Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

put in the gym time to stay that way. His chest was waxed, because he'd come to enjoy the way that looked, and the way guys touched him there. Hopefully Josh wouldn't remember the stupid crack about the coffee and hair on my chest. Hopefully he'll think I'm naturally bare, or maybe metrosexual. Trey ran a hand across his smooth chest and then up over his head. His dark hair was maybe a touch longer than usual, certainly longer than Josh's, but some guys liked that. He was a little taller than Josh, a little bigger now. And a hell of a lot gayer. Trey turned away abruptly and cranked on the water.
    They headed to town in the rental car, with the windows down and the radio cranked. The station was some kind of stupid top-forty, and Trey was appalled at how many of the songs he actually knew, and how willing he apparently was to belt them out once Josh got them started. The years rolled back. It was him and Josh and a car and a road and nothing vital to do before morning. The center of town was a fifteen-minute ride. It wasn't even seven when they arrived, but they found to their dismay that all the stores were closed.
    "Damn." Josh pulled over in the supermarket parking lot and rested his wrists on the wheel. "Small town Sunday night. I wasn't thinking. One of us should have come down here sooner."
    "I guess we could drive to the nearest big box store. I'm sure there's a twenty-four hour supermarket in Lompoc."
    "That's another twenty minutes." Josh sounded as reluctant as Trey felt.
    Trey glanced around. "Hey, isn't that a diner? There's cars parked out front. I'd be happy to just get dinner. We have eggs and bread for breakfast. We can shop tomorrow."
    "Good thought." Josh pulled through the lot and down the street to the diner.
    The door was open and they headed inside. The place was brightly lit and clean, with half a dozen tables occupied. Trey looked at the red vinyl booths, the hanging lights, the grey linoleum floor. "Hey, Josh, it's just like Curly Joe's back home."
    "Not too far off."
    The waitress paused to glance at them and waved casually. "Sit anywhere. I'll be with you in a minute."
    Without discussion they automatically headed for the last booth in the back. They'd barely slid into the benches, the vinyl sticky against the back of Trey's knees, when the waitress appeared with menus. "We're out of the fish," she said, "But it wasn't the greatest anyway. Can I get you guys some cokes or some coffee to start with?"
    Josh said, "Coke."
    Trey almost seconded it out of habit and then hesitated. "Do you have cream for the coffee?"
    "Sure. Milk, cream, non-fat creamer."
    "Coffee, with lots of real cream." As the waitress headed off Trey leaned back in the booth and looked at Josh. Just like the old days. He could do this. Think back to being seventeen. No, better not. Think fourteen. "So," he said easily, "Tell me what else is new with you."
    CHAPTER 3
    Josh woke in the early hours of Tuesday gasping for breath. The sheets were glued to his body with a slick of fear-sweat, his heart was pounding and his muscles twitched in inhibited fight-or-flight. Damn, that was fucked up.
    He shoved the covers down and lay there, trying to will himself to calm. The worst part was he was still half-hard, his body caught between dream and nightmare, and each was as messed up as the other. He took deliberate steadying breaths, trying to remember what that therapist had said back in college. He'd had nightmares then, repeatedly, until he'd gone looking for help. They'd faded after a while. But this had been back to full blown panic.
    There was a sound from his doorway and he sat bolt upright. Trey stood there, half-hidden by the door frame, peering in. "Are you okay? You... yelled."
    Oh. Damn. "I'm fine. Sorry if I woke you."
    Trey gave him a sleepy smile. "No problem, as long as you're good." He vanished into the dark hallway, closing the door softly as he left.
    Josh eased down onto the bed and blew a breath out through his teeth. He'd been a bad roommate for a while in college, round about the time his first semester exams had made him sleep-deprived. His roommate had practically chased him to a therapist with the comment that if Josh didn't care about spending half the night hyperventilating, he could at least have pity on a fellow freshman. He'd done some talk therapy and meditation and some attempts at lucid dreaming, and something had worked. Although he still sometimes wondered if his roommate had quickly found a