If I Stare Too Long

Chapter 8: Tell It To Me Slowly (Tell You What I Really Want To Know)

Billy isn't a taxi service. Not like Harrington. So he doesn't know how he got roped into driving Eddie Munson around on the back of his bike.

One minute, Eddie was smiling at him, all wide and expectant, and, well the next—Eddie's arms are tight around his middle, the cornfields are flying past, and the wind is screaming in his ears.

Billy's clearly a sucker. It's the only explanation for how Eddie managed to convince Billy to take him out on the bike. Billy hadn't exactly been avoiding Eddie since that evening in Eddie's trailer—he's just been busy. Hasn't run into Eddie or Steve since.

But it's the worst heat wave of the summer, Eddie's A/C is out, and Billy gets it. It's hot and the Indiana sun takes no prisoners. And Eddie made a really compelling argument for the lake that afternoon. And also offered to buy Billy a soda on the way.

So, after a pit stop at the gas station and two bottles of coke getting warm in his bike's panniers, they pull up at the lake. The same spot as last time—only no Steve.

"He'll meet us here," Eddie had promised.

Steve works until late, but it's his monthly check-in at the gate at the bottom of the lake, apparently. And Eddie doesn't want to leave him to do it alone. Billy doesn't know why he had to be a part of it too, other than as a shuttle for Eddie to get around, an excuse for Steve not to pick him up on the way.

They don't have a fancy cooler or blankets this time. But that doesn't stop Billy from dropping down into the sand to tug off his boots, shirt already long since discarded.

Eddie isn't far behind him, kicking off his own shoes and stripping off a Misfits shirt filled with holes. His jeans are next, and he's kicking out of them with a clumsy urgency. There's sweat dampening his fringe, glistening on his skin, and he's eyeing the water eagerly. Like he's about five seconds from giving up on the sneaker he can't quite get off to just dive straight in, hopping a bit as he has to finish tugging it off with a hand while his pants are halfway down his thighs. His tongue is sticking out at the corner of his mouth just from the apparent effort.

It's almost comical, the way he finally strips down to his boxers and then takes off straight for the lake, getting only about knee deep before just collapsing into the water, scooping it up over his head. The heat is stifling.

Watching Eddie Munson twist around, knelt in the water and dripping, smile bright as he beckons Billy over, is even worse.

"C'mon, California, the water's great," he says.

"Anyone ever tell you you should be a stripper, Munson?" Billy says with a leer. "You're so graceful."

Eddie presses both hands to his chest, folding them over his heart, overdramatic as always. "You really know just the right thing to say to a fella."

"What can I say, I'm a charmer," Billy says.

Honestly, though, with his feet in the sand and the sun warming his skin, Billy finds that watching Eddie in the water isn't such a bad view.

Especially not when he pushes back to his feet– boxers clinging, pale legs invitingly long– and begins wading deeper into the lake. He only turns around when he's waist deep, slapping at the water with a hand like he might be able to reach Billy on shore.

"Seriously, are you actually gonna stay out there in the sun?" he asks, genuinely baffled. "It's blistering, California. Come cool down before you cook."

"Jesus, keep your panties on," Billy says.

He makes a show of pushing himself up, hands in the hot sand. He tries not to think too hard about how he strips off his pants - he just knows he does it smoother than Eddie.