Page 15 of One Hot Summer
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’m the one who’s been making things weird, not you. I’m sorry.”
His lips pinched. “I probably would have freaked out too, if the roles were reversed. But… I’m not sorry it happened.”
I was. Or I should have been. But instead, all I could think about was the taste of whiskey on his lips, the way he’d leaned into me, desperate and hungry and so goddamn alive. I forced myself to look away, out at the woods. “You should be. I’m nearly twice your age. Not to mention, I’m your best friend’s father. What happened last night was a mistake. One that can’t happen again.”
His eyes flashed with hurt and anger. “So that’s it? You’re just going to pretend it never happened?”
I sighed, feeling the weight of my decision pressing down on me. “It’s for the best, Adam. You have to understand that.”
He shook his head stubbornly, his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth together. “No, I don’t understand. What I do understand is that we shared something real last night. Something that’s been building between us since you got here. It felt good, it felt right. And now you’re running away from it because you’re scared.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. He was right, of course. I was terrified. Terrified of the intensity of my feelings for him, terrified of the consequences if I were to act on those feelings again.
“It’s not that simple. You’re Dalton’s best friend,” I repeated. “You have been for years. I can’t just?—”
“What?” Adam’s voice was gentle, but it felt like a challenge all the same. “You can’t just what, Griffin? Act on your feelings? Risk being happy?”
“I can’t disappoint my son,” I whispered.
He sighed, rising to his feet. He stood there, looking down at me with those piercing green eyes. I felt pinned in place, unable to look away. “I get that. I really do. Dalton’s like a brother to me, and I’d never want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with him. But I know how much he loves you. He’d want you to be happy. I think he’d want us both to be happy.”
I stood up, moving toward the railing to put some distance between us. “It doesn’t matter how we feel. The reality is, this can never work.”
Adam’s shoulders slumped, the fight seeming to drain out of him. “So that’s it then? We pretend nothing happened and go back to being what? Awkward acquaintances who know nothing about what’s going on in each other’s lives?”
His words stung, but I knew they were true. Things could never go back to the way they were before. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I wish I had all the answers.”
He shook his head, not bothering to say anything else as he turned and jogged down the steps. I caught myself watching him until he disappeared around the bend. I hated the tension between us, but I was at a loss for how to make it better.
The rest of the morning was a blur. I tried to busy myself with chores that didn’t need doing. Swept the porch, replaced a light bulb, stacked firewood. I even checked the gutters, which hadn’t needed checking since I’d paid someone to clean them in the spring. I kept moving, because every time I stopped, I thought about Adam.
He came back shortly after noon, sweat-soaked and breathless, shorts clinging in a way that made me want to peel them off him. He washed his hands in the kitchen, chugged a Gatorade in three swallows, and barely glanced at me before retreating to his room. An hour later, he emerged in new clothes, hair damp from a shower. He settled in the living room with a book, but he stared out the window instead of reading, fingersdrumming an anxious rhythm on the arm of the chair. Every so often, I’d walk past to refill my coffee and every time, our eyes met for a second longer than was safe.
The tension grew until it filled every inch of the house, humming in the walls, vibrating in my chest. By five o’clock, I was a mess. I hadn’t eaten lunch, hadn’t done any real work, and my nerves were shot. I wanted to say something. Anything. But every time I opened my mouth, the words curdled and died.
After dinner—a silent affair of leftovers and awkward glances—I holed up in my room, determined to avoid him for the rest of the night. I told myself that if I could make it until morning, the worst of the tension would pass. That I’d wake up tomorrow and feel nothing but mild embarrassment.
But by midnight, I was still wide awake, a bundle of static and raw nerves. There was too much energy in my skin, a low-level hum that wouldn’t stop, refusing to let me sleep. I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, glaring at my own reflection like it might talk back. The blue of my eyes looked bleached out in the overhead light, the skin at my temples drawn tight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this wound up, some primal urge screaming at me to either fight or fuck.
I needed to move. To do something. To burn off the restlessness that had been building all day. I changed into swim trunks, grabbed a towel, and headed outside to the lower deck. The air was heavy with atmospheric pressure like right before a thunderstorm, the clouds so dense overhead, I couldn’t make out even a single star. It was almost as if the universe itself could feel the tension coiling inside me, just begging for a release. The pool glowed faintly, underwater lights painting the surface with rippling lines of neon. It looked like a crime scene, or a baptism, and I wasn’t sure which I’d prefer.
I heard him before I saw him—a soft splash, a quick gasp for breath, the slap of water against tile. Adam was in the pool,doing slow, even laps. His body cut through the water in a steady rhythm, arms and legs working as a team to propel him forward, all that beautiful slick skin on display.
At first, he was oblivious to my presence, and I stood rooted to the spot, my gaze fixed on him. Desire churned violently within me, a powerful need that weakened my resolve and threatened to consume me whole.
He turned at the shallow end, freezing immediately when he spotted me. For a second, he just floated, treading water, letting his legs and arms keep him level. The muscles in his shoulders bunched and flexed with every movement, and the shadows from the pool lights made him look older, harder, not like the barely twenty something he was.
The smart thing would have been to turn around right then; to head back to my room and lock the door so I couldn’t do anything foolish. But I was too far gone to be smart. I tossed my towel over a chair and walked to the edge, Adam’s eyes burning a path over every exposed inch of my body. I liked it, liked being the object of his focus, and my cock certainly liked the attention, growing longer and thicker in response.
His gaze dropped to the obvious bulge in my trunks, and I bit back a groan as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his lips—teasing, taunting, inviting. For a few seconds, neither of us said a word. We simply stared at each other, the tension between us becoming so taut I was sure it would snap, the force of it sending us both flying.
Finally, he spoke, his voice husky. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shook my head slowly. “Too much on my mind.”
“Like what?” he whispered.
“You know what.”
