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“We can still be frien’s when we’re going out. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
“You’re just so much fun. So good to be around. So perfect.”
“Perfect?” Wentworth looked smug.
“And so perfectly preposterous, and so annoyingly stubborn.”
“See, the fondness in your voice makes me think you quite like those things.”
God dammit, he did.
“We can’t!” But Elliot heard it, the lack of sincerity behind his outburst. As if he wanted Wentworth to keep debating with him. As if he wanted Wentworth to persuade him into changing his mind.
Wentworth studied his face for three long, heart-pounding beats. He tapped the tip of his nose with a wet finger. “Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because, why?”
Elliot threw up his hands in exasperation. “Because you’d be my first, and everyone knows firsts don’t last. In a month, or in a year you’ll want to move on, it’s natural you’ll want to move on, and then—” He stopped abruptly. “Anyway, it’s just not a good idea. Let’s go home.”
Elliot started to push himself out of the pool and Wentworth scooped his arms around his waist and pushed them off the wall. Water sluiced over his chest, ticklish—or maybe that was the beat of his heart. Calm words feathered Elliot’s ear. “I’ll want to move on, and then what, Elliot?”
Elliot shut his eyes and let Wentworth support them, let him steer them back to the pool ledge. Wentworth positioned Elliot with his back to the smooth wall and trod water before him. “Then, what?”
“Careful, a swimmer’s approaching.”
“Barely halfway down the lane. Plenty of time.”
Elliot pulled up his slipping goggles. They caught on a strand of wet hair. He fiddled to free it, twisted it more, and gave up. Wentworth’s piercing, patient gaze was distracting. Made him shiver. He should just say it. Shouldn’t make this a bigger deal than it was . . . “You make staying above water like that look so effortless.” Fail.
Wentworth worked his legs so his chest lifted out of the water. “Scottish.”
“Problematic. I wasn’t aware everything in Scotland floated.”
“I’m from a land of myth and mystery.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, of course.”
Wentworth stared right through Elliot’s flustered bullshit. “Selkie heritage.”
“Did you just compare yourself to a magical seal person?”
Wentworth sank below the surface and sprang up again, caging him against the side of the pool. His lopsided grin had Elliot swallowing hard.
“Then, what?”
Elliot chuckled, shutting his eyes. His voice came out broken, husky. “You’ll want to move on, and then I’ll miss you.”
“Elliot.” Softly, almost a whisper.
Elliot opened his eyes.
Not a smile in sight. Wentworth looked earnest. “Let’s get out of here.”
They crammed into Elliot’s old car and drove through town, gearbox screeching.
At the pier, he parked. Wentworth had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire drive and Elliot’s stomach hadn’t stopped bubbling. He shouldn’t have said anything. Definitely not that.
“See you at school Monday?”
Wentworth undid his seatbelt and leaned over to undo Elliot’s. Navy eyes met his evenly. “Out of the car, bumblebee.”
Elliot climbed out and shakily followed Wentworth to where his houseboat was roped to the cleat. A white, bobbing vessel. With railings. “The Frederick. . . . solid trawler . . . long keel and hard chines—real good out on the open sea. Gaunae come inside?”
Wentworth had taught him to swim. Refusing this request would be ungrateful. Besides, Elliot might be shaking like a jellyfish, but he was excited too. Maybe . . .
Maybe.
He swallowed and took Wentworth’s outstretched hand. Steady fingers closed firmly around his trembling ones. Protective.
The boat didn’t rock nearly as much as Elliot had anticipated. A gentle sway, maybe, barely that. Wentworth showed him around all the narrow spaces, stopping briefly to say hello to his dad.
Wow. Clear where Wentworth got his large build and gallant looks. It was almost intimidating standing in the company of father and son, having to crane his head to meet their blue eyes and all that ginger hair. If Wentworth ever grew a short beard like that . . .
“Is this him, then?” Wentworth’s dad said, grinning.
Wentworth glowed and made the introductions. “He’s why I’m always off in fairyland.”
Elliot laughed. “Fairyland? It’s a wonder we never meet there then.”
If Wentworth’s eyes were twinkling before, it was nothing on now. He slapped a hand on his dad’s back. “Save the grilling for another time, eh? Elliot and I are going to my room.”
“All right, all right. I’m making baked-bean surprise. Stay for dinner. I’ll grill you then.”
Elliot let Wentworth drag him away. “How tempting.”
They entered a cabin the size of Elliot’s double bed. Wentworth had a single with drawers underneath. A digital piano sat against the wall, a stowaway desk built into a panel next to it and a guitar strapped above. And that was pretty much it. The space was tidy; Elliot expected it needed to be.
“I like your bed. The trebles on the duvet, I mean.”
He tried to untangle his fingers from Wentworth’s but that earned him a soft growl and Elliot laughed. “Fine, but don’t complain about the clamminess.”
