Free Tipping the Balance by Christopher Koehler Page A

trunk-like thighs were barely contained by the borrowed bathing suit. And that fur on his belly! Drew’s throat went dry.
     
    Brad’s eyes were bright. “C’mon, let’s go play in the water.”
     

     

     
    The first plunge into the water felt balls-shrinkingly cold compared to the oven-like heat of the air, but after that first bracing plunge, the water was refreshing, and Brad and Drew had a great time racing down the flumes. The faster runs, in particular, were largely rug rat free, and in any event, the lifeguards did a good job of keeping the fully grown from plowing into smaller, lighter people by making them wait a few extra moments before barreling down the flumes on their rubber mats.
     
    “Oh, man, that was just what I needed today,” Drew said as he flopped down onto his beach towel on the grass under an enormous shade structure.
     
    “That was a blast,” Brad said. “Thanks for calling.”
     
    Brad stood, looking down at Drew, who fortunately had his eyes closed. He paused with the towel over his head, the water running down his shaved head unheeded. Water ran onto his chest, tracing rivulets around his pecs, pulling his chest hair together. It trickled its way down over the merest hint of a belly and disappeared into the borrowed swimming trunks, but Brad didn’t notice.
     
    He’d been right with his speculations about Drew’s body at lunch almost two weeks before. Drew obviously knew his way around the gym. He was toned and built but lacked that fake shredded look of the dedicated gym rat who lifted lots of weights but did nothing with them. Whatever Drew did for exercise and fun was clearly working for him, because Brad couldn’t take his eyes off him. He looked like what Brad thought a man should look like, not a ’roid droid.
     
    Brad swallowed the lump in his throat. Then his eyes traveled further down Drew’s body, and he forgot how to breathe.
     
    He’d been around guys in Spandex before, seen plenty of packages barely contained by the stretchy fabric of high school wrestling or collegiate crew unisuits. He’d even seen guys popping boners in uniforms that left nothing to the imagination. They did nothing for him. Nada. Zilch.
     
    But Drew in that little Speedo?
     
    He was mesmerized. He was entranced. All he could do was stare at… it.
     
    Brad wanted it. He didn’t have a name for it, but he wanted it.
     
    Actually, he did have a name for it, he thought guiltily.
     
    He started drying his head vigorously, even roughly, hard enough to leave the skin of his scalp red and angry.
     
    “You’re quiet,” Drew said, propping himself up on his elbows.
     
    “Just thinking,” Brad said.
     
    “About?”
     
    “About that big opportunity you were telling me about. Sounds cool. What’s up with it?” Brad said. He tossed the towel on the ground, awkwardly smoothing it out and laying down next to Drew.
     
    “I’m trying not to think about it,” Drew groaned.
     
    “If you don’t want to talk about it….”
     
    “No, it’s cool. You’ve heard of the Bayard House, right?”
     
    Brad nodded. “It’s supposed to be the mayor’s mansion, but it’s totally uninhabitable or something.”
     
    “Basically, yeah,” Drew said. He sat all the way up, facing Brad. “What updating’s been done hasn’t been all that compatible with the rest of the building. The city government decided it’s time to get serious about preserving the mansion, because there’s so little of the old city left. So there’s a call for bids specifically aimed at younger firms to preserve and adapt the old mansion to the needs of the twenty-first century.”
     
    “Wow,” Brad breathed. “That sounds… awesome.”
     
    “It sounds terrifying,” Drew said.
     
    “Terrifying? It sounds like a blast.”
     
    “I mostly do flips, but lately I’ve worked with a designer on actual renovations. She thinks we should do it. We’re both young, new in this business and all that,