pushed open the heavy door and was blasted with dry, hot air. “Oh. Hello sun. Jesus.”

“That sounds cool. We’ll do it tomorrow.” Tucker turned his face up toward the sun, a smile on his face.

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