Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

towel around his hips. I smirk.
    "You remember I'm gay, right? Not afraid showing me that much skin will make me want to bend you over?"
    I know "Flower" refers strictly to my name and not to the fact I'm gay. He didn't find out about my preference in dates until Valentine's Day the year we met. He saw me kissing a guy goodnight in front of the team house as he was jogging past it. I remember his eyes opened wide when he saw me. I made a snide remark about him watching me, to which he sniffed, said something like, "I'll watch when there's something worth looking at," and took off jogging the other direction.
    At first I thought he might have an issue with me being gay, but he's never treated me any different before or since. At least not until today. Today he's totally off. Am I still his rival? Hard to tell since I wasn't around last semester. Maybe I just caught him by surprise.
    "Oh, please." He rolls his eyes. "You see me in my running shorts and not much else nearly every day. This is a lot more fabric compared to that." I nod to admit the truth of his statement. "Besides, you'd be the one bending over."
    "Touché."
    "No, I'm not going to touch your tushy anymore than I want you touching mine."
    "I sleep nude. If you have a problem with it, you better speak up now."
    "Somehow, I'll find a way to not grab your ass while you're sleeping. Your virtue is safe with me."
    "I have virtue?"
    I try not to grin but it slips through anyway. I can almost enjoy Heath's company when he treats me like a guy instead of the lowest form of scum. "Do you have any clean clothes?"
    He shifts a bit, looking discomfited. "I can find something."
    "Don't bother. Put this on." I toss him a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants of mine from one of the bags on my bed. I'm a good little boy and don't watch him change, though I'm tempted. He might be thinner, but he's also a runner; all of us have drool-worthy bodies. "First, we're doing your laundry."
    "I don't have any detergent."
    I hold up a bottle of laundry detergent and shake it at him. He shakes his head.
    "I can't use yours."
    "Too bad. You don't have a choice in the matter. In a couple of days the house will be full and we'll be back to scheduling when everyone can use the machine. We're doing this now. So, unless your skin is going to break out in a rash from this brand, your clothes are getting washed in this today. Grab a pile."
    He thins his lips but nods acceptingly. We each grab a pile of clothing and walk it down to the laundry room. He throws some of the darks in while I drop the whites on the floor for later. Once we have the machine running the first load, we go back to survey the bedroom.
    We discuss how to split the furniture, deciding I get one of the desks and the wardrobe, leaving him the other desk and the entire closet. It doesn't take us long to clean out the wardrobe. Most of his clothes are dirty, so the hangers are already bare. He cleans his stuff out of the bottom drawers and tosses his shoes under his bed. Once empty, I have room to unpack. Heath works on uncovering my desk.
    With the both of us working quietly, in another hour the room looks tons better. We still have some work to go, especially to clean out the closet, but at least I no longer feel like something might crawl out from a pile of trash and bite me while I'm sleeping.
    The doorbell startles both of us when it ding-dongs.
    "Pizza break." I swoon like Scarlett O'Hara, the back of a hand to my forehead and the other over my stomach. "I'm starving."
    His stomach rumbles in agreement. He nods and we race down the stairs to the door.
    The pizza delivery guy is C-U-T-E cute. He smiles when we throw open the door like a couple of over-eager children. While I'm digging cash from my wallet, Heath takes off with the boxes and sodas. I toss a "bitch, bring back my pie!" over my shoulder before I hand the cutie a twenty and offer "keep the change" to him. He stands there for moment and I get the feeling he wants to say something, but after a few more seconds he nods his thanks and turns back to his car. I debate calling after him but decide instead to lean against the doorjamb and watch as he drives away. My obvious staring after him should sufficiently make the point. If he's interested, he knows where to find me.
    I find Heath in the kitchen already working on his second slice of pizza. He must have inhaled the first one.
    "Hungry much?"
    "Yur oo whoa," he muffles through a mouthful of The Works. I pour soda