Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,24

We were safe. I speak to my parents every few months, short stilted conversations that assuage my guilt. We don’t go out of our way to see each other, even though we all live right here in L.A.

You can’t miss what you’ve never had, and the distance now is scarcely different from the separateness we all had growing up.

It was fine. I’m fine.

Another child shouts, and I open my eyes.

Max is there, smiling at me in a broad, open way that makes my heart turn over. My toes almost touch his head, but he stands out of range.

“You know, I fell off one of these as a kid and broke my arm,” he says. “My brother Jason pushed me too hard and I flew right out.”

“Living dangerously.”

“Don’t we all.”

My hair streams behind me is I rush toward him. He holds out his hand, and the toe of my sandal grazes his fingertips.

“You have a good eye,” I call as I rush away.

He approaches another swing, and I think he will join me. But instead, he leaps up, grabbing the crossbeam of the frame. He smoothly lifts his body until his belly is flush against the bar.

I forget to keep my arc as I watch him fluidly lift his legs over until he sits at the top, high above my head.

I’m afraid to kick the ground to stop as I might jar the frame, so I slow down gradually until I’m still, peering up at him.

“You like to live dangerously,” I say.

“I’ve been told I’m a show-off.”

I stand up and rub my grimy hands against my jeans. My anxiety is high, seeing him up there. I picture every sort of disaster. “Well, come down here so I can look at that tan.”

My heart doesn’t stop hammering until he swings his way down and drops onto the ground beside me.

The mothers on their bench clap for him, and he bows.

“You were made for show business,” I say.

“And I guess I’ve taken the bodybuilding route. Maybe I will be like Arnold Schwarzenegger and become famous for saying something pithy like I’ll be back.”

I can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out. “I think every bodybuilder’s goal is to be Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

Max holds out his arms and turns in the circle. “What do you think? How am I shaping up tan-wise?”

I can feel the stares of the mothers as I cock a hip and cross my arms across my chest. “Stand still so I can see.”

He stops, arms outstretched. The sun shines its golden light on him. He wears jeans and a green L.A. Pickle T-shirt that reads, “Call me a pickle.” It stretches across those pecs and shoulders that I remember all too well from his tanning sessions.

He’s fantastic. Absolutely perfect. My throat feels tight.

“Arms look good,” I say. “I can’t see much else.”

His grin is full of mischief. “Should I strip down so you can see more?”

The thought of it sends a zing through me.

“Maybe the park wasn’t the best idea,” I say.

He shrugs. “We could take a walk, find a more secluded spot.”

We stroll along the central concrete path. As we leave the playscape area, the mothers call the children in. It’s dinner time.

“Hey, weren’t you supposed to bring me a sandwich?” I tease.

“In the car, in a cooler,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to eat it right away.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” I like the thought of having something else we’re going to do together. That our time will stretch into the evening.

We pass through a line of trees, and a dirt path peels off to a small metal toolshed for the maintenance crew.

“Over here,” I say. “I could take a quick look and see how that tan developed on your chest and back.” The very idea of him even partially stripping in this public park makes sparks fly through my body.

He nods. When we’re hidden away behind the toolshed, he grabs the back of his collar and pulls his shirt over his head.

Even though I’ve seen him this way before, my knees knock together as his skin is revealed.

I feel like I’ve memorized him, smoothing moisturizer over each muscle and crease. I manage to step closer and say, “So far, so good.”

I walk around the side of him, then the back, and I cannot stop myself, but I touch his skin, warm and smooth.

“Find something?”

I pull my hand away. “I thought so, but it was a shadow.”

He is perfect. Strong. Ripped. I see the differences from last night, and