Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/328

 "Next Sunday?" He picked up a twig too, and on the sand he wrote B … O … B … Then he wrote G … L … E … Suddenly he realized what he was doing and quickly scratched over it. He turned over on his back and looked into the green trees overhead. To hide what he was feeling he grabbed a hand full of sand and let it run through his fingers.

Rogers rolled on his side and faced Gaylord. "Next Sunday's a date then …" He took a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. "I'm glad you like it out here … I just love it." He sighed deeply. "Gosh … I wish we could come out here every day."

"I do too."

"You want to fish some more?"

Gaylord looked into Rogers' face. "Do you?" he asked softly.

"I asked you first."

"Oh … not particularly … unless you do."

"I don't care to."

The soft brush of the wind swayed the branches overhead and small specks of light shone through the clusters of leaves and danced on their naked bodies. One so brown … one so fair … Rogers picked a rock out of the sand and tossed it into the creek. "Gay," whispered Rogers.

Gaylord dared not open his eyes or speak. In this wild and somewhat fearful moment, he became tense and frightened. Frightened at the thought of what he would do if Rogers suddenly kissed him … Rogers had read the name he had written in the sand, and a funny look had come over his face. Had that started something? He could not answer for the sudden lump in his throat.

"Gay?" Rogers repeated.

He opened his eyes ever so slightly, breathed, "Huh?" He looked at the other's soft eyes and didn't care then …

"I'm hungry, aren't you? Let's have a sandwich." Rogers brushed at the sand on Gaylord's chest. Tickled the flat bare stomach.

"Ouch … I'm ticklish," Gaylord cried.

"How about here?" Rogers asked menacingly digging into the other's ribs … "Are you ticklish here?"

"Yes …" cried Gaylord and he tried for Rogers' ribs, but Rogers 318