Page 34 of Hush
Tom tipped his head back and smiled, his face to the sun. Let osmosis work its magic, let the happiness, the heat, the life seep into his skin and into his bones. Soak this up, this day, this moment, the rainbow colors and the laughter, until his skeleton was wreathed in rainbows and each individual fiber in his muscles pulsed with pride.
Like a sailor lost at sea, he swam furiously for the shore, for this shore, which he never, ever imagined could be.
Etta Mae’s tail kept wagging, and her tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth. He pulled her into the shade and poured some water into a collapsible bowl for her. She drank greedily, making a mess, flinging water from her jowls as she looked up at each new sound or passerby. She was too excited to drink much and spilled most of it by the time she was impatiently done, trying to drag him down the path to the next group of people who cooed at her.
A group of men and women were flying kites off to his left, and ahead, a small group was tossing a frisbee back and forth. It looked like a game, like football without tackling mixed with basketball moves to block throws. Two of the men playing were tall and slender, their long legs pumping out of short shorts. One was larger, bulkier, and shirtless, his shoulders muscled and a light pelt of fur grazing his chest and marching down his belly to his low-slung waistband.
He watched, his eyes wandering over the shirtless player. He had on a backwards ball cap and sunglasses, and he laughed as he flung the frisbee over the head of one of the slender defenders. The defender slapped him on the belly, and he doubled over, grinning, and then wrapped his arms around the other man. The skinny guy, in tiny shorts and a tank top tied in a knot just to the side of his belly button, slapped his arms, but blew a kiss over his shoulder.
Desire slammed into him, like he’d been tackled from behind. God, hewantedthat. He wanted a man to wrap his arms around him, smile into the side of his cheek, freely love him in public under the sun, in public in the nation’s capital. Hewanted, so badly, so strongly. He wanted someone—aman—to love him.
He really should message Doug. See if he could resurrect that fledgling connection.
The man in the backwards ball cap let go of the other and spun, beaming, laughing, radiating happiness. He turned, facing Tom.
He stopped dead and his jaw dropped. He froze, staring.
Tom looked over his shoulder. Was someone naked behind him? Was there someone stunningly hot walking by, something that could have earned that response?
He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, just the same groups of happy couples and partners picnicking on the lawn, men and men kissing as they shared cheese cubes and glasses of wine, women and women cuddling or playing with young children on their blankets.
When he turned back, the shirtless man was jogging toward him.
Oh shit. It wasMike.
His insides went slippery, his guts like a thousand wriggling jellyfish trying to escape. Mike, beautiful Mike, coming toward him shirtless. God, he was breathtaking. Those shoulders were just as perfect as he imagined, as he dreamed, and—yep, Mike had a perfect stretch of chest hair, marching down his flat belly and forming a trail that disappeared under his waistband. His board shorts were tied low, and his hip bones angled out from his slim waist, tanned skin stretched taut.
Tom’s blood seared his bones, desire like a frisson, a bomb going off in his chest and sparking through him. His mouth went dry, parched, as he imagined running to Mike and sinking to his knees, yanking his shorts down—
“Judge B?” Confusion strained Mike’s voice, and he spoke softly, once he was close enough to be heard over the music and the drums and the clamor of happy voices. He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”
Tom’s gaze fixed to Mike’s chest, to his perfect pecs. Words fled, the ability to speak a forgotten skill of a higher mammalian being. His mouth opened and shut, opened and shut.
Etta Mae barked, howling up at Mike and wagging her tail. She would not be ignored.
Mike crouched and grinned, ruffling her ears and scratching behind her collar. Etta Mae beamed and gazed up at Mike with soulful eyes, full of love.
Another devotee to the worship of Mike. Great. Jealousy flared. Etta Mae had known Mike for two seconds and his hands were all over her.
Jesus, he was jealous of his dog. He was losing it, big time.
Mike looked up, and then seemed to realize he was shirtless. “Uhh, sorry.” He grabbed his t-shirt, hanging out of the back of his waistband, and pulled it over his head, quickly shoving his arms through the holes and tugging it down.
“You don’t have—I mean, it’s fine—I don’t mind—You’re—”
Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth right now. Nothing you say will fix this.Tom’s jaw clamped shut. He swallowed and tried to smile. Tried to buy time. Mike’s t-shirt, at least, had seemed to gift him back some of his brain cells. “I’m just out for a walk. Beautiful day!”
“Yeah.” Mike still stared at him, and even though his eyes were covered, Tom could feel the questions. Of all the parks and all the walks he could go on in DC, and he ended up on the Mall in the middle of Pride?
His confidence, his joyous optimism from moments before, fled. The cold wind was back, sliding up his bones. Words stuck in his throat, crashing into each other like trains piling up, the tracks from his soul to his voice long derailed. He wanted to sayI’m here to celebrate, I’m here to party, I’m here because I’m just like you, I’m here because I’m gay.
But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“I saw a flyer for this last night,” he said quickly. “Wanted to check it out.” Not quite a lie. Not the truth, though, and his soul shriveled.
Mike smiled. “Cool.” He nodded back to the group playing frisbee. “My friends and I came out together. I take it this is Etta Mae?”
Etta Mae was staring up at Mike like Tom wanted to, mouth open, tongue hanging out, panting and wagging her tail, obviously enamored. “Yeah, this is my princess.”
