A Million Truths

I flexed my knee at the correct angle on my skateboard, when I noticed Ryan Beaulieu stretching in his front yard. His white T-shirt with the large red-and-yellow dinosaur from the University of Calgary’s team logo moulded the form of his every muscle. My feet knocked on each other, and I crashed to the street. Of course, he looked up at that exact moment. He flashed his now brace-free teeth at me as if I hadn’t just made a fool of myself. I jumped back on my skateboard. I wanted to prove I wasn’t a dork, but as I attempted my jump again, he stretched back. His T-shirt slid up and gave me a sweet view of his belly. My eyes lingered at the dark happy trail, and I missed my jump again. This time, I landed on my feet, my board knocking on the sideway at Ryan’s house. I jogged to it, embarrassed.

Ryan leaned on his elbows and watched me approach. He had to know I had done those jumps a million times. He stood as I got there, stretching his arms in the air, giving me a closer look at his belly. Damn his lower ab muscles were defined.

“Aaron.”

The way he said my name, low and sweet. I forced my eyes away.

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