Page 9 of The Heartstrings of Harry
“Go for it,” Andy said. “He might think it’s his shed, but I own it. He ain’t paid a dime in rent since he set himself up in there. Not that I’ve ever asked. I know someday he’ll be a famous rock star with a mansion and a gold fountain out front. Then he can pay for anything his old man wants. Till then, if you gotta pee, be my guest.”
“You sure he won’t mind?”
“Go. He’s probably got a set of headphones on. He won’t even hear you come in.”
My heart was racing as I walked across the back yard, illuminated only by the squares of light that fell on the ground from the windows of the shed.
I got to the door and knocked.
There was no answer.
I knocked again, still no response.
Warily I opened the door a few inches.
I peered inside and my galloping heart tripped over itself when I saw Dean sitting on his bed strumming his guitar. His headphones were draped over the plume of messy blond hair, just as Andy suspected, a cord running from the headset to the base of his guitar. His head was bopping up and down with the occasional lyric slipping out through his lips, his foot tapping, but my brain barely processed anything but the fact that he was shirtless.
I shut the door quickly.
Probably a little too forcefully.
I knew Deanhadto have heard that and realized I was going to have to re-open the door if I didn’t want to look like a complete weirdo. This I did with an awkward grin, looking in to see the then eighteen-year-old sitting on his bed, headphones now around his neck, looking straight in my direction.
“Harry,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face. “Everything okay?”
“I knocked. I opened the door, but I guess the wind caught it. I… I was hoping I could use your bathroom. Norm beat me to the one in the house.”
“Sure. Of course. Yes.” He seemed overly obliging, laying the guitar on the bed beside him and jumping to his feet. “It’s right through here.” He pointed. “Excuse the mess, I just had a shower.”
Dean.
In the shower.
I had to gulp hard to keep my heart from rising in my chest.
I also had to hurry to the bathroom to try and crush down the rising bulge in my crotch, which made my supposed urgency to use the toilet look all the more authentic.
“I won’t be long,” I said, and ran into the small bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I went to the mirror over the sink and stared at my reflection.
I ran the water, to make it sound like something was happening in there, and eyed myself sternly.
“Keep it cool, Harry. Don’t get all wacko now. It’s just Dean. You’ve known the kid all your life.”
Except he wasn’t a kid anymore.
No sir.
When he stood from the bed, I couldn’t take my eyes off his lean shirtless body, his young abs taut, his pecs formed into firm young mounds, that happy trail of blond hair running from his belly button and disappearing under his gray trackpants. Speaking of which, was that a—
“Bulge? No, Harry, there was no bulge in Dean’s trackpants,” I sternly told my reflection. “Just. Keep. It. Cool!”
There came a knock at the bathroom door. “Harry? Everything okay? Are you talking to yourself in there?”
“Me? No. I’m fine.”
I flushed the toilet.
