Page 40 of Grumpy Bear

He put me to work gathering the right size and shape of stones and bringing them to him so he could set them in place. He talked a surprising amount—a total dad-style lecture on the engineering origins and maintenance of the rock dam.

I asked a few questions so he’d know I was listening, and I tried to keep up the pace. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious how much of my attention was spent checking out the bulge and strain of his shoulder muscles as he worked.

After about forty-five minutes, Coleman proclaimed the wall good enough for now, and waded back out toward the center of the swimming hole.

“That didn’t take too long,” I said, following him into the cool, deeper water.

“Much better with an extra pair of hands.” His intense and urgent frown was finally gone. “Definitely beats doing it by myself like I did yesterday.”

I couldn’t help but notice he said it was better with me here, not faster. “Happy to help a brother out.” I said it with an innocent deadpan. It wasn’t lost on me that I kept pitching him these softballs—cheesy innuendos, double entendres, porn clichés. I felt this impulse to coax out his sense of humor. I also enjoyed watching him squirm a little bit, but I wondered if he was ever going to volley one back at me. I knew he read a lot, he was clearly intelligent, but he didn’t seem interested in bantering with me,

Coleman only rolled his eyes, his forcefield of seriousness still in place.

“Won’t the dam make the creek dry up farther down?” I used the question as an excuse to move closer to him. It was technically shallow enough to stand, but I tread water, my feet moving in larger arcs than was necessary, my toes bumping his leg.

He didn’t move away. “Nah. There’s still water draining down off the mountains all along the way from a thousand tiny underground tributaries.”

I let my arms drift close to his, finding his hands over and over, my fingers barely grazing and then retreating. The wet hair on his knuckles made my dick instantly hard. So hard it was bumping straight up against my belly. I knew at this angle he couldn’t see more than a few inches beneath the surface, but I felt totally exposed to him.

Coleman waved his arms slowly, oddly quiet even for him, pointedly admiring our surroundings.

I suspected he was turned on too. He had to be. Nudity wasn’t enough to make my body respond like this. There had to be something more, some energy between us.

To find out for sure, all I had to do was casually reach my hand under the water…

He looked at me. “What?”

Shit. I swear he must have heard my thoughts. I lost my nerve and tried to cover with more conversation. “I was just remembering this vision board I had when I was a teenager. It had a picture of a log cabin on it. It must be pretty awesome to get to live in a place like this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A men’s, clothing-optional campground?”

I chuckled. “Well, yeah, that. But I meant, you know, in the mountains, close to nature but also near a city. Kind of the best of both worlds, right?”

“Hmm.” He scowled. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

We were almost close enough to be slow dancing, and it kind of felt like we were, but he wasn’t backing away. What would he do if I suddenly put my arm around his waist?

Coleman opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself.

I narrowed my eyes. “Or are you afraid to ruin the illusion by telling me it’s totally boring?”

He sighed. “Well, yeah. In the off-season, it is.”

I frowned. “You don’t love it here then?” Wavy reflections lit his face from underneath. I could feel his breath on my cheeks. It all made me a little cross-eyed.

“I didn’t exactly love it at first. We get snowed in about three times a year. My first few winters, I thought I’d go nuts. But that was quite a while ago.” He paused, scrutinizing me. “How old are you? Like, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-seven. You?” I’d been wanting to ask, so I was glad he’d brought it up.

“Forty.”

I hoped he wasn’t about to use this as an excuse to claim I was too young for him or something. “I would’ve guessed thirty-five.”

He smirked. “Suck up.” There it was. Finally. A little teasing humor beyond calling me Surfer Cowboy, which any bully could do.

“No, really. I’m terrible at guessing people’s ages. Especially men. Beards and brawn, barbered haircuts or bald heads. That all makes it hard to tell.” It was an honest answer. What else could I have said? I wasn’t about to confess I was generally attracted to older guys. It would have sounded like a line.

“I was a few years younger than you when I first got here. I was still very much into going out. Partying. The lulls between all the action around here can be long.”