I put my hand over Silas’s and held it a moment before letting go. “So tell me about where we’re going. I’m wearing swimming trunks under my pants, and I can’t believe I actually packed them in my rush to leave LA.”
“George brought me swimming here when we were kids.”
“It’s a lake?”
“Smaller. Has a waterfall.”
“Are there fish in the water?”
“Guess so.”
“Ew!”
Silas laughed. “You’ll be fine.”
“If something touches me in the water, be prepared to hear the most unmanly scream of your life.”
“Fair warning.”
I looked at Silas. The easy banter between us was nice. It felt so natural, even when his answers were short or only nods of agreement. Sitting in the car with him felt like something we’d done a hundred—athousandtimes. I didn’t want it to stop.
Ever.
“I’m going to ask George. About cooking full-time.”
Silas didn’t say anything.
“And you know, stick around.”
“With me?” Silas glanced away from the road once or twice.
I tried to calm the nervous excitement bubbling up. “Do you want me? Here—I mean? With you?”
“Yes.” Simple and to the point.
A smile I couldn’t contain broke out across my face. “Then I will.”
Neither of us said anything after that.
Silas drove a while longer, leaving the Notch and eventually turning off onto a small dirt road. About a mile down was a forgotten picnic site overgrown with weeds. The table under a big tree had paint peeling off it and was warped from the weather. Silas parked, got out of the car, and led the way to the table, where he began undressing.
“Does this mean we’re dating-dating?” I asked, taking my glasses off before tugging my shirt up over my head.
“I suppose it does.”
“Boyfriends?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet.”
Silas chuckled. He folded his clothes in a neat pile, adjusted the trunks on his hips, and looked at me. “Just when I imagine you’re not hiding any more tattoos.”
“Oh, you still haven’t seen them all,” I said, piling my clothes beside his.
Silas looked sincerely startled. “Where… else are they?”
“I promise I did not tattoo my dick. Or asshole. But I knew someone who did.”
