Chapter 19 #2
“Have you ever seen a shark?” I ask, making him laugh and lean into me a little bit. Our bare arms are touching, and I’m having a hard time focusing on anything but that point of contact.
“Couple times.”
“I’m pretty sure that would be the point where I quit surfing. Quit swimming in the ocean. Start admiring the water from a safe distance,” I ramble off, making him snort.
“I don’t know. I think I’d take sharks over humans any day.” Pulling his legs up, he rests his elbows on his knees, sandwich held between them. Sand is caught in the fine brown hair on his calves. I want to brush it off—use it as an excuse to touch him.
“True. I’d probably take a shark over Coach Mackenzie,” I admit. Desmond glances at me, chewing slowly. There’s a smudge of mustard at the corner of his mouth, which he catches with his thumb before sucking it off. I look away, blushing .
“Want to talk about the meeting?” he asks. “We don’t have to, if you’d rather not.”
“I mean, it wasn’t bad. I just get so fucking nervous , and Coach Mackenzie is so…
serious looking. I don’t know, he just reminds me of my dad a little bit, which isn’t fair at all.
” I pick a tomato out of my sandwich and pop it into my mouth.
Desmond waits, not saying anything, and looking out at the water.
“My dad was so mean, and Coach isn’t at all, but he looks like he could be and my brain can’t seem to separate the two. ”
“I don’t have an M.D. behind my name, but that sounds like it makes sense to me,” Desmond says, shrugging.
“I’ve had to talk to a lot of therapists about Parker, and the one thing they all agree on is how important those childhood years truly are.
It’s like building blocks for your brain, and if your memories and experiences are built on a foundation of trauma, that’s going to carry over into your adult life. ”
I flush, happy and a little embarrassed by his easy acceptance of what I’ve always considered to be my own personal brand of crazy.
“He wasn’t, though. Mean, that is. He just asked me some questions.
A lot of questions about me quitting the team, actually,” I tell Desmond, thinking back to the meeting.
Coach had spoken so cautiously, the way someone might try and calm down a spooked animal, probing gently with carefully worded questions.
I’d been shaking with nerves, sweat sliding down my back and brain fuzzy with fear—the way someone being hunted for sport might feel, not someone doing something as simple as sitting in a meeting.
“I figured,” Desmond agrees. “He’s good at his job, and part of that job is making sure nobody is hurting the people he’s in charge of. Nico’s protective of you guys. ”
“We didn’t do anything wrong, though,” I comment, trying to make it sound like a statement and not a question.
“Nope,” he confirms. “But that doesn’t always matter at first. Parker’s school called me the other day to tell me about an altercation with another student. My initial reaction was to protect Parker, no matter what actually went down. It obviously wasn’t my kid who did something wrong, right?”
He nudges me with his elbow, letting me know he’s kidding around. I catch his eye, smiling.
“Right,” I agree, because I’m on Parker’s side, too.
“Wrong,” Desmond corrects dryly, making me laugh. “My point is, Nico was pissed and worried. Now that he’s got all the information, I don’t think he’s going to stay that way.”
Finishing off my sandwich, I crumple up the wrapper and look around for somewhere to stash it.
The wind has picked up a little bit, the cold biting gently on my exposed skin.
I scoot a touch closer to Desmond, because it may not be cold enough to warrant sharing body heat, but I’m going to do it anyway.
“Chuck it under here,” he tells me, lifting up the edge of the blanket. Our fingers brush as I push my trash underneath. “We’ll gather all the rubbish together and chuck it in the bin when we’re done.”
It takes Desmond longer to eat his sandwich, chewing slowly through each bite as though practicing mindful eating. I stretch my legs out and lean backward onto my elbows, watching a pair of seagulls swooping low over the sand. A couple of girls walk by us, smiling and nodding.
“G’day,” Desmond says, which earns him a second glance and a touch more attention. He doesn’t seem to notice, popping the last bite into his mouth and hiding his trash under the blanket with mine .
“This is a date, isn’t it?” I ask him, blushing when he rests back in mimicry of my pose and looks at me with those wide, brown doe eyes.
“If you want it to be a date, then yes. If this being a date freaks you out, then no,” he replies diplomatically. “Either way, I get the pleasure of your company.”
“Date,” I answer quickly. Desmond grins. “Where’s Parker? With Sue?”
“Yeah. He’s doing maths and a little bit of reading. Didn’t put up too much of a fight about going over to Sue’s place—he likes going, even though the pre-teen in him requires he complain a little bit anyway.”
“You could have brought him.”
“Nah. He would have hogged you, and I think sometimes I’m going to need Jack to myself,” he replies casually, as though that’s not the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
I wonder if there’s any way I could blame the sun for how hot my body feels now, face likely fire-engine red.
I reply with an inarticulate noise that, embarrassingly, sounds like a groan. Desmond chuckles.
“I should probably give you my speech for when I meet a new bloke,” he comments.
“Oh God,” I mutter, making him laugh and bump me with his shoulder. He clears his throat dramatically.
“G’day, I’m Desmond,” he starts, and I hack out a surprised laugh. He shushes me, clearing his throat again. I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing once more. “I’m ace, and most likely won’t have sex with you. If that’s a deal-breaker, no drama…. Want to hit the water?”
“You do not actually say that,” I say, staring at him in surprise .
“Okay, no, not exactly like that. But close. I’ve met some good blokes that way—mates I used to surf with.”
“You just…come right out and say”—I wave my hand in the air—“that stuff to someone who’s trying to pick you up?”
“I didn’t use to. I used to play the game—hooking up, going along with whatever the bloke I was with wanted to do.
” He scrunches up his face, thinking. “But after a few years, I had this moment of what the fuck are you doing, mate? I was miserable, and nobody should be miserable when they’re with their partner.
So I just…stopped. Stopped doing things I didn’t want to do, and started laying all my cards right out on the table. ”
“Jesus,” I mutter, feeling stressed even thinking about it.
I can barely choke out the words “I’m gay.
” I can’t even fathom feeling like I had to explain to every potential partner that I wasn’t going to sleep with them.
Which, given that I won’t, is probably something I need to work on.
Desmond continues, still in that unhurried, calm tone.
“Trust me, it was the right move. Most of them move on once they know you aren’t going to fuck them, and that’s okay.
It’s a quick and dirty way to weed out the blokes who probably wouldn’t have been a good match, anyway.
” He shrugs again. I stare at his profile as he talks, curls twisting gently in the breeze. “And like I said, I made some friends.”
He looks at me then, deep brown eyes meeting mine. We stare at one another for a few silent seconds, before I realize he’s probably waiting for me to answer the question he left in the subtext of that story.
“That’s not a deal-breaker for me,” I tell him quietly, quoting his earlier words. He smiles.
My chest loosens as I think about the implication of this conversation, and I find it easier to breathe.
Sex has always been something I enjoyed fantasizing about—first Troy Nichols and, this year, Desmond.
But a fantasy is exactly that and I’m able to keep myself separate from it.
It doesn’t mean anything. And honestly, I have no desire to turn those dreams into a reality.
I like the fantasy of having sex, but I don’t want that so much as I want what we have right now.
Intimacy of a different sort, perhaps, and more precious to me.
“I don’t think I’d like…you know…fucking people,” I admit, laughing awkwardly. A distant sort of discomfort settles in my chest, but it’s not enough to make me want to hide. “It’s nice to think about, but I just don’t want to.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there’s certain things I don’t mind doing on occasion, but for the most part”—Desmond shakes his head, pressing his heel down into the sand and rotating it, creating a hole—“I could do without. The last relationship I was in, Mark was always wanting to have sex, and I just…like, can’t we just cuddle for a bit, mate? ”
I burst out laughing, Desmond joining in as he rests back until he’s flat on the blanket, eyes closed and hands linked on his stomach.
He looks so beautiful, stretched out and relaxed, smiling up at the sky.
His shirt is pulled up a bit, showing a tan strip of stomach, and a paler line below, teasing parts of him that don’t get to see the sun.
I lie down next to him, knees bent so I can bury my toes in the sand.
“What are the things you like?” I ask softly, finding it’s a lot easier to ask questions like that when I’m looking at the clouds and not at Desmond’s face.
“Kissing, frotting, and the occasional blowjob, but I much prefer being on the receiving end of those,” he answers, not a trace of embarrassment evident in his tone.
“And I really do love a bit of a cuddle. When Parker was a little ankle-biter, I visited a few times and he’d sit on my lap for hours—curled up against my chest like a little koala. I loved that.”
I sigh, once more hating the fact that I grew up to be a giant.
I feel like I’d quite enjoy the opportunity to snuggle up to Desmond like a koala.
Unfortunately, my 6’5” ass would probably suffocate him if I tried.
The barking of a dog gets my attention, and I turn my head to watch a border collie sprint down the sand after a frisbee.
I wait, watching until the owner comes into view and launches the disc once more, the dog happily streaking off after it.
Maybe I’m asexual, too, instead of broken the way I’d always considered myself to be.
“I like the idea of a relationship that doesn’t revolve around sex,” I say, the words barely above a whisper. Courage never stays with me for long. “I don’t think I’d like doing most things. And I’m not sure I’m ready to try.”
“Okay,” Desmond agrees likes it’s not a big deal at all, the easy acceptance of me. “Then we won’t.”
I think about it for a second before adding, “I might like to kiss you one day, though.”
“Okay,” he repeats. I don’t have to look at his face to know he’s smiling. He adds, “I won’t if you’d prefer I not, but casual touching is something I like to do. Holding hands, that sort of thing. Just tell me if your preference is for me not to touch you.”
“No, that’s okay. I’d be fine with that,” I rush to say, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth and thinking of all the things casual touching might include.
I like the way Nate treats me with his hugs and cheek kisses.
I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than Desmond showing me that sort of attention; don’t know what I could have done to deserve it.
“So would I, if you ever felt the urge,” Desmond replies softly, and my pulse skitters in response.
I do feel that urge— to touch his hair or help undo the buttons on his shirt or, if I was feeling particularly courageous, hold his hand.
I swallow, feeling the final ebb of my current bout of bravery slowly slipping away the more I think about all the things that might be in my future.
It’s time to change the subject before I embarrass myself.
“Is your court date coming up soon?” I ask, thinking suddenly of Parker. Desmond inhales audibly enough to be heard over the crash of the waves.
“In a month.”
“You scared?” I ask, turning my face the opposite direction so I can look at him.
“Terrified,” he agrees, eyelashes fluttering closed and chest rising in another measured inhale. “Absolutely bloody terrified.”
It’s dark by the time Desmond drops me off at my dorm.
The headlights illuminate the empty grass of the lawn as he puts the vehicle in park, swinging open his door and climbing out.
I do the same on my side, confused. He’s obviously not coming upstairs since the car is still running, and his door is hanging open.
He rounds the hood and approaches me, relaxed and smiling.
“You right?” he asks. I nod, and return the smile.
“Yeah. Thanks. I needed to get out.”
“I figured,” he says, stepping forward and putting a gentle hand on my shoulder.
My cheeks burn as he uses that hand to guide me into a hug.
It doesn’t take much leading on his part—I waste no time wrapping my arms around his waist. I’m two inches taller, and probably fifty pounds heavier; his lanky frame fits perfectly within the circle of my arms, and my chest aches with the realization .
I’ve not experienced a lot, but I’ve had enough to know there are different kinds of hugs.
There’s the kind my teammates gave me after we won a hockey game; the kind Nate provides when he’s feeling especially affectionate.
And then there is this—Desmond’s wiry frame pressed against me, skin smelling of saltwater and our hearts beating in sync.
Pathetically, my eyes burn and my throat tightens with emotion.
It’s just a hug , I tell myself, even as I tighten my arms and turn my face into his curls.
He lets me take what I want, smoothing a hand down my spine in a way nobody has ever done before.
It’s somehow both soothing and sensual—a touch that allows room for interpretation.
I want to try kissing him so badly right now, I can hardly think beyond it.
When the length of the hug teeters on embarrassing, I bite back a sigh and let him go.
He’s still smiling when we step back far enough for me to see his face, the light too dim for me to make out the deep brown of his eyes.
I hope it’s also too dark for him to see the way my entire body is probably flushed red with desire and awkwardness.
That humiliating, awful kiss with Christopher doesn’t even come close to this. This hug is the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.