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Authors: A.J. Thomas
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kick.” Doug flinched as Christopher managed to hit him with the splash from each kick. “Try to kick from your hips. Don’t lock your knees, but don’t bend them quite so much when you kick, either.”
He might not be much of a swimmer, but he’d been an athlete his entire life. He knew enough about the mechanics of his body to adjust the angle of his legs, adjust the speed of his kicks until he found a rhythm he knew his muscles could maintain for hours.
Doug stopped pulling him toward the shore but kept holding his arms out. “If you really want to make this easy, take a deep breath, put your face in the water, and slowly blow out all of the air you can through your nose.”
“In the water?”
Doug stopped moving, and Christopher surged toward him. He was surprised to feel the sand beneath them. Doug leaned back on his elbows and grinned. “You’re built to swim.”
“Nobody built me,” Christopher said, more out of habit than any real annoyance.
“I wasn’t talking about religion. I mean all that running and weight lifting. It counts as bodybuilding, doesn’t it?” Doug asked.
He felt the rough callouses on Doug’s fingers against his side. “Can we just stay here like this?” he asked.
Doug nipped at his neck. “Not a chance. I want to get you naked again, and if we stay here, the sand will end up in places you really don’t want sand to be. And we might get arrested.”
A familiar tightness in his chest choked the wave of happiness he’d been riding for the last week. Every time he tried to bring up the possibility of staying in San Diego, Doug deflected the question. Usually he distracted Christopher with a blow job, so he didn’t quite have the willpower to complain, but Doug had to know he was serious.
“Hey!” Christopher squirmed away from Doug as he snaked his hand beneath the mesh lining of his trunks. “Not here. There are kids.”
Doug let him go. “Fine. Kids. Got it. Want to try the board?” He nodded toward the shore where the blue foam surfboard they’d rented sat next to their towels.
Christopher ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the sand already ground into his scalp. He’d spent twenty minutes in the shower yesterday, carefully rinsing sand from around the delicate scar tissue. The clinic where he’d had the stitches removed had put a liquid bandage over the scar and promised him by the time it wore off he wouldn’t need it, but the skin still felt raw. He’d watched Doug catch wave after wave yesterday, and more still this morning. But every time he tried it, he ended up pushing too hard when he popped up. Whatever he was doing wrong sent him crashing face-first into the water and the soft board flying over his head. Once he’d crashed into the wet sand, caking the entire area around the fresh scar with grit. As much fun as it was to watch Doug surf, Christopher wasn’t sure trying it again was worth it.
“I’d rather watch you.”
“You sure?”
He rolled his tongue around the top of his soft pallet, trying to get the lingering grains of sand out of the back of his throat. “I’m sure. I could watch you surf all day.” With Doug’s chiseled features and amazing body, he definitely could.
As he tried shaking some of the sand out of his hair, he heard Doug’s cell phone ringing from his pile of clothes. He turned to ask Doug if he wanted to answer it, but Doug had already grabbed the smaller of the two surfboards they’d rented and was heading back into the water.
He dug out the phone quickly. “Hello?”
“Doug?” A gasping woman’s voice was on the other end.
“Nope, it’s me. What’s up, Brit?”
“Chris? Oh thank God. Is Doug there?”
“Not exactly. He’s about fifteen yards off shore. He’s way out of earshot. Want me to give him a message?”
“Can you have him call me back? Right away? He needs to get home fast.”
“What’s happened?”
“The sheriff just called to have me go out to Doug’s place. The
He might not be much of a swimmer, but he’d been an athlete his entire life. He knew enough about the mechanics of his body to adjust the angle of his legs, adjust the speed of his kicks until he found a rhythm he knew his muscles could maintain for hours.
Doug stopped pulling him toward the shore but kept holding his arms out. “If you really want to make this easy, take a deep breath, put your face in the water, and slowly blow out all of the air you can through your nose.”
“In the water?”
Doug stopped moving, and Christopher surged toward him. He was surprised to feel the sand beneath them. Doug leaned back on his elbows and grinned. “You’re built to swim.”
“Nobody built me,” Christopher said, more out of habit than any real annoyance.
“I wasn’t talking about religion. I mean all that running and weight lifting. It counts as bodybuilding, doesn’t it?” Doug asked.
He felt the rough callouses on Doug’s fingers against his side. “Can we just stay here like this?” he asked.
Doug nipped at his neck. “Not a chance. I want to get you naked again, and if we stay here, the sand will end up in places you really don’t want sand to be. And we might get arrested.”
A familiar tightness in his chest choked the wave of happiness he’d been riding for the last week. Every time he tried to bring up the possibility of staying in San Diego, Doug deflected the question. Usually he distracted Christopher with a blow job, so he didn’t quite have the willpower to complain, but Doug had to know he was serious.
“Hey!” Christopher squirmed away from Doug as he snaked his hand beneath the mesh lining of his trunks. “Not here. There are kids.”
Doug let him go. “Fine. Kids. Got it. Want to try the board?” He nodded toward the shore where the blue foam surfboard they’d rented sat next to their towels.
Christopher ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the sand already ground into his scalp. He’d spent twenty minutes in the shower yesterday, carefully rinsing sand from around the delicate scar tissue. The clinic where he’d had the stitches removed had put a liquid bandage over the scar and promised him by the time it wore off he wouldn’t need it, but the skin still felt raw. He’d watched Doug catch wave after wave yesterday, and more still this morning. But every time he tried it, he ended up pushing too hard when he popped up. Whatever he was doing wrong sent him crashing face-first into the water and the soft board flying over his head. Once he’d crashed into the wet sand, caking the entire area around the fresh scar with grit. As much fun as it was to watch Doug surf, Christopher wasn’t sure trying it again was worth it.
“I’d rather watch you.”
“You sure?”
He rolled his tongue around the top of his soft pallet, trying to get the lingering grains of sand out of the back of his throat. “I’m sure. I could watch you surf all day.” With Doug’s chiseled features and amazing body, he definitely could.
As he tried shaking some of the sand out of his hair, he heard Doug’s cell phone ringing from his pile of clothes. He turned to ask Doug if he wanted to answer it, but Doug had already grabbed the smaller of the two surfboards they’d rented and was heading back into the water.
He dug out the phone quickly. “Hello?”
“Doug?” A gasping woman’s voice was on the other end.
“Nope, it’s me. What’s up, Brit?”
“Chris? Oh thank God. Is Doug there?”
“Not exactly. He’s about fifteen yards off shore. He’s way out of earshot. Want me to give him a message?”
“Can you have him call me back? Right away? He needs to get home fast.”
“What’s happened?”
“The sheriff just called to have me go out to Doug’s place. The
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