Drew was half wheezing as they crested a slight hill, and Steve glanced over, eyebrows raised. A car whooshed past them, creating the illusion of a breeze, and he held his arms away from his body, taking advantage to cool off. “You gonna make it?”
Drew mock glowered, sweaty but no less attractive for it. “Is this all you got?” he challenged, huffing along.
Steve laughed. “No,” he said, and he pushed himself faster, putting a few paces between himself and Drew.
“I take it back!”
“Too little, too late!” Steve called over his shoulder, picking up speed until Drew was running along just behind him, too winded to comment.
He stopped a minute later so they could all take a water break, Rita happily slopping a good portion of her share on Steve’s shoes, the sidewalk, and, when she turned her attention to Drew, Drew’s hairy calf.
“Thanks, baby,” Drew said, dry, rubbing the fur on her flank.
Rita stared devotedly up at Drew and panted, wagging her tail.
Steve wasn’t sure what he related to more: Drew’s mild distaste or Rita’s besotted affection.
The car from before drove past again, slower this time. Probably gawkers. Tourists looking for glimpses at even the houses of the stars got lost up here all the time.
If this were Steve’s normal morning run, it would be populated with general LA passersby, coffee shops, crosswalks, and other opportunities for distraction. Out here, though, his mother’s privacy needs meant he basically ran down one side of Coldwater Canyon and back up the other. In LA he and Drew could’ve stopped somewhere for a bite to eat. Here they’d have to fend for themselves.
Oh well. Dina had stocked the fridge before she left. Steve could manage.
They returned home just as the heat reached intolerable levels. Steve unlocked the front door and the sweet, cool, blissful balm of conditioned air cocooned him. His T-shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and the skin on his face felt tight and tingly, a side effect of drying salt and too much sun. He probably looked like a wreck.
Drew closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, breathing hard. His cheeks were flushed over his tan, and a rivulet of sweat ran from his temple down the side of his neck. He’d changed out of his baggy T-shirt before they left, and the more fitted one he’d chosen was white, almost sheer now with moisture. Steve could see the peaks of his nipples.
Rita nudged him out of his unapologetic staring by tugging at her leash. He unclipped her and she beelined for her water, which she proceeded to slurp enthusiastically.
“No wonder you’re in such good shape,” Drew commented, his chest heaving.
Damn it. Now Steve was staring again. “You kept up just fine.”
“Yeah, but I think I might’ve partially melted.” Drew stood up straight, wincing as he unstuck from the door.
Steve swallowed hard.Down, boy.“Let’s hit the showers,” he suggested weakly. “Get the sweat off and then I’ll start breakfast.”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment Steve felt like he was back outside in the sun.
“Uh, good idea,” Drew said finally. “I’m just gonna… yeah.” But Steve couldn’t move, afraid of what might happen if he did, so when Drew passed him on the way to the guest bath, their hands brushed, and a zing of current tingled up Steve’s arm and made him shiver.
A shower was definitely in order. Areally coldshower.
STEVEmanaged breakfast—yogurt, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, and whole wheat toast—and later that afternoon, Drew made them sandwiches to accompany the rest of the potato salad while Steve worked on the script. But as nice as it was to sit at his table in the sunny den and write while Drew swam or played with Rita or lounged in the sun, Steve thought they’d both go stir-crazy if they didn’t leave the property for three days.
Besides, it was his turn to take Drew out.
“So I have an idea for dinner,” Steve said, standing under the pool canopy. “But we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Drew looked up from the pulp paperback he’d picked off the shelf in Steve’s dad’s office. “That sounds ominous.”
Steve tore his eyes away from the damp hem of Drew’s swim shorts. “It’s not. A friend of mine, Alex, is the maître d’ at a restaurant in town. He can get us in the back entrance to a private table. You like seafood, right? I already told him no dill.”
Drew set the book aside and squinted at Steve. “Are you trying to impress me?”
No point denying it. Steve nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
“Oh. In that case, I accept. Though I didn’t bring much in the way of formalwear.”
