Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

wild parties and people he hadn't seen or heard from in years. People like Lucien LeTour.
    George wondered whether Lucien would say fame and fortune was worth what it cost to achieve it. He'd nearly paid the same price, but he shied away from thinking about the roadside bomb that missed killing him but had claimed the life of two young Marines. Though he'd escaped physical injury, the bomb was surely what'd blown up the carefully-constructed façade he'd built after leaving this campus.
    He still wasn't sure why he'd returned. Living here made resuming his career as a photojournalist impossible, but this small town called to him above the cacophony of his emotions after he'd come back from Iraq. George reached the library, taking the steps two at a time. He pressed his hands against the glass doors, peering into the gloom, hoping to catch a glimpse of Oliver, but saw no lights. He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes. He could go to the Student Center and buy a cup of bad coffee.
    Instead, he sat on a step, leaning back to rest his elbows on the porch. Stretching his legs, he thought about the angel hallucination. He snorted. Not many people had an assortment of hallucinations to choose from. Something about this new one was bothering him. How had his subconscious made up the name Sephrim? He replayed the visions, but nothing seemed familiar.
    "About time you showed up."
    George jerked, scraping an elbow, and looked up.
    Oliver smiled apologetically from the sidewalk. "Sorry, George, I didn't mean to startle you."
    Although Oliver wore crisp khakis and a navy blazer, his pink button-down matched the oxfords on his feet. "I see you found them." George pointed at the mind-blowing shoes as he got to his feet then added, "I, uh, like the new look, too."
    Oliver scratched his version of George's typical two-day old beard. While George wore his carelessly, Oliver's was perfectly trimmed. He was smiling, and the late-April sun burnished his hair to near-blonde again. "So, I'm forgiven for the pink shoes?"
    Those shoes were a symptom, not the problem. Oliver had always seen himself as gay while George had blown up three lives in his pursuit of cock while pretending he wasn't. "Only if you have on the matching underwear," he retorted.
    He stared at those shoes though as Oliver climbed the steps. "What?" Oliver demanded as he unlocked the front doors. "I'm secure in my manhood." His blue eyes grew sly as he held open the door. "Do I get a kiss or do I need to put one of these pink size tens up your ass first?"
    It was so easy to lean forward and press his lips to the other man's in the dim entrance of the empty library. George felt Oliver's hand slide around the back of his neck, pulling him forward as their kiss deepened. He smelled like starch and sawgrass, and he tasted like peppermint sin. If that weren't a flavor, someone needed to make it, George decided as their kiss heated up. Slipping his hand beneath Oliver's blazer, George grabbed Oliver's ass, pulling him into his body. Their thighs interlocked like gears in an expensive wristwatch, and his cock began to fill as he felt the other man's do the same. He moved his hips slightly, enjoying their stolen bump-and-grind.
    "You two look like the intersection of Get a Shave and Rent a Room."
    George jumped like a Baptist deacon caught in a liquor store when he heard the raspy female voice behind them, but Oliver was laughing as they broke apart.
    "Good morning, Rose." Oliver spoke, smiling at their minuscule monitor while George tried to swallow hard enough to push his heart out of his throat. Slipping his arm around George's waist casually, Oliver introduced the woman. She looked familiar, but George couldn't place her. "I was just trying to persuade our rather famous alumni to autograph some of the items you've catalogued from his career. Miss Rose Cannon, I'm well aware you remember George Lloyd. George, our head librarian has become your biggest fan. I maintain it's because she's gone senile."
    George inched away from Oliver but grinned. His faulty brain found the right file. The legendary leprechaun was spirited but kind-hearted. Unless you used your outside voice in her kingdom. "Nice to see you again, Miss Cannon, and better my fan than yours, Oliver. I buy my shoes in one of three colors, black, or brown or Nike."
    The tiny librarian plucked the glasses dangling from a silver chain on from her bosom and peered through them, studying Oliver's feet for a long moment.