The Muscle by Amy Lane

Author:Amy Lane [Lane, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-921-0
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2021-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

Old Business

HUNTER HAD to valiantly hide his smirk at Grace’s disappointment. The paths at Capilano Park were enjoyable, but compared to what Grace did for fun, they were like someone expecting to race NASCAR ending up on one of those motorized tracks for kids.

“I still say they’d be more fun without the guard rail,” Grace complained, about fifteen feet ahead of Hunter as he ran across the suspension bridge for the umpteenth time.

“And I’d say you are showing off,” Artur said, grasping the side rail toward the entrance of it. “You’re not twelve anymore.”

Grace’s steps immediately slowed, and he ducked his head humbly. “I’m sorry, Dance Master.”

Hunter’s heart pinged a little. The bridge was bigger—and more stable—than it looked in the pictures. Still, for anybody with balance issues or height phobias or who wasn’t a rock climber or daredevil on principle, it could be frightening.

“Come here,” Hunter said, catching up to him and pulling him to the side of the bridge. “Look over the edge. It’s cool.”

The suspension bridge at Capilano Park was one of its main attractions. Originally built out of hemp rope and logs in the late 1800s, it had been replaced by cable and wire, and finally by this engineered creation of nylon-coated cable and sturdy synthetic planks. It spanned the gorge of the Capilano River, and the view—deep and verdant green—was both a little vertiginous and highly tranquil.

Grace peered over the edge moodily, and as Hunter put his hand in the small of Grace’s back, he could feel some of the “go” gentle into “breathe.” Perhaps this was part of Grace’s problem with relationships. He needed people who understood that the “go” was not about them. It was all about the hamsters in Grace’s own body, and how sometimes Grace needed to put them on their wheels and let them raise hell.

And sometimes, a little bit of breathing would chill them right out.

“It is,” Grace said, wonder suffusing his voice. “Why didn’t I notice that before?”

“You mean the other twenty times you crossed this, going from the Forest Walk to the Cliffwalk?”

Grace took another deep breath, and Hunter let his hand rise and fall with his torso.

“Well, I’m not allowed to take anything from the gift shop,” Grace muttered glumly.

“You’re not a kleptomaniac,” Hunter told him, hoping this was true. “You have too much professional pride to risk your reputation on tchotchkes you can easily afford.”

“Do they mean as much if they’re not stolen?” Grace asked, giving Hunter the side-eye.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Grace blew out a breath. “I have lots of money,” he said nonchalantly. “I give most of it to the Conservatory—” His eyes grew wide and he looked over his shoulder to where Artur had accepted Lucius Broadstone’s arm for assistance crossing the bridge. “Don’t tell. Only Josh knows—he helped me make a budget. But I steal more, because….” He shrugged. “The giving is easy. The dancing for Artur is easy. Artur gave me so much. It needs to mean something.”

Hunter’s heart did more than ping this time.

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