It's just before 6 a.m. I creeped out of bed this morning not to wake Claire. I wasn't planning on having her stay, but it was easier to let her crash than make sure her seltzer-buzzed self made it home okay. It was nice to have some company last night, even if I wasn't in the mood for sex. Even though Tyson is here, it still feels lonely. The island he is putting himself on is setting a depressing mood for the cabin.
As I wrap a towel around myself, I wipe the steam from the bathroom mirror. In roughly three minutes I plan to wake Tyson up so we can get started on setting the frame of the back deck. I will need help laying the cement on the basement level, erecting the support beams up the main level, and adding the plank floor of the deck. If we can get that far today, I will consider it a success.
I slide into a pair of cotton shorts and then make my way down to Ty's bedroom. Knocking on his door gives me no response. I know I have woken him up early the past two days for his meeting with J'Nae and then for his volunteering yesterday, but we got shit to do.
When I slowly push it open I see why he has gone radio silent. With one arm hanging of the side of the bed, Tyson is snoring away. Noticing a half-empty bottle of my favorite whiskey on the nightstand-asshole-I shout, "Rise and shine!"
A groggy growl is released and then, "Go away! Do you ever sleep in? Damn."
"Come on, it's time to get going today. We want to beat the heat."
He rolls onto his back and lets out an exasperated sigh but doesn't manage much else. If he drank as much as the bottle suggests, I know he is probably having the world's worst hangover, so I do the only thing a mature, sound-thinking adult can do: I start trickling the leftover whiskey on Tyson's head.
Slowly tipping the bottle, the amber liquid dribbles onto his forehead. Tyson's face scrunches uncomfortably. This doesn't stop me from continuing my douche-baggary. I keep a steady flow on him until he jumps up and gasps.
"Are you insane? What is your problem? You're being a dick!"
In a very calm voice as though nothing strange has just happened, I say, "Good morning to you. There is some coffee made downstairs and hard-boiled eggs in the fridge."
I can't help but smile.
"Go the fuck away," he says turning over.
"Okay. This is going to suck," I say just before I reach down and grab his bare arm.
In one deadlift of a yank, I cleanly pull Tyson from the bed into a bear hug of a grip. I lean back so he can't get his footing, and his back stretched, plastered to my bare chest.
"What the fuck, Jack!" he freaks, but it is too late.
I am already watermelon walking him out of the room. Him in just his boxer briefs and me in my shorts.
"For real, you are a maniac! Please, I have the biggest headache."
"You should have listened! Plus, don't you get drug tested?" I taunt.
"For weed and other illegal drugs, asshole," he growls.
He wriggles and twists but isn't successful in getting out of my python hold. It doesn't help that he feels like hell right now. Whiskey hangovers are the worst.
We plow through the bathroom door and I manhandle him into the tub. Even as deep as the ceramic basin is, it's relatively easy now because he used what little energy he had to try to fight my grip.
"Jack, seriously," his voice is calm but has an edge to it.
"This is gonna make you feel so much better, Ty. I swear. Plus, if Officer Scott stops by for a random check-in, you can't be looking hungover," I tell him, yanking the curtain around us and turning on the cold water.
The shower head comes to life dousing us both with freezing liquid.
"No! No!," Tyson screams bucking against me as the cold water soaks our bodies.
"Chill," I whisper in his ear. "I know it sucks, but it is the fastest way to feel better."
Just when the cold water seems to not feel so cold anymore, I spin the hot knob. The water turns lukewarm, and Tyson relaxes. I start taking the cold water out of the mix until it is just a step before scalding.
Steam quickly fills the space between us.
"This feels so good," Tyson says letting his head fall to the side. He almost seems to melt into my embrace.
Can't lie. The kid's got a decent body. His shoulders are broad and defined. His back is tight with a well-worked lower section. And he's got a nice little bubble butt that his soaked boxers briefs are revealing the V of the crack of.
Shaking the image from my mind, I reach around him and rotate the knobs in opposite directions. In five seconds, the hot jets turn frigid again.
"You bastard!" Tyson blurts, jumping back from the downpour right into me. He pushes his whole body against mine to try to steal my body heat.
I tighten my grip around him again and walk him under the shower water. His rebellion doesn't do much except push his mound of an ass into my crotch. I have to put my thoughts elsewhere to ignore the sensation of my cock pressing between his cheeks.
"I hate you, Jack," he mumbles, putting his head back and resting it on my collarbone.
This catches me off guard. The words throw me for a loop. I know he is being nasty because I am holding him hostage under freezing cold water, but I think he is being truthful. Ty's words really cut me. I abruptly let go of him.
"Okay," I say, reaching down and turning the knobs back to hot. "I think you can handle it from here. I would do the rotation two or three more times before taking your shower in the hot water."
I step out of the tub, leaving Ty alone. I peel off my shorts and ring them out over the sink. Did I just catch Tyson giving me a fleeting glance in the mirror?
I snag a towel and turn and face him as I finish wrapping it around my waist. "Okay, alchie, finish up your spa day and come downstairs if you decide you want to help get this shithole back to its original glory."
Knowing I probably won't see him, I head out of the bathroom and make my way to my room to put on some dry clothes and see if Claire has left yet.
***
I grab my keys and head out the door. Before I can turn around from my pickup to see if Tyson would be interested in riding with me downtown, I see Claire come through the front door and walk up the path into the northern section of the woods. I figured she had met Tyson and all of his politeness and decided she needed to walk it off.
A few moments later I see him come to the screen door and watch her begin her hike. I reach in and beep the horn, motioning for him to come with. His response: flipping me off and disappearing back in the house. Another minute or two goes by and he reemerges with some toast in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other. He pulls the door shut and walks toward the truck.
"Shit. You still have this old clunker? How old is it now?" he asks as he plops in the passenger side.
I am stunned for a moment as I picture him, a fraction of his age, with his tackle box and Spider-Man fishing rod. He is looking at me all wide-eyed and eager to get to the river. Fishing at the river: our favorite early morning ritual.
"You're my good luck charm, Ty-Guy. How many fish are we going to catch today?"
"37," he responds confidently.
I ruffle his hair and say okay.
"Hey, Jack. You having a stroke or something?" It's full grown Tyson this time. He is staring at me partly concerned and partly impatient.
"Sorry. What were you saying?"
"How old is Greyson, now?"
I smile at the fact that he remembered the name he chose for my pickup over a dozen and a half years ago. "I think he is going to be thirty soon."
"Damn. Maybe you should look into getting a new one."
"Why? He has never let me down. You know what I mean?"
His almost happy expression disappears in a flash, and he turns to look out the window. "Nope. Can't say that I do."
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
His Woods (MxM)
Romansa(Previously known as Breaking the Beast) Tyson knows he isn't perfect, but he doesn't think he deserves a summer stuck at the old holiday cabin with his dad's friend, Jack. After he gets kicked out of college and assigned probation, Tyson has to lea...
