Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,11

turning his head to stare across the grass, toward the stark cliff edge that led down the other side of the slope, into dense forest. His mouth pressed to his upraised shoulder, muffling his laughter into a muted sound, and the tips of his ears turned quite a shade of red against the dark backdrop of his tousled hair.

Fox blinked. “Did I say something funny?”

“No,” Summer mumbled against his shirt. “I’m just embarrassed, I... Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I want to know,” Fox said. “I would think that would be entirely self-explanatory.”

“Oh God.” With a groan, Summer closed his eyes, letting his head fall back limply on the toned arch of his neck, hanging between his shoulders, face tilted up to the sky. “I forgot how literal you are. You really haven’t changed.”

No, Fox thought, and wondered at the tight feeling like his ribs were pressing in too hard on his lungs. I suppose I have not.

“But that’s one reason why I’m attracted to you.” Summer opened his eyes, looking up at a morning sky that reflected in his eyes to give them a gray-blue sheen like glacial silt; a small smile touched his lips, warm and sweet. “Maybe I don’t know the real you, but I know some real things about you. I like the way you talk. You’re literal and while you hide a lot, you say what you mean when you do talk. If you don’t want to say something you just won’t, instead of deflecting or falling back on social niceties that are just a step away from lies. But even though you’re so straightforward...there’s all kinds of subtle nuance, too. Soft things between the lines. Sometimes even though you mean what you say...you mean something else, too.”

Fox blinked again.

And again.

And had to look away from this strange young man with his equally strange smile, clearing his throat. “Perhaps you’re only imagining what you’re reading between my lines.”

“It’s possible. Projection is a thing.” Even without looking at him...that smile was still in Summer’s voice. “But it’s not the only reason I’m attracted to you.”

“I can’t imagine more than one reason,” Fox muttered.

“I can imagine a thousand. Only I don’t have to imagine, because they’re as real as the color of your eyes and the way you wear your hair.” Summer laughed. “I don’t know how I’m not hyperventilating right now, but I guess I hit ‘fuck it’ mode and can freak out later. Why do you think I wouldn’t be attracted to you?”

“I...”

It was almost instinct for Fox to want to deflect around that, and yet somehow Summer’s quiet faith in his honesty, his straightforwardness, made him at least want to be somewhat truthful.

“I consider myself a non-entity on that front,” he said. “If romance is a playing field, I benched myself long ago. Most do not pay attention to players who are not actively on the field.”

“You’re bad at sports analogies,” Summer teased softly, and Fox scowled.

“I have little interest in the sports ball.”

“...‘the sports ball.’” That prompted a soft snicker, barely repressed. “And there’s another reason. You’re funny without meaning to be. But just because you’ve benched yourself doesn’t mean you aren’t still someone’s favorite MVP.”

“Now who is making terrible sports analogies?”

“I don’t watch the sports ball either.” Summer shrugged one shoulder ruefully. “Swimming turned out to be my thing.”

Fox arched a brow, risking a glance back at Summer. The way he’d tanned and filled out, building into compact athletic musculature with a sort of flowing, liquid grace to it rather than thick-honed bulk...he could see it. Summer cutting through the water in smooth, fluid strokes.

He should not be picturing this.

“So is that how you finally hit puberty?” he shot back. “Swimming?”

“There it is. The defensive barbs because I managed to fluster you when you’re supposed to be made of stone.” Summer was still looking up at the sky, but his lips curled sweetly, almost slyly. “Keep insulting me, Professor Iseya. It just means I get under your skin a little. Although that’s kind of regressing, don’t you think? Child psychology. I thought we universally agreed as a field to stop telling children when a little boy pulls your pigtails and kicks dirt in your face, it means he likes you.”

“I don’t like you!” Narrowing his eyes, Fox growled, tearing his gaze away and glaring at the water.

What was even happening here?

How was this shy, anxious young man sitting here with that smile on his lips, needling at Fox and leaving Fox