“Hey, Drew?”
Drew looked up. “Yeah? Ouch!”
“Surprise!”
“You just whipped me with a towel.”
“Uh-huh,” Brad laughed. He had a huge shit-eating grin.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” Drew said, nodding slowly. He finally got an eye-full of Brad, whose tree trunk-like thighs were barely contained by the borrowed bathing suit. And that fur on his belly! Drew’s throat went dry.
Brad’s eyes were bright. “C’mon, let’s go play in the water.”
The first plunge into the water felt balls-shrinkingly cold compared to the oven-like heat of the air, but after that first bracing plunge, the water was refreshing, and Brad and Drew had a great time racing down the flumes. The faster runs, in particular, were largely rug rat free, and in any event, the lifeguards did a good job of keeping the fully grown from plowing into smaller, lighter people by making them wait a few extra moments before barreling down the flumes on their rubber mats.
“Oh, man, that was just what I needed today,” Drew said as he flopped down onto his beach towel on the grass under an enormous shade structure.
“That was a blast,” Brad said. “Thanks for calling.”
Brad stood, looking down at Drew, who fortunately had his eyes closed. He paused with the towel over his head, the water running down his shaved head unheeded. Water ran onto his chest, tracing rivulets around his pecs, pulling his chest hair together. It trickled its way down over the merest hint of a belly and disappeared into the borrowed swimming trunks, but Brad didn’t notice.
He’d been right with his speculations about Drew’s body at lunch almost two weeks before. Drew obviously knew his way around the gym. He was toned and built but lacked that fake shredded look of the dedicated gym rat who lifted lots of weights but did nothing with them. Whatever Drew did for exercise and fun was clearly working for him, because Brad couldn’t take his eyes off him. He looked like what Brad thought a man should look like, not a ’roid droid.
Brad swallowed the lump in his throat. Then his eyes traveled further down Drew’s body, and he forgot how to breathe.
He’d been around guys in Spandex before, seen plenty of packages barely contained by the stretchy fabric of high school wrestling or collegiate crew unisuits. He’d even seen guys popping boners in uniforms that left nothing to the imagination. They did nothing for him. Nada. Zilch.
But Drew in that little Speedo?
He was mesmerized. He was entranced. All he could do was stare at… it.
Brad wanted it. He didn’t have a name for it, but he wanted it.
Actually, he did have a name for it, he thought guiltily.
He started drying his head vigorously, even roughly, hard enough to leave the skin of his scalp red and angry.
“You’re quiet,” Drew said, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Just thinking,” Brad said.
“About?”
“About that big opportunity you were telling me about. Sounds cool. What’s up with it?” Brad said. He tossed the towel on the ground, awkwardly smoothing it out and laying down next to Drew.
“I’m trying not to think about it,” Drew groaned.
“If you don’t want to talk about it….”
“No, it’s cool. You’ve heard of the Bayard House, right?”
Brad nodded. “It’s supposed to be the mayor’s mansion, but it’s totally uninhabitable or something.”
“Basically, yeah,” Drew said. He sat all the way up, facing Brad. “What updating’s been done hasn’t been all that compatible with the rest of the building. The city government decided it’s time to get serious about preserving the mansion, because there’s so little of the old city left. So there’s a call for bids specifically aimed at younger firms to preserve and adapt the old mansion to the needs of the twenty-first century.”
“Wow,” Brad breathed. “That sounds… awesome.”
“It sounds terrifying,” Drew said.
“Terrifying? It sounds like a blast.”
“I mostly do flips, but lately I’ve worked with a designer on actual renovations. She thinks we should do it. We’re both young, new in this business and all that, but….”
“But you’re not a contractor?” Brad prompted.
Drew plucked at a grass stem. “No, and that’s the big stumbling block, or one of them. I’ve got a contractor I usually work with. He’s retired, but he’s willing to inspect my work and sign off if I pay him as a consultant. But by no stretch of the imagination is he new to this business, one of the requirements of the job. That’s even assuming he’d be willing to work on this. It’d be pretty big, and that’s another thing. It’d take all my time.” He groaned and lay back on his towel, covering his eyes with one arm.
Brad watched him, considering. He was kind of jealous, actually. When it came down to it, he liked the housing trades. He liked being physical and working with his hands. He liked being outside, at least when it wasn’t quite so sweltering. That was why crew had been such a good fit for him, and the same things that had drawn him to rowing were what he liked about home-building—working with his body in the outdoors, working as part of a team for a greater whole.
Despite his dad and that damn double-cross about where he’d be working, he liked the idea of his job. It was at least familiar territory while he figured out if this was what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. But for someone with some experience in the home trades, someone adrift and looking around after college, this sounded like a dream job. That said, he knew he could never do anything like that.
“So are you going to do it?” Brad said, trying not to sound too excited.
Drew looked up at him. “Probably,” he said. “Yes. I don’t know.”
“So long as you’re sure and all that,” Brad said.
“I’m sorry, I’m sure this sounds pretty pathetic,” Drew said, sitting up again. “Sorry to dump all this on you.”
“No, it’s totally okay,” Brad said. He smiled. “I like hearing about it.”
“Oh,” Drew said, smiling shyly in return.
Brad looked back at him for a few moments. Then the tingly fluttery feeling got to be too much. “Hey, let’s slide some more. I’m getting hot again.”
Drew didn’t say anything for a minute, but Brad could tell he was up to something. He could see the muscles in Drew’s legs bunching.
Sure enough, Drew sprung up. “Last one in buys dinner!”
And he was off, pelting across the pool deck, Brad in hot pursuit, the booming voice of the lifeguards chasing after them, demanding they walk.
Laughing like maniacs, the pair of them, they slowed down fractionally, each trying to beat the other to the stairs leading up to the top of the water slides.
A few hours later, Brad felt let down going home, as if going back to the ordinary world were a return to the world he’d seen on old TV shows, a world of monochrome where the afternoon had been in laughing, breathing color.
He realized he’d felt happier that afternoon than he had all summer, happier with Drew. He frowned, thinking. Drew was his old coach’s best friend. In some ways, maybe Drew was his last connection to crew, his last connection to the best part of college. That had to be it.
But that didn’t change the fact that he’d spent the afternoon romping and playing with a half-naked gay man and had a fine time doing it too. Drew was Drew. There was just something about him that Brad liked being around, and if Drew liked dick, then Brad had spent the afternoon with a man who liked dick. That was all. It didn’t have to Mean Anything. He could almost see the capital letters floating in the air.
Brad wasn’t one to analyze things, but there wasn’t really anything wrong with a straight guy like him having a close gay friend, was there? If that was what this was. He squirmed. He so didn’t want to think about this.
Chapter Seven
Thursday afternoon, Emily met Drew at his house. Thursday was usually Drew’s day for get
ting things done. Saturday and Sunday were his busiest home-showing days, and Friday was spent preparing. Thursdays were for errands.
It was time to pool research and brainstorming about the Bayard bid. Drew had spent the morning with Nick getting the bed/bath reno off the ground, and now was prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon working on the bid for a project that looked like it could not only take on a life of its own, but take over both of their lives too.
“The site tour’s set up for Monday. You’ll be there?” Drew said.
Emily nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’m coming back early from a romantic long weekend at the coast to beat this heat. My wife’s not happy, but it’s not like her job’s never interrupted things.”
“Poor little surgeon. She finally takes some time off, and then her wife ups and gets busy,” Drew said, pretending to pout.
“I’m always busy, I’m just not adjusting to her schedule this time,” Emily said with a snicker. She shoved some books across the table to him. “Here. I’ve marked a few things for you to look at. These are illustrations and pictures of period furniture. It’s what would’ve been found in east-coast homes of the wealthy when the Bayard House was built.”
As Drew looked at the illustrations and photographs of Civil War-era furniture and fixtures, Emily looked around. “What I could do with this room. Such good bones, but it’s a blank slate.”
“You say blank, I say clean and uncomplicated,” Drew said. He sat back in his chair and tried to see his dining room through Emily’s eyes. It was plain, even austere. He was fine with that.
“You’ve been here how long? What’re you waiting for?” Emily said. Then she peered at him. “That’s it, you’re waiting for something… or someone.”
“I’m just not in a hurry,” he said. Then he cringed. He sounded defensive even to himself.
“Mmhmm. So what about this guy you were telling me about? The one who might be able to help us out,” Emily said.
“I’m still sounding him out.” Drew crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hurry up about it. We don’t have all that much time, you know.”
“I know,” Drew said, “but I don’t want to rush things and scare him.”
“You still think he’s the missing piece of our puzzle?”
Drew nodded slowly. “He just might be. He’s not a contractor, but he knows what goes into it, and I think he might be open to getting his license. He’s certainly not happy in his present job. Most important, he’s really interested in this. He can’t hear enough about it.”
Emily looking at him shrewdly. “Sounds like a good possibility. Anything else? Something else you want to tell me about him?”
Drew looked at her, his face expressionless. “No, not that I can think of.”
Emily knew him well, almost as well as Nick, but there were places he just wasn’t ready to go with her yet. He knew he had a crush on Brad, but wasn’t ready to say it aloud yet. Interested, absolutely, if Brad were gay. But crushing on a straight guy was just pathetic, and he didn’t want to hear it from her. None of that changed the fact that Brad could be a real asset to what he and Emily had planned. If he had to, he could keep his feelings under control.
“So you’ll call him, right?” Emily said.
“Yeah, I’ll call him,” Drew said, laughing a little. It was all he wanted to do, but he was trying not to be a stalker.
The next evening, a Friday, found all three Sundstrom men at home, much to Brad’s irritation. His relationship with Philip was complicated, and he just plain didn’t like Randall. It was so time to move out. All it took was money.
Work was work. The air conditioning had been fixed early enough that morning that the day hadn’t been a total waste from a deodorant standpoint, and he’d shown some of those dismal houses too. Still, given his tendency to sweat like a racehorse, he came home from work, showered, and then scrounged for dinner while he decided how to avoid his family for the rest of the evening.
Friday evening. At home. How pathetic was that? A few short months before, Friday meant parties. Now it meant boxers, beer, and television. It was yet another sign college was over, and being an adult sucked.
“Can you not put some clothing on, Bradley?” Randall said, making a face as he entered the kitchen where Brad stood at the counter, pouring cereal into a bowl.
“Boxers are clothing,” Brad said sullenly.
“Street-legal clothing, Bradley. That’s not asking too much, is it?” Randall replied.
Brad shrugged. “It might be.”
“Hmmm, chest hair in Cap’n Crunch. How appetizing,” Philip said. “Keep eating that and you’ll get fat right quick. In fact, is that a tummy you’re building? College athletics are over, you know. You’re going to have grow up sooner or later.”
“Fuck you,” Brad said, milk dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Nice manners. Were you raised in a barnyard?” Philip asked.
“Yep,” Brad said. “And college athletics isn’t over. I got an e-mail from the crew’s alumni oversight committee. They want me to join, since I just rowed and since we won that big regatta.”
“They just want Dad’s money. He should never have given them that boat when you graduated,” Philip said, shaking his head.
“So?” Brad shrugged. “He asked what I wanted for graduation. That was what I wanted. What’d you care?”
Randall watched the exchange with amusement. “Actually, I was impressed with his request, Philip. I half-expected him to ask for some booze-filled trip to Cancun. Instead it was something that will only benefit other people. Are you going to accept?”
“I dunno. I might,” Brad said.
“I think you should, Bradley,” Randall said, “because then you can do something about that fag coach.” Brad clenched his teeth at that, but Randall didn’t see. “Philip, I’ve got two tickets to the ball game tomorrow night that I can’t use. Do you want them? They’re great seats. A client gave them to me.”
Philip shook his head. “Nope, I’ve got a date, and Angie hates baseball or any other kind of sport.”
“Hmmm, shame, that. I’d hate for them to go to waste,” Randall said, considering the matter.
If this sort of thing weren’t standard operating procedure, Brad would’ve been floored. He was right in front of his dad, after all. “I’ll take them, Dad.”
“What’ll you do with them?” Randall demanded.
“Uh… find someone to go to the game with?” Brad said.
“I suppose it can’t do any harm,” Randall said. He handed Brad an envelope.
Brad tucked it into the waistband of his boxers with a cheeky grin. “Thanks, Randall. I’ll try not to wear my Sundstrom Homes T-shirt and scratch my butt in public or anything.”
“You’re an ass, Bradley,” Randall said. “Thank God your mother can’t see how you’ve turned out.”
Maybe if Mom was still here, I wouldn’t have turned out like this, Brad thought. Baiting his dad might be petty, but most days, it was all he had.
“I’m going to shower. Try to be dressed by the time I get out,” Randall demanded as he headed to the stairs and his own suite on the house’s second floor.
“Thanks for the tickets!” Brad called. He belched thunderously. “I’ll try not to embarrass you anymore than I already do!”
Philip shook his head. “That was childish.”
“So? That’s how he treats me, that’s how I act,” Brad said. He hunched his shoulders as if that would ward off his brother’s accusation.
“Maybe he treats you that way you because that’s how you act,” Philip pointed out.
“Whatever. Shouldn’t you be upstairs spit-shining his shoes or something?” Brad said.
“Dude, you’ve got a social life? Since when?” Philip said, ignoring Brad’s jibe.
“Since Dad didn’t want the tickets,” Brad said. “Duh. You were standing right there. You didn’t want them, and it’d be a shame to let box
seats go to waste.”
Philip shook his head. “No, it’s been longer than that. You’ve been taking afternoons off. You’ve been enjoying yourself.” He said it like it was an accusation. “So who’re you going out with? It’s someone, not just a random friend. You’re going out with someone.”
Tipping the Balance Page 7