Stepping out of the water, he seemed completely unself-conscious, quite unlike the boy I’d thought him to be on the other side of the fire. He seemed comfortable with me staring at his body. I glanced back towards the fire, wondering if anyone was observing this moment between us, but Cami was lap-dancing Jacob and no-one cared about us down on the shoreline.
“Edge of the world,” I said, indicating the black horizon, and then instantly wondered why I’d said it.
Scott nodded in that elongated, exaggerated way that means “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about and would like to move quickly on.” His arms folded protectively over his body, hands jammed into his armpits, arms crossed over his chest.
“Here. Sorry.” I handed him his t-shirts. He separated one from the other carefully and pulled it on.
“Thanks,” he said, and walked back towards the fire. The bottle was spinning and people were shouting. I found myself watching his arse, the bulge of each cheek clearly visible in the wetness of his underwear as he walked away and whilst my erection was now painful in my trousers, and that every movement of his body was painting in the brush-strokes of my sexuality for years to come, that wasn’t the reason I wanted to chase after him.