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you be rachel and i'll be bong rips

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The thing about living year-round in a vacation town is that it isn’t all that great most of the time. Sure, during the summer, there’s the breeze rolling in from the Atlantic, the neat New England colonials, and the sugared scent of ice cream mixing with the oil of French fries to make your mouth water everywhere you go. But once summer leaves, the town pretty much goes with it.

All the tourists leave, and because any way of making a decent amount of money is shot, all the restaurants, bars, and mini-golf courses close up. There isn’t anything to fucking do, or anywhere to fucking go. Cape Cod is sandwiched by water on both sides, so the weather fucking sucks; it’s always fucking raining. And all the good houses near the beach are reserved for tourists, so they sit empty nine months out of the year while Mike and his family have to live in a house that’s too small for them, thirty minutes from the nearest beach. And when you’re on Cape Cod, you have to almost actively try to live that far away.

Winter in a vacation town sucks. But it isn’t winter, yet.

There’s still one week of summer, and Mike intends to make the most of it.

Granted, there isn’t too much to make. There’s just, mostly, working at the ice cream shop.

He’s worked at the ice cream shop every summer since he was sixteen. He’s a pro at it by now. Ovi, the owner, pretty much leaves him to run the store during his shifts. But in order to help his parents pay for college, along with his hockey scholarship, he works a 50-hour week, all summer. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else.

“Do you have any more of the mocha chocolate chip?” asks the girl at the counter. She and her friends have obviously just come from the beach. There are four of them, maybe in their early twenties. She’s been eyeing him up as he’s taken all of her friends’ orders, ring them up. He’s been eyeing her back. She’s brunette, has her sunglasses perched up on top of her head and one of those bikini tops that looks like it had been crocheted.

He glances down. They had just run out when the girls walked in. He’d meant to go get a replacement, but he’d served the girls first.

“Looks like we’re all out,” he says. “You want to try it?”

She nods, bites her lip, looks at him from under her eyelashes.

“You betcha,” he says. He hoists the drum out of the counter, makes sure to flex his muscles while doing it. He’s cut all the sleeves off his work shirts for this exact reason. As he does, he imagines lifting the girl like that, pushing her against the wall. Maybe pushing up her bikini top. Pulling down her bottoms. He’d done that with a few girls last summer. He’d even fucked one in the back of the shop, after closing. He’s imagining doing that to the girl, now, gathering her soft hair in his hand and kissing her full mouth.

So he’s horny. He’s nineteen, sue him.

He brings the drum to the back, picks a fresh one out of the walk-in freezer. The drums are fucking heavy, but he makes sure to make it look easy and fluid as he lifts the drum back into it’s place. Thank God for hockey muscles.

“Look at that ladies, he’s a fucking monster! He’s a beast!” Mike feels big, warm hands clap down on his shoulders, give him a quick massage. “Look at these delts! The delts of an animal!”

“Fuck off dude,” groans Mike, rolling his eyes. He shrugs Tom’s hands off his shoulders, turns around to look at him. Tom is grinning, his hair pulled back into the half ponytail he has to wear while he’s working. He must have come in through the back for the start of his shift.

Mike had liked Tom’s hands on him, especially after the cold of the freezer, but he knows he’s supposed to shrug them off. That's part of the joke.

The girls giggle, and Tom waggles his eyebrows, heading into the back to do God knows what.

“Sorry about him,” says Mike, as he bends down to scoop the girl’s ice cream. “He’s an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says the girl, watching his arms as he scoops. It sounds stupid, and he won’t ever tell anyone about it, but he’d figured out the way his arms look best while scooping by doing it in the mirror. Times like these, it's worth it.

“That’ll be two-fifty,” he says, handing her the ice cream cone. She takes it, and he’s pretty sure she purposefully brushes their hands together in the trade off. When it happens again when she hands over the cash, he’s sure of it.

The girls go and sit at the tables outside to eat their ice cream cones. It’s pretty quiet, so Mike just spaces out, looking out the window, keeping the girls in his peripheral vision to see if they look over at him. He can hear Tom clattering around in the back.

Tom is… weird. Or that is, Mike’s relationship to Tom is weird. They’d both worked in the same shop, every summer, for three years straight now. A lot of time, it was just the two of them. In the shop, they’d gotten really close. They had shot the shit during the slow times, rainy days, with no interruptions for hours at a time. During after dinner rush, Mike had watched Tom at the register, waving to babies, or bending over, scooping ice cream. Mike wonders if Tom had practiced, the same way he had. It looks good, either way.

They went to the same high school, too, even played on the same hockey team. But it was like there was this weird gap between them, during the school year. They barely even talked. It was one thing to be ferda boys, and it was natural that you weren’t going to be as close with every single guy on the team. Mike just hadn’t ever experienced a divide this final, where it was one thing at school and a completely other thing once school let out.

He’d been worried, last summer, about what was going to happen their first year at college. Mike had gone to BU, to play for the Terriers on a scholarship, Tom the same, but to UConn for the Huskies. But they had both come home, and from the first second, it had been exactly the same as always.

He’s torn from his thoughts when the little bell over the door rings. It’s the girl from before, back again.

“You forget something?” he asks.

“Sort of,” she says, smiling at him. She’s almost as tall as him, but she tilts her head so she’s still looking at him through her eyelashes. He likes the little ways girls flirts. Likes the glances, and the light touches. It feels like a dance.

She slides what looks like the receipt he had given them back over the counter.

“Me and my friends are staying at my dad’s place. He’s out of town. He’s rich and divorced and feels guilty about not spending enough time with me, so he lets me use his vacation house whenever I want.” Mike laughs, and she shrugs, grinning a little. “It’s true! Anyway, me and my friends are having a little bonfire party tonight. You should drop by. It’s right on the water. It’s gonna be super chill. The address is right there, and so’s my number.”

Mike looks down at the receipt. He knows the street written down; it’s in the more expensive area of town. She also has her number written down, and on top of it all, “Becca”.

“Cool,” says Mike.

“Cool,” says Becca, and flips her hair nervously. “Just text me if you’re gonna drop by.”

“What time?”

“Umm…. Like maybe nine? Nine-thirty?”


“Awesome. So… I’m gonna go join my friends. See you there?”


She’s almost out the door when he speaks. “I’m Mike, by the way,” he calls out.

She stops, grins at him over her shoulder. “Nice to meet ya, Mike. See you tonight.”

One of her friends sticks her head around the corner. “Bring your friend, too! He’s hot!”

“Shut up, Emma!” Becca squeals, and hits her on the shoulder. Emma cackles.

“Did I hear something about a bonfire party?” asks Tom, sticking his head out of the back. He’s got his stupid yellow dish washing gloves on.

Mike nods.

“You wanna pregame at my place first?” Tom asks. When Mike nods again, Tom goes back to the sink, whistling.




Mike goes back to his place, showers, shaves. He doesn’t know where his face is going to be getting tonight, but in case it’s going where he’s hoping it will, he knows a lot of girls don’t like stubble burn. He agonizes over which aftershave to use, before decided just to use his every day one. At least he knows it works.

He drives over to Tom’s, parks in the drive way. He’s only been over to Tom’s a couple of times, mostly for parties. Never one on one. He sits in the car for a second before he gets out, rings the doorbell.

“Hey dude,” says Tom, as he opens the door. He’s dressed almost the exact same as Mike: t-shirt, jean shorts, flip flops. Tom has a Cape Cod Dad cap on, which Mike knows Tom thinks is hilarious.

“We’re going up to my room, mom!” yells Tom, as they clatter up the stairs.

Mike hears a faint “Who’s we?” back.

“Did you not tell your mom I was coming over?” asks Mike.

“It’s fine, she doesn’t actually care,” says Tom, shrugging. He bends over to reach under his desk. Mike rips his eyes away and looks around the room. It’s pretty bland: there’s hockey posters on the wall, clothes on the floor, a bed with messed up dark blue sheets. The one thing of note is the huge TV opposite the bed, the gaming system on a table underneath it. It looks like Tom has a lot of games.

“Aha!” Tom says, and straightens up with an enormous blue bong in his hand.

“Holy shit,” says Mike, startled into laughing. He knows Tom smokes—Tom will sometimes bring in joints to work on rainy days that they share, huddled underneath the back awning and trying to keep it the spark from going out—but this is something else.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Tom asks, stroking the tube of the bong. Mike swallows as his fingers move up and down. “Her name is Bertha.”

“That’s a fucking stupid name,” says Mike.

“You’re a fucking stupid name,” says Tom, happily, as he sits at the desk, starts to pack Bertha. “Pop a squat on the bed, dude. Don’t be shy.”

“Sure,” says Mike. They pass the bong back and forth for a while, until Mike is lightly buzzed. He will admit that Bertha is smooth as hell. He likes bongs, the sound of the water and the weight in his hands.

Once they kill it, Tom comes to join Mike on the bed.

“You wanna play something, dude?” asks Tom.

“Sure,” says Mike. He’s slouched against the headboard. He’s only a little high. He doesn’t want to say anything, but Tom’s weed is kind of shit. But it’d be nice to have something to look at, something to do with his hands. With Tom right next to him, all he wants to do is look at him, touch him.

“Honestly man, when I’m stoned, I can’t play like Call of Duty or anything like that. No violence. All I want to do,” says Tom, with his head in his hands, “is play Mario Kart.”

Mike laughs. “That’s chill, man. Let’s do Mario Kart.”

They play a couple of rounds. Mike is right, it’s nice to having something to do with his hands and eyes, but he doesn’t count on Tom sitting so close, smelling so good. Their shoulders are touching, and Tom keeps throwing elbows but then just like, leaving them there. It’s driving Mike crazy.

After the last round, Tom sits up and stretches. “God, I’m not stoned at all anymore. That weed was dogshit.”

“Same,” says Mike, resting his controller in his lap, watching Tom stretch.

“What’re you looking at?” Tom asks, grinning.

Mike looks away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Dude. Hey. It’s okay to look.” Tom touches Mike’s chin and pulls him around to look at Tom.

“Yeah?” asks Mike. He swallows. Their faces are really close. Like, really, really close.

“Yeah,” says Tom. “I like it.”

Tom brings their mouths together. All Mike can do for a second is sit there, eyes fully open, clutching his controller. His mind is going “!!!!!!!” His mind is going “???????” His mind is going “!?!?!?!?!?!?!?” Eventually his mind goes “shrug emoji” and he closes his eyes, kisses back. Tom rests a hand on the back of Mike’s neck, and Mike shivers.

Aren’t you supposed to do your experimentation at college? The summer wasn’t over yet!

Tom breaks the kiss first. “You good, man?” asks Tom.

“Me? I’m, yeah. For sure, yeah. Unexpected, I guess? But um, good. For sure.”

“Good,” says Tom, and grabs Mike around the waist, drags Mike on top of Tom. Mike hasn’t ever had a partner big enough to throw him around, even a little. It’s fun.

They kiss again, and Tom draws his hand up the back of Mike’s leg, squeezes the part of his thigh right under his ass. Mike groans.

“Yeah,” slurs Tom, into Mike’s mouth. “Fuck, yeah.” He pushes his hands up under Mike’s shirt, strokes his hands up his back. Mike’s back bows, and Tom follows the curve, gets a handful of Mike’s ass through his jeans on the way back down. Tom strokes his hands back up, and Mike lifts his hands above his head, lets Tom take off his shirt. He helps Tom wrestle of his own shirt, and when they lie back down, they’re chest to chest. Mike loves that first moment of skin to skin contact, even if he’s used to coming into contact with soft breasts, rather than hard muscle. Still, it’s not surprising to him that he likes it just the same.

Mike gets his hands into Tom’s hair. He can’t help but catalogue all the ways kissing Tom is different. His mouth is wider, his kisses a little more aggressive, although Mike’s definitely had girls take the lead the way Tom is. His whole body is just bigger, under Mike. And if he’s not wrong, he can feel the press of Tom’s hard cock through his jeans. But his skin is still warm, and his hair is still soft, and Mike finds that he really doesn’t mind the differences.

They kiss for a while, before Mike realizes that Tom’s waiting on him to take the lead, which is very gentlemanly of him. Mike pops the button on Tom’s shorts, drags his hand down Tom’s dick through the fabric and squeezes. Tom exhales through his nose.

“Can I, um.” Mike sort of buries his face in Tom’s chest, because it’s easier to ask when he isn’t looking. “Can I suck your dick?”

“For real?” Tom’s hands pause where they’re still stroking Mike’s back. “I was figuring like, handjobs, maybe. If I got lucky.”

“I mean, if it’s cool with you,” says Mike.

“Have you ever done it before?” asks Tom.

“No, but I-I like it. I mean, I know I’ll like it.”

“Fuck,” Tom whispers, guides Mike’s face up to his, kisses him. “Fuck, yeah, if you want dude. If you don’t like it, though, no pressure.”

They wrestle Tom’s dick out together. There’s a reason Mike asked for this, for giving oral. It’s mostly because he knows he’s good at it, and he knows people like it. He’s not going to pretend that he’s a nineteen-year-old pussy eating god, but his mom told him to go slow, and to ask questions, and to listen. It seems like more than a lot of guys his age are doing, if the girls he’s gone down on are any indication. He figures it’ll pass over to sucking dick, too. Besides, he feels like this gives him something to do, other than just lying there.

He has to admit, he is a little stumped for a second when he gets down there. But he knows that Tom will take any hesitation as a refusal, so moves in, gives the head a closed mouth kiss and then opens it up, presses his tongue against the head. He had a girlfriend who started every blowjob like that, and at this point he has an almost Pavlovian response to it. He wonders, with a jerk of his cock, if he can get Tom to respond like that, too.

He mostly lets instinct guide him, taking a little bit from his memories as he goes along. He knows he likes to be teased, so he doesn’t put it in his mouth at first, licks the sides. He thinks about all the girls who have done this to him, long nails around the base and long hair pooling at his hips. His nails are stubby, and his hair is short, but he feels like he can figure it out anyway.

He kisses around the head a little more. Tom is stroking along his shoulders, over and over, in a way that’s a little annoying but is mostly nice. He collects some precome on his lips, looks up at Tom so he can see the visual. Tom swipes a finger along Mike’s lips, and Mike lets his mouth drop open. Lets Tom rest a thumb on his tongue, closes his mouth around it and sucks.

Mike releases Tom’s thumb, but keeps his mouth open, and lets Tom feed just the head of his dick into Mike’s mouth. Mike closes and sucks, just like he did to Tom’s thumb. He closes his eyes, too, and sucks in slow pulses, bobbing his head just a little. Then he draws up and starts sucking Mike’s dick for real.

He almost immediately realizes he should send a thank you note to any girl who sucked his dick. It’s not unpleasant, necessarily, but it’s hard work for his neck muscles, and he has to carefully prop himself up so he can get a hand around the base.

But he can feel Tom’s thighs twitching. He can hear his little moans, almost subvocal, and when he looks up, Tom is looking down at him. At a particularly hard suck, Tom’s head drops back and his mouth drops open, and that’s enough to have Mike grinding his dick against the bed through his shorts.

“Can you, um,” says Tom, and draws Mike off his dick, starts to kick off his shorts. “Can you finger me?”

Tom is making eye contact with Mike, almost bullishly, but he’s flushed high on his cheeks and Mike doesn’t think it’s just from arousal. Mike knows it can be hard to ask for what you want.

When he imagines it, sliding fingers into Tom’s ass, it makes him swallow involuntarily.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, for sure. I’d super be into that.”

“Cool,” says Tom. He reaches into a side table, pulls out a bottle of lube. “Just, you know, use plenty,” he says.

“For sure,” Mike says. He looks at Tom for a beat longer, then focuses back down on his dick. He figures he might as well start sucking again, try to make sticking a finger up his buddy’s ass feel a little more natural. He almost lets out a hysterical giggle, but just manages to calm himself.

He coats his fingers as he sucks, brings them up to Tom’s ass. He sort of rubs around for a second, not entirely sure what to do. Tom brings a leg up to make room.

“It’s okay, bud,” he says, a little breathless. “You can do it.”

Mike times it to be pushing in at the same down he’s bobbing down with his head, sucking hard. He doesn’t expect the way Tom’s spine curls, the way his mouth opens in a moan. Tom was pretty quiet before, mostly moaning under his breath. With every thrust of Mike’s finger, Tom groans, gasps, loud. Mike likes it.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Tom, honey?” It’s a woman’s voice.

Tom answers back, his voice strained. “Yeah, mom?”

“I’m heading over to Jean’s for dinner. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Mike buries his head in Tom’s hip as he laughs, silently.

Tom swats him on the head. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

“Okay…” There’s a pause. Then Tom’s mom says, “Make sure you use a condom, honey. I don’t want anybody getting pregnant.”

“Not… really a concern here, mom,” says Tom. Mike can’t stop giggling.

“Oh! Okay. Well, then, make sure you use a condom anyway, even if you are two boys. Be safe, honey. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Mike can’t help it. He dissolves into cackles.

“Shut! The fuck! Up!” says Tom, hitting him over the shoulders and head. “Shut up!”

Mike just keeps it up.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute when you’re laughing,” says Tom, resting a hand on the side of Mike’s face.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky you’re so cute when I do this,” says Mike, and adds a finger, moves them together. Tom’s mouth drops open in a moan.

“Yeah,” he says, arching his back. “Yeah, yeah, like that. Curve your fingers… yes, there. There, yes, fuck, oh my God.”

Mike take’s Tom’s cock back into his mouth, starts sucking again. Tom is sort of just… squirming at this point, moving back onto Mike’s fingers at the same time that’s he’s trying to thrust into his mouth. It’s hot as fuck, makes Mike want to do this forever.

Mike doesn’t realize what Tom’s moans getting higher and higher mean until Tom is pushing Mike’s head away and grabbing his own cock, coming onto his own stomach. Mike can see the muscles in Tom’s thighs and stomach jump in time with each pulse of come. He can even feel it inside, as Tom clenches around his fingers.

“Fuck,” groans Tom, as he finishes and his head drops back. His thighs drop open, and Mike pulls out his fingers. “Fuck, that was good.”

Mike doesn’t even realize how long he’s been dragging his cock against the sheets until he focuses on how raw his cock feels from rubbing against his jeans. He reaches underneath him, pops a button and groans at the release. He looks up when Tom rubs the back of his neck.

“You wanna fuck me?” asks Tom.

“For real?” asks Mike.

“Yeah, dumbass, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Wouldn’t it be, like, too much?”

“No, I like it after I come. As long as you don’t touch my cock.”

“Okay, then, yeah. Yeah, totally.” Mike licks his lips, gets up on his knees to pull off his shorts. “Just so long as we use a condom. Don’t want to disappoint your mom.”

Tom throws a condom at Mike’s face for that. Mike laughs, then groans as Tom sits up for a second and kisses his cock, sucks at it to get it hard enough to put the condom on. His mouth his hot, and his tongue is soft. He stops too soon, opens the condom from where it’s been dropped on the bed and rolls it over Mike’s dick, the coats it with lube.

Tom lies back on the bed, opens his legs for Mike to fit between them. “C’mon, bud. Fuck me.”

Mike groans, crawls into place and presses kisses against Tom’s neck and chest. He’s mindful not to touch Tom’s dick with his stomach as he lines up. It takes a couple of tries, but he pushes in. Tom is hot, and tight, but relaxed. Tom’s sigh as Mike pushes in sounds like he’s at the spa.

Mike kisses Tom as he starts to thrust. Tom runs his hands through Mike’s hair, scratches over his back. It’s relaxed, and quiet, even though Mike feels so desperate his hands are shaking. The only sounds are Mike’s shaky gasps, Tom’s encouraging hums.

“Yeah, baby, fuck. You feel so good,” Tom sighs.

Mike groans and drops his head into Tom’s shoulder. He loves dirty talk. A girl he hooked up with at BU once tied his hands to her shitty dorm headboard with a tie, sat on his hips and just rubbed at the head of his dick and talked dirty to him until he came.

“Oh, yeah? You like that?” Tom sounds like he had a little bit of a laugh in his voice. Mike nods.

“Then I should have told you how good you felt when you were sucking my cock. Your mouth was so wet, fuck. You were gagging for it.” Tom pushes Mike’s hair back from where it’s fallen in his face. “I can’t wait to fuck you. Would you want that? It’s okay if you don’t.”

Mike shakes his head, nods. He can’t figure out how to—communicate—he wants to come so bad. “I want that. You can do it, I want it.”

“Yeah?” Tom slides a hand up the back of Mike’s leg, just teases at his ass. “It’ll feel so good, I promise. I’ll finger you for fucking ever. Do you know if you can come more than once? Have you tried?”

Mike shakes his head.

“We’ll try. Some guys can do that. I’ll finger you until you come, and then I’ll suck you, and get you hard again, do you want that?”

Mike nods. His hips stutter.

“Yeah, and then I’ll fuck you, hold on to your hips with your head down in the pillow and your ass up in the air. Fuck, this ass,” Tom says, and slaps Mike’s ass, full handed.

The shock of the impact is enough to kickstart Mike’s orgasm. It spreads through him like a wave, and he can hear how shaky his moan is as he thrusts into Tom’s ass a few more times, his toes curling with the force of it.

“Yeah,” Tom sighs. He scritches his hands through Mike’s hair and Mike’s head comes to rest on his chest. “That was good.”

“Fuck yeah, that was good,” Mike says, still panting. “Shit.”

Tom laughs. They cuddle for a bit, Tom scratching his fingers through Mike’s hair and Mike just catching his breath.

Mike sits up to pull out and throw out the condom, winces at the mess of sweat and come.

“I had just fucking showered before coming over here,” he complains, as he ties up the condom and wraps in up in some tissues, tosses it in the trash can by Tom’s bed.

“Here, don’t fucking worry about it. Follow me,” says Tom, rolling out of bed.

Mike follows him as he grabs two towels from a cabinet. They walk right past the bathroom, though, walking down the stairs. Mike pauses as Tom opens the back door.

“What the fuck, dude?” asks Mike.

“Outdoor shower,” says Tom, “at the side of the house. C’mon, the fence is way too high for anyone to see anything. Live a little.”

With this, Tom walks right out into the backyard, proud as a peacock. Mike follows him, hesitant. The yard is covered in pine needles, and Mike swears as he accidentally steps on a pinecone. Tom laughs at him as they round the side of the house. There is an outdoor shower out there, up two steps on a small deck. It’s surprisingly, as Mike and Tom both step in, big enough to hold two hockey players.

Tom slings their towels over the door, turns on the water. As he’s testing it, he says, “dude, I didn’t even ask. How’s Boston?”

“Good,” Mike says, without thinking. Then he thinks a little bit more. “Coach works us hard, but the team is great. Boston is… big. I mean, obviously. And I’ve visited there a lot before. But I feel like it’s different when you’re living there. It’s really just nonstop.”

Tom nods, looking down to his hand where he’s still testing the water. “I had a choice to go to NYU or UConn. There were a bunch of reasons I went to UConn, but one of them was just New York City. It’s too big. I need quiet. And some trees.”

Mike nods. He gets it.

“C’mere,” Tom says, and draws Mike under the spray with him. The water is a little hotter than Mike usually likes, but that’s ok. Tom’s taking most of the spray, draping himself over Mike’s shoulders. They just stand there for a while.

It’s late summer. Almost eight, but the sun is still above the horizon. By the time they get to the party, though, it’ll be dark.

“Do you usually do that?” Mike asks.

“Do what?” Tom asks. He starts rocking gently back and forth, so Mike follows. It’s almost like they’re dancing.

“You know like… get… fucked,” Mike says.

Tom laughs. “The word you’re looking for is bottom. Yeah, I go about half and half. I figured I should probably bottom with you though, since it was your first time.”

“You could tell?” Mike asked.

“I just guessed,” Tom said. “Our high school is small, I would have found out if you were gay. Or bi, whatever. And I bet that you hadn’t done anything with guys in college, although I could have been wrong.”

“No, you were right. I’d like to, next time, though. You know.”


“Yeah, bottom.”

Tom laughs. “Well, we’re kind of running out of time, but there’s always next summer.”

“Yeah,” says Mike. He rests his head on Tom’s shoulder. “Or you could come up to Boston. Or I could drive to Connecticut.”

There’s an awful moment of silence. Mike doesn’t know if that wall is still up, if they can only fuck when they’re both working at the ice cream store. But a lot of things change in a year. One of them might get another job. They might not even be back next summer. And in any case, Mike doesn’t want to wait until next year to get fucked. 

“Yeah,” says Tom, quietly. “Yeah, we could do that.”



They finish showering quietly. Mike borrows Tom’s deodorant and cologne. They hang around for a while, playing Mario Kart and making out a little. Mike texts Becca, and she tells him to come over, just come around the back when he gets there. They take separate cars but walk up the path to Becca’s house together.

When they get around to the back, there’s a group of kids their age sitting around the fire. Becca’s sitting facing away from him. One of Becca’s friend’s taps her on the shoulder and points. She turns around. She’s wearing a little crop top, and her hair is up in a half ponytail. She twiddles her fingers to him in a little wave. He waves back.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” says Tom, and slaps him on the ass.

“Oh, fuck you,” says Mike, then heads over to talk to Becca, Tom’s laugh ringing out after him.