Chapter Fourteen
“Iwant a do-over. Only, this time, I want to do it better,” Brooks says, as I slide the backpack—which I practically had to pry out of his arms to carry for him—from my shoulders and let it hit the ground with a thump.
His idea of being reckless apparently didn’t consist of more of what we were doing out in the lake tonight.
Instead, he made us hike up to this damn stream again—the plunge pool where we let the raccoon go.
The place where it became clear to me that the things I feel for Brooks aren’t just something I can ignore, despite trying desperately to do so.
That’s the internalized homophobia, I guess.
From the backpack, he pulls out a very tiny tent bag.
We’re definitely going to be stuffed in there like sausages, if he thinks we’re both fitting in whatever’s in that small sack.
It’s probably one of those that’s labelled a two-person tent, but is hardly big enough for one decent-sized man, like Brooks, much less a second, much bigger guy—such as myself.
Not a brag, by any means. It’s just a fact. Though, my imposing size has proven itself useful a time or two—namely at breaking up bar fights when things have gotten a little rowdy at the pub.
“We’re both supposed to fit in that thing?” I ask him.
“It’s called forced proximity,” he says with a chuckle. “I want to get to know you better, Evan Waters. Maybe do whatever it is we’ve been doing the right way. What better way to do that, but in some real close quarters?”
“I snore,” I tell him, still holding on to remnants of why we certainly can’t go sleeping together again tonight.
He doesn’t even balk at that. Instead, he replies, “See, I’ve already found something out about you. Although, I’m inclined to believe that’s a lie, since you already slept in my bed and never snored.”
I roll my eyes, failing to mention that I got zero sleep that night, because being truthful about the fact that I stayed up, just watching him sleep, seems far too fucking obsessive.
I can’t help the fact that I truly am just a little obsessed with him.
He’s magnetic, and I’m, as he put it, made of steel.
He expertly takes to work setting it up, like he’s been doing it blindfolded since before dinosaurs roamed the earth.
Before I can even offer any assistance, he’s got the whole thing erected, with the bedroll spread out and self-inflating inside.
On top of that, he tosses two more smaller sacks.
Not sure how they’re even big enough to be sleeping bags, but he told me to trust the magic of goose-down bags.
I take that time to gaze up at the stars, searching for answers. How the fuck did I get myself into this mess, and how far do I let it go? How is it that strangers in Alder Notch already have seen more of the real me than anyone my entire lifetime in Ternbay?
Brooks crawls out of the tent and gives me a warm smile, something so genuine that I can’t ever look away when he gives me one.
This attraction that I feel for him is insane, but I’ve always viewed my hidden sexuality as an anchor—relentlessly weighing me the fuck down.
But what if this man’s warm smiles, soulful kisses, and tight embraces are life rafts that I need to keep me from drowning?
You sound like such a fairy, Waters. You’ll never be anything but a fucking fairy.
I shake my head, hoping to shake loose that nagging voice that lives there.
Words that have tormented me for years.
Then, Brooks silences them completely by stripping off his shirt, followed by him pulling down his pants. Tonight, I see, he’s wearing regular briefs. So much for that do-over done better, this time. Finally, he starts stripping out of those, too.
“Whoa,” I reply, halting him. “We’re not just gonna—I’m not ready for—”
“Relax,” Brooks tells me. “It’s muggy out after that storm. I don’t know about you, but a dip in the stream is looking mighty good.” He starts to pull his underwear back up. “I only packed this one pair, though. If this makes you too uncomfortable, I can leave them on,” he adds.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, not sure how fine it truly is.
It’s not watching him about to skinny-dip that’s not fine; it’s very fucking fine, really.
My mind is just at war with itself, as usual.
It feels like that nasty voice is just barely being silenced, battering against the dam holding them back, trying to burst free.
So instead, I let myself revel in the sight before me—replacing those thoughts.
Allowing myself this; trying it on for size.
Being reckless.
“Okay then, time to go chunky-dunking,” he sighs, before disparagingly chuckling to himself.
He turns to face the water, perfectly round globes of his ass bunching and relaxing as he carefully steps down the banking barefoot.
The muscles of the backs of his thighs ripple as he gets into a diver’s stance.
Finally, with one good roll of his taut shoulders, he launches himself into the water head-first.
He sleekly glides ahead a few feet before popping up and whipping his hair back out of his face. “Woo! That’s cold,” he chatters, sucking in hard to collect his breath. “Feels good,” he finally adds, like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.
I watch as just the upper half of his torso is above the water, the rest of his body distorted by the movement of the stream and the light from the moon above illuminating the natural pool.
“You wanna join me, or just stand there and enjoy the show?” he teases, then he must think better of it.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t kid around like that.
I know you’re wrestling with everything right now. ”
“I like the show,” I admit. His cheeks grow pink, but, at this point, I know it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not very comfortable being the show.”
“Why not?”
“Who’s psycho-analyzing who now?” he replies with a humorless chuckle. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to being the center of anyone’s attention,” he adds.
“Well, you’ve got mine right now, Brooks. All of it. What are you going to do with it?” Emboldened, I edge closer to the water, sitting on a rock next to the edge. I toe off my boots, roll my pant legs up, and let my bare feet get submerged in the cool water.
It does little to subdue the swelling in my jeans.
“I’m going to let you tell me what to do,” he says.
“You’re in charge of how you process all these new discoveries you’ve made tonight.
All these truths you’ve put out there. I know my own sexuality, and I am comfortable with it.
I’m at your discretion here; use me how you’d like to. Practice on me.”
Use me. That sounds like a tall ask—one I’m terrified of and elated about all at the same time. I don’t even know where to begin. How do I even start to tell him all the things I’ve envisioned with him, since I first stepped out of my truck and laid eyes on him?
“You’re overthinking it,” Brooks says, cool as can be.
“You were perfectly fine stripping down to your underwear a couple weeks ago. Now, you’re second guessing yourself.
” He steps up, edging his way out of the water and towards me.
I watch raptly as the droplets of water trickle their way down the plains and valleys of his body.
I watch as they collect in rivulets that drip down the subtle V in his hips, directing my eyes lower still.
As he creeps closer, his body becomes more and more exposed as it rises from the water.
It looks like it takes some effort on his part, but he makes no move to cover himself, like I would if I knew someone’s hungry gaze was latched onto me—studying me.
Before the sight I’m really waiting for can be exposed to the night air, he stops. “Would you like to come in with me, Evan?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, giving in to the temptation that’s too great for me to continue resisting. I stand and peel off all my clothing, save for my boxers once again. There, I instinctually hesitate, too nervous to uncover myself completely, exposing the visual evidence of my desires.
It makes it too real.
This is wrong—wrong, wrong, wrong. You lack control, Waters. I knew you weren’t a real man. You’re nothing but a weak-willed excuse of a person.
Brooks tilts his head, regarding me with concern. “Whatever they’re telling you, don’t listen to them, Evan. I know it’ll be hard not to, and it won’t happen overnight. You’ve got to train your brain to ignore the negative insults it’ll hurl at you.”
Fuck, this man can read me like an open book. My shoulders unbunch, I puff out a beleaguered breath, strip out of my boxers, and take a few steps into the water towards him.
Naked.
Raw.
Exposed.
As if on cue, he gives me another tender smile—like he, once again, reads my expression better than I can myself.
He doesn’t give in and look down, he maintains eye contact with me.
When he holds out his hand, I accept it—accepting his guidance—as he pulls me in closer to him and back out into the depths.
I can’t help but see the symbolism in this.
I’m trusting this man to guide me into the deeper waters—the deep, dark unknown—and we’ll either do one of two things: We can sink, or we can swim.
As our feet both lose touch with the rocks below us, we float out towards the center of the pool. Together, we’re swimming.
I suck in a deep, choppy breath and puff it back out slowly, letting my body adjust to the drastic change in temperature.
As if perfectly content to know that I’ve decided to join him, and being patient enough for me to find my comfort zone, he tilts his body up and clasps his hands behind his head, so he’s floating on the surface and looking at the stars.
All the clouds from the storm before have now passed, affording us a clear view of the night sky in this clearing.