“Liar. You’ve been weird all day.”
“You haven’t seen me all day.”
“That’s what you think.”
For a horrifying moment, I imagined that he’d seen me adjusting my too-tight jeans under the breakfast table. Then I realised he was winding me up. “Piss off.”
Joe laughed again. “Whatever. If you’re not coming in for your dinner, you can take these to the clinic on your way home.”
“The clinic isn’t on my way home.”
“It is now.”
Joe dropped a box of hay cubes in my arms—we kept a stash at the clinic for the horses who helped with balance therapy. On any other day, I wouldn’t have minded, but the thought of seeing Cole was abruptly terrifying. I wanted to be rolling around on his bed. I couldn’t seem to deal with him any other way.
But I couldn’t explain that to Joe, so I took the hay cubes and hassled him for his van keys.
“Waves are gonna be good tonight,” I said. “Come with me if you want.”
“Can’t. The accountant is coming over to help me write my suicide note. But be careful out there, okay? Don’t go out alone.”
“Whatevs.”
I took the keys and walked away whistling as if the old Irish tunes I’d picked up from my father could stop the anticipation having a rave in my gut. It built and built as I got closer to the clinic, a place that usually left me feeling oddly calm. The complex had expanded since Harry had founded it a few years ago. The main building had doubled in size, and four residential chalets had become lucky number seven. I wondered why Harry hadn’t housed Cole in the one Angelo had once lived in. It would’ve made more sense than rushing to finish the dilapidated cottage, but I didn’t get to make decisions round here. I was the errand boy.
No, you’re not. You aren’t sixteen anymore.
But sometimes I had as much trouble remembering that as Joe did when he called me “kid” and sent me on stupid jobs like this.
I took the hay cubes to the shed. It was next to the wooden pyramid Harry had built for “energy from the sun,” whatever that meant. It was a large space with natural light and lots of plants and crystals. I’d never figured out what it was supposed to be for, but tonight, as luck would have it, I spied Cole through the window, leading a class through some gentle stretches.
Pilates was a mystery to me too, but I recognised some of the moves from watching Angelo. But Cole didn’t move like Angelo. Though he lacked the astounding elegance leftover from Angelo’s ballet days, he shifted his body around like flowing water, and I was instantly transfixed. The arch of his back, his rolling hips, the deceptive strength in his lean shoulders. Like, seriously. How did he hold himself like that without wobbling? Was he made of elastic?
His dick isn’t.
The stray thought made my blood run too hot, and I was glad I was alone so no one could see me blush. I backed away from the shed and the pyramid and chipped back to the yard to fetch the van.
My board wasn’t where I left it. After twenty minutes of searching, I found it in the hay barn. I carried it back, grumbling, though no one was around to hear me, and jumped in the van with an uncharacteristic urge to leave the farm behind for a while. My skin felt too tight for my body, and I knew what that meant: I was Cornish. I needed my dose of the ocean.
I got in the van and drove out of the yard. There were two gates to get through before I hit a real road, and as I rumbled down the dirt track, I spied a familiar figure tracking across the field. Or, more accurately, I spotted Cole’s crazy trousers billowing in the breeze.
Slowing, I pulled up at the dry-stone wall just as he reached it and rolled the window down. “Hey.”
Cole’s natural stone face softened to a grin. “Hey yourself. Going somewhere?”
“The beach. I’m gonna catch the mid-tide.”
“To what? Surf?”
“Yeah. Forecast looks good.”
“I wouldn’t know. Surfing isn’t a thing in Hammersmith.”
“That’s where you lived?”
“Among other landlocked boroughs, yeah.”
“I’ve never been to London.”