“Taking your shoes off, Johnny?”
“Nope.”
“Nope to the shoes, or Johnny?”
“Both.”
He toed his other sneaker off his heel and kicked again.
Oz Tie whipped his hands up and caught it. “Are you aiming at me on purpose?”
“Your reflexes are adequate. Shoes off, or I’ll start flinging the rest of my clothing at you.”
Oz Tie laughed, tipping his head to the patchwork of fluffy clouds above.
Zach skimmed his fedora through the air with a flick of his wrist, and the gods were a glorious bunch—it landed on Oz Tie’s head, a little cocked over one eye. “I’ve just thought of a new game, Jeremy.”
He’d never seen someone move so fast to take their shoes off.
“That’s the spirit. Feel the grains of sun-warmed sand in the cracks between your toes.”
“Toe cracks. Other cracks.”
Zach laughed. “Whip that hat back?”
Oz Tie pushed up from the ground and walked it over, each step sinking him to his ankles. Zach laughed in a ticklish rush as he came close. His eyes were glittering in competition with the sea. Oz Tie eased the fedora onto his head and Zach flicked it into place, grinning. “Remind me to give this back to you at the end of the day. There’ll be one extra looking for it tomorrow.”
Oz Tie shook his head and gazed at the ocean. “The salt air does feel good.”
“Every breath works miracles.”
“I feel bizarrely energetic.”
Zach grabbed Oz Tie’s hand and dragged him to the firmer sand, wet from an earlier tide. “Roll up your sleeves and the cuffs of your pants.”
“To dip our toes in frigid water?”
“That too.”
Zach tucked up the ends of his jeans and flung himself into a rush better than—well no, not better than sex, but close. Cartwheels, hands and toes pressed into the sand, flinging it loose as he laughed. He turned back and beckoned Oz Tie, who’d picked up the fallen fedora and was brushing it free of wet sand.
“Even if I wanted to—and I don’t—I can’t cartwheel.”
“It’s like riding a bike, you’ll remember how to do it once you start.”
“Perhaps in theory, but I’ve never cartwheeled in my life.”
He’d never . . . “How about a handstand? No?”
Zach snagged the hat from him and put it on with purpose this time. “Right, it’s simple. Just throw yourself toward the ground with your hands outstretched.”
“You know, there’s sage advice about not doing everything someone tells you.”
A laugh burst out of Zach. He grabbed Oz Tie’s shirtsleeve, unbuttoned the cuff and lazily rolled it to mid forearm, fine hairs dancing under the tips of his fingers. “It’s a very short drop. Your hands will help you find your centre of balance.”
“Is that right?”
While Oz Tie sorted his second sleeve, Zach dropped to his knees. “Try it.”
Oz Tie’s breath hitched as he looked at him, eyes dancing with something like panic. Zach worked the suit pants up the corded muscle of his calves. “The rush of blood to your head is worth it.”
Oz Tie shook himself and stepped back. “This feels like something a kid does.”
“Why do you think kids are so happy?”
Oz Tie eyed the firm sand and palmed it with both hands.
“Like that, yeah, except kick your legs up at the same time.”
“I’m just . . . getting acquainted with the idea.”
“Oh, okay.” Zach pushed to his feet and grabbed one of Oz Tie’s legs, pushing it up.
A yelp. “What are you doing?”
“So you get the feel of it. Now, lift your other leg. Don’t worry, I’ll catch it.”
“Zachary!”
Zach stretched Oz Tie’s legs up, hands at those thighs. “You’re doing great! Don’t you feel terrific?”
“I feel like I’m about to be hooked up for slaughter. Let me down—”
Oops. Zach overcorrected, losing his balance—
Oz Tie landed on his back with a thump and an “Oof” and Zach came down on top, head moshed on his privates.
His own privates got a thrilling little fondling of their own. Oh wait, that was Oz Tie’s jaw. “Get off me?”
Zach scooted off him, whirling around on all fours until they were face to flushed face. He grinned sheepishly. “At least I kept my hat on?”
His new friend palmed his forehead. “I hope this won’t hurt my back.”
“There-there. Probably no worse than your odd arthritic flare-up.”
That hand dropped slowly from his face. “I’ve never had the odd arthritic flare-up.”
“Then consider this practice for the very near future.”
Oz Tie lurched into a sitting position. “How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty, at least.”
“I—” He took a deep breath, eyes flashing. “Thirty is not old.”
Zach patted his arm.
“It’s not. Neither is thirty-three.”
“Do you like swimming, Wesley?”
“We don’t have swim gear.”
“And I don’t see who’ll care.” Zach dropped the hat into Oz Tie’s lap and pulled off both his shirts at once. Immediately his nipples hardened. It was a little fresh.
Oz Tie stared at the tattoos climbing up Zach’s arm and rolling over a pec. “Amazing, right? My brother designed them. All our native birds; the floating trebles between them are their songs.”
