When Size Matters

Another nod from me. What that thumb was doing to my insides!

“And, Dylan,” he said in that soft, growly voice of his. “I wanna promise you something…”

This time, I just let my eyebrows speak. Up they went.

Both of them. I sat very still, watching him across the table and holding my breath. Waiting with Silence.

“Sky Dylan Stone, I promise I, Bradley Hamilton Davis—”

Oh, nice name. But I wasn’t about to distract him.

“Also known as the Brad Davis and Brad Davis of Dallas—”

No breath would pass my lips until he finished.

“—will never, ever—” he said, dropping his voice even more, but still managing to heat up the “ever.” He paused and looked right into my eyes. Both of them. At the same time. And his thumb kept circling my palm. “—ever…call you Dill.”

I took a deep breath and looked past his upturned lips, straight into the quiet of his charcoal eyes and I felt the rubber bands around my heart begin to snap apart, one by one, and that big, hard knot inside of me start to melt away. And I fell again, for the second time that day. Crashed hard. But this time there was no puffy orange dress to break my fall.

5

WE LEFT Skinny’s in the middle of a raging electrical storm. It wasn’t the drenching kind that we usually had in Austin, with water flooding the curbs and broken tree branches dragging down the power lines. This was more like a New Mexico storm where the sky spits fire—all dry crackle and flash—and zaps until the air gets that weird, edgy feel, like impatience or maybe anticipation. That balmy, October night in Austin, it wasn’t the whole sky that flickered with fire, only the part in between us. And that part was smoking.

We worked our way up the levels of decking, past benches and tables, hand in hand, generating our own private atmosphere, making the molecules dance. It wasn’t just me; I knew that. You can’t cook up that kind of turbulence without two weather machines. We were moving slowly, savoring the suspense, and had just come upon a table in the front close to the sidewalk when I heard Matt’s voice, low and laughing. I’d know it anywhere. Matt laughs like he’s saving his energy for something else. So much for slumped shoulders and sad country songs. He was sitting with a group of people I didn’t know, mostly guys, probably some of his doctor friends. He saw me notice him and raised his glass, a no-expression expression on his face. Everyone at the table turned to look. Brad and I waved back with our un-held hands and we sizzled by without stopping. How lovely it would be, I thought, not to run into Matt anymore.

We reached Brad’s car in Skinny’s parking lot, looked at each other, smiled, and got in without saying a word, neither of us mentioning that I’d told him at the wedding that I was busy, that I had plans for the night. Silence rode in the back and stayed with us the whole two and a half seconds it took to get up the hill and around the three bends to my apartment. Okay, it took about five minutes but he was flying. I think he actually straight-lined the drive and avoided the curves altogether. Maybe not, I was afraid to look.

He parked to the side of the big house—where you have the best view of the lake—and before the engine had kachunked to a stop, his hardened hands were holding my face as if I was the most precious thing in the world and he was kissing me. And if I’d died right then at least I’d been kissed. Really kissed. Those beautiful lips came down on mine and he drank me in, as if I was water in the desert, as if he’d never drank before. His lips were so soft—but not too soft—and his tongue was pressing without being scary. His hot mouth became my world. The power of it sucked me in and sent me tumbling in the dark.

He ended that kiss with another one that was even better followed by three small kisses, little sucking pulls on my lower lip. Then his lips were gone and I just felt his strong hands on the sides of my face. I didn’t move. He leaned over and again brushed my lips with his and finally, I opened my eyes.

He fell back into his seat and looked out the windshield at the lake. There was a soft breeze messing up his hair a little. That was one of the best things about being by the water—the gentle winds. Breezes kept our little corner of Austin from having that help-me-Jesus-I-can’t-breathe sauna-feel you get in the other parts of the city. I could see the heave of his chest, as though he’d just run up the hill instead of flying. I put my hand there to feel the rise and fall and he covered it with his, closed his eyes and smiled.

The crunch of tires on gravel chased away Silence as Andie pulled up in her little red Miata. If she saw us sitting there in Brad’s car, she gave no sign. I watched her jump out of the car, gathering the pale blue bridesmaid dress into a bulge as she ran inside. She looked great. It’d take more than a horrid dress to do Andie in. Many seconds later, Guinness barked his belated greeting at her.

“My roommate’s home,” I said.

“So I hear.” His head was tilted back, eyes still closed.

“Maybe we should stay out here,” I suggested.

“Whatever,” he said.

Uh-oh. Was he already losing interest?

I got out of the car, cooling off the exact number of degrees that he had. Or trying my damnedest to do so. I leaned against the hood of the car, and wondered what the hell I’d been thinking. The guy I’ve been waiting for my whole life hadn’t been waiting for me.

After a little while, or maybe a long while, Brad got out and leaned on the car next to me. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in to him, pressing his leg into mine.

Hot, cold, hot, cold. What was the deal here? I felt as if I was dangling in space, hanging out over the water. I turned my head slightly away, tried to get my feet nailed back down on firm ground. I spoke but I couldn’t get the real question out, the one I wanted to ask. So I settled for a lame “You’re in construction, right?”

He didn’t answer, just kept his arm around me, rubbing my back. He could have swept me up and swallowed me whole if he’d wanted to. Instead, he barely kissed my ear, my neck and then said into the crook of it, “Yeah, I have my own company. Commercial construction.”

The part of my brain that was still working thought about that. Construction. Hard work. Hence the tan, the hands, those strong arms inside the rolled up sleeves. The long, tight legs.

He pulled away again, let his arm fall down on my waist.

Okay. I get it. We’re playing the old game of Restraint. The most nonchalant one wins. I was good at this, had been playing all my life. I cranked myself in and croaked out, “Why’d you need e-Boost?”

He pulled away some more. “We put our project plans on the ‘Net,” he said, all business now. If I wasn’t careful, he was gonna win this game. “Time lines, permits—they all go up.”

But I was world-class at Restraint. Or at least at being repressed. I pulled back, too. So now only our hands were touching. My breathing was back to normal. Almost.

“Who’d you use instead of e-Boost?” I asked. If they had sent me up to Dallas, I would have sold him. Winning Restraint game strategy: Think about work not about his hands, strong and smooth, holding mine.

“Just us. I used to work for a couple of start-ups,” he said. Mr. Easy Cool. Man, he’s good.

And then I thought, This is all right. Talking like this. Getting to know each other. It’s nice. It’s good. I just wished he would kiss me again. His hands on my face. His mouth…

“So, I still had some contacts from that, around the metro-plex,” he went on. His voice was becoming animated—about work! No restraint now. “I put together a team. Formed a new company. Man, we had a rough time, starting out. Worked every night and all weekends ’cause my partners had day jobs and I had real buildings to put up. We got it figured out, though. The slickest way to do the pages. And we started offering the service to the big guys, contractors and subs, first in Dallas and Fort Worth, and then all over the state.”

“Are you technical?” I asked. I knew he wasn’t. I could always sniff out the techie guys. Sometimes literally. But I needed to show him how casual I was. Casual and brain dead.

“Are you asking if I’m a geek?” He smiled, teeth glowing in the moonlight. “Naw. I understand it all on some level, but I’m mostly the idea guy. My partners have to do the dirty work. They like it though. I think a couple of them have those brain lobes you were talking about. The ones that are permanently shut off.”

I liked how he’d heard what I said, even when I was babbling. And I really liked the way his voice sounded in the dark—soft and rumbley. Maybe this was turning out okay. The electric storm had simmered down to a kind of background turbulence. We looked at each other, glanced out over the water, then looked back. It wasn’t fireworks and shivers now. It was…what? And then one of my mom’s words popped up. Mellow.

“What services do you offer?” I asked, letting myself get into it, learning about him.

“You name it. We’re just getting started. Six whole customers. But they’re big. The coordination they need on a job can be staggering. So they contract with us to solve that.” As he talked, he forgot to sound as though he’d only made it through a third-grade panhandle education. He still stretched out some of the words and cut other ones short—but that’s like any good Texan.

“The ‘Net gives you a control center.” He kept holding on to my hand and, as he explained, he’d lift and motion with it as if it was his own. Up our two hands would go, two beats for emphasis, then down again. He seemed happy to have someone to talk to. Someone outside of work who could understand what the hell he was talking about.

“Our stuff isn’t flashy—it’s workhorse, B-to-B comm. We give ’em fast, easy, intuitive access to all the critical information. Did I say intuitive? Make that bombproof. The users are construction guys, not your average computer wonk.” He took a breath and cocked a smile at me. “No offense.” Then he got right back into his pitch. “It’s all about coordination. Coordination, collaboration and control.”

Our clasped hands beat the air three times. “Coordination, collaboration and control, oh my!” he chanted.

“Oh, my!” I echoed, lifting our hands up together and dropping them again in my lap.

He grinned. “Sorry about that.” He let go of my hand. No! “We’re pushing so hard right now. It seems like that’s all I do. Plug our stuff. I can’t seem to talk about anything else.”

How about we talk about us! “I know,” I said, serene as could be, as though I didn’t want to reach up and touch his hair, and curl into those sturdy arms. “It’s the curse of sales. Everything’s a pitch. Man, but you should hear my roommate, Andie. She sells on a turntable…” I stopped. I saw Andie in my head, with her incredible red hair and those freckles on her satin-brown skin. I turned toward our apartment and waited.

“Turntable?” he asked.

I put up a wait-a-minute finger.

“What is it? Dylan?” he asked after a couple of beats.