“I need space, man. I can’t be tied down at my age. There are waves out there just waiting for me, dude.”

Alex Beaumont was astute enough to question how he could have ever dated someone who actually used the word dude. Well, the blond hair and blue eyes had something to do with it. Bray flounced about the room, grabbing things from hastily opened drawers and stuffing items into a large holdall. Not that the man’s things required more than the one bag—all Bray owned was a handful of clothes, his iPod, his surfboard, and the ubiquitous four-wheel drive to tote them around the country. What kind of a name was Bray, anyway?

Not for the first time, Alex gave a passing thought to what this bloke’s given name might be. Just what would his parents have called him at birth? Alex had asked him once, and Bray announced it was, “Bray, man, just Bray.” Alex had always believed the name made the man sound like a donkey, and now fate proved the theory. Currently, a right ass flounced about his bedroom.

Alas, it was an extremely delectable and tight ass.

Arse,Alex mentally corrected, seeing as both men were British, but either version of the word would do. Arsehole—now that was a word, and he wasn’t thinking romantically. He’d never liked to use the term derogatorily before, but in this case he could make an exception.

“It’s not personal, man. We had fun, but I need to move on. For a while, at least. Maybe we can meet up next summer.”

Not once during this little speech did Bray look up. Not once did the man look him in the eye. Alex sat, quietly wishing he possessed the courage to help Bray pack, but any move on his part might be misconstrued. Bray would consider him heartbroken, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t pleased, but the knowledge he wasn’t falling apart was the biggest surprise, and that struck him as even somewhat pleasant. Grasping anything of excellence from this fiasco was good.

This morning he had woken up feeling happy. One tiny comment over breakfast had swiftly shattered his illusion. All he had done was mention the time had come, long overdue, when he should pay his folks a visit. Seconds later, he’d spoken his doom: Would Bray like to go with him this weekend or next?

One mightcall that a little like taking Bray for granted, but seeing as Alex’s parents lived near the coast, and Bray liked the beach and to surf, he’d thought his lover would jump at the chance. Bray’s reaction had nothing to do with Alex’s expectations. Noooooooo. Bray just didn’t want to meet Alex’s parents even casually, not to stay for a couple of days even if he got to spend most of the time focusing on sand, sea, and sex. Apparently, that was too much of a commitment for Bray.

Alex had passed through a series of fluctuating emotions in a matter of moments. Disbelief, pain, sadness, anger, disappointment, relief, and finally, he had arrived at irritation where he just wanted the man gone.

Bray looked at his wristwatch. Alex didn’t know why. The timepiece was some kind of surfer’s gadget, but Bray looked at it more for effect than to check the time.

“We can butt if you want, for old time’s sake, before I go. I mean, I can fit it in, if you want.”

Alex blinked. To begin with, neither of them had started out that morning imagining that Bray would be leaving today, and secondly, a few seconds needed to pass before the meaning of those words sank in. Why Bray referred to sex like that was beyond Alex’s understanding. He always called it “to butt,” or “butting,” as though they were two rams crashing skulls. As for fitting it in…Alex swallowed, refusing to go where that thought led. He needed to maintain some dignity. Was Bray truly standing in his bedroom, bag packed, ready to walk out of his life, and asking if he wanted a conciliatory fuck? Apparently so.

“No thanks,” Alex murmured, not trusting himself to say more. He just wished he had put more force into his words.

“Fine. Have it your way. It’s your choice.”

Bray’s tone implied it was also his loss, but Alex let the temptation to argue pass.

Bray, obviously disgruntled, ended with another, “I need my space, man,” and moved to leave. He picked up his bag, tossed his key on the bed, and walked out without another word.

When the front door slammed, Alex just sat there. Only when his chest grew tight did he accept that he needed to breathe.

* * * *

“I will not pick up another one. I willnot.” Alex meant to say the words silently, but somehow they slithered out.