Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

automatic yes, Georgie? Why not do it? You know you want him more than the drink. You just won't admit it. Isn't this why you blew up your life and your family, so you could say yes without feeling guilty? So what're you waiting for?
    Had he torn his life with Connie and Adam apart so he could continue picking up guys in bars? Same old same old, minus the guilt? Some days it felt as if he's traded in his Nikon and lenses for a load of guilt. All he'd accomplished so far was hurting his wife and son.
    The bar faded, and George was walking through Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan. Dusty Marines wore helmets and lounged against sand bags. Two played checkers, and one bent over a piece of paper, looking up when George's shadow fell over him. "Hey, George, does commitment have two m's or one? I'm asking Laura to marry me soon as I get some phone time, but I wanna write everything down, so I say it right."
    "Commitment has three m's, Shane," he'd replied. "If she says yes, the drinks are on me, buddy." Three. The number of days that passed before George watched the corporal explode.
    He turned away without replying and ran straight into Oliver. The other man's eyes fairly sizzled with anger, but his tone was cool. "Don't let me stop you if you're taking Sammy up on his offer."
    George didn't think. He reacted. Putting his hands on either side of Oliver's face, he kissed him, forcing his tongue past the other man's lips. Oliver didn't respond, and the fear that shivered through him froze his anger, but the knowledge he didn't want another substitute like Sammy drove him to continue. He wanted this man, and he wanted Oliver to know it. When George felt hands around his waist, and then Oliver began to return his kiss, relief thundered through him. Over the bump-and-grind music, he heard people clapping. When he had to breathe, he broke off their kiss. "I didn't come to pick up a guy. I came for a damn drink."
    Oliver's eyes widened and he grabbed George by the hand, towing him through the crowded tables and dance floor and out the back door. George took a deep breath of humid night air. The crowded parking lot smelled like hot asphalt and hotter sex. He glanced around as Oliver marched him through the parking lot. Couples were scattered in the darkness, indistinct charcoal shapes, most engaged in foreplay or blow jobs. When they stopped, George recognized Oliver's car.
    "Why?" Oliver demanded in a harsh whisper, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the spotless fender. His hair was mussed as if he'd rolled out of bed without taking the time to comb it. He wore an old polo shirt. George almost grinned when he realized the meticulous man had on flannel pajama bottoms and a pair of flip-flops. If he'd been a woman, there'd have been sponge rollers in his hair, George thought crazily, raking his hands through his hair while to tried to formulate an answer.
    Oliver had no kids. He was the end of a long family line and swore he didn't care. There'd been more than one gay man in his family tree. How could George possibly make him understand how bad it hurt for Connie to look so relived at the proof he hadn't infected Adam with gayness, for lack of a better description? "I was angry. Adam's building this wall. I can't figure out how to get past it, and it's making me nuts."
    "So you drove to my house, but you left without coming in because you didn't think I'd understand you're afraid you're losing your son?"
    George shook his head, shoving his hands in his back pockets. "I drove off because I'm not ready to talk about it, I guess. I just wanted to be pissed off." He gave Oliver a pleading look. "Don't give up on me yet. I know I've had my head up my ass lately, but I just need time to figure some stuff out."
    A wary look clouded Oliver's expression. "Those are break-up words."
    George's fading anger flared back to life. "Like the camera wasn't saying, 'Here asshole, take this and go figure yourself out and maybe I'll be around when you're done and maybe I won't' ?"
    Oliver spun him into the car, a move that surprised him, it happened so fast. This time it was Oliver who dominated their kiss. His hips ground forcefully into George's. God help him, he loved this, if this was going where he thought. He felt the other man's hands at his waist, unzipping his jeans. Oliver slid his hand inside his boxers, at first only raking his fingertips along George's rising shaft. The symphony of sounds from the copulating couples