Chapter 18: Push-upsI saw Tacoma on the lawn a day later, a mere shadow underneath the brilliant and steaming sun. He was doing push-ups on the flat yard. His toes pointed to the ground and his palms were pressed into the grass. His back was parallel to the blue-white sky and his body rose up and down, up and down in a somewhat f*****g motion, thrusting. I stood in the gazebo’s shade, and watched his buttocks rise and fall. His bronze biceps swelled and deflated as his bare chest (pointed n*****s and solid pecs) grazed the ground, rose again, fell. Sweat dribbled off the point of his nose, his shoulders, and rippled abs. Tiny droplets of the dappled looking liquid sprinkled the grass like rain.
“I can’t handle this.” I held my package with two hands and whispered to myself, “He’s driving
