Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

up against his knee with little burbles of affection. He patted her absently, running his hand over her soft fur. She arched under his hand, seeming starved for touch.
    Was that his problem too? It had been a year since he'd actually dated anyone, of either gender. His anonymous hook-ups had left him cold as soon as they were over. Was he just so starved for real affection that he'd glommed onto Trey as the answer to his loneliness? And when the hell had he decided he was lonely?
    The question answered itself, he decided. He decided he was lonely when he realized how much it meant to have Trey around. So no, he hadn't picked Trey as some sort of all-purpose space-filler. He'd simply realized that Trey was the piece that had been missing from his life, the person all the others had been space-fillers for.
    So what am I going to do about it?
    That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Not that he could do a fucking thing if Trey didn't come back. The cat squeaked as his fingers tightened in her fur. She jumped away, gave him an offended look, and disappeared down the ladder. Just like Trey had.
    What if that look hadn't meant Trey was just mad right now? What if it meant he was disgusted and wasn't ever going to be interested? Josh had worried for so long about telling Trey he was bi, and then that problem had solved itself. But what if instead of opening up wonderful possibilities, the real problem was that Trey thought he was a liar and a sleaze and a waste of time. No amount of telling himself Trey had been just as sneaky and untruthful seemed to shake that worry from Josh's mind. He stared out at the peaceful landscape and felt anything but at peace.
    Eventually he decided he was sticky and sweaty and tired of his damned brain going around in circles. The sun had progressed enough that the shade of the maple had moved off the roof, and the loft was becoming an oven. He pulled the door shut and made his way down into the barn. It seemed odd having the store closed at this hour, so there was nothing immediately demanding attention. Well, other than a skinny male cat now taking its turn winding around Josh's ankles. He stooped to rub its ears, wondering briefly if he should reopen the store. But he still was inept with the register, and the thought of trying to run the thing without Trey there made him feel ill. Business had been good all morning. His aunt's bank account would just have to take the hit.
    Eventually he wandered back into the house. The breakfast dishes were still in the sink, along with the sandwich-making detritus from lunch. He cleaned those up, and then went on to scrub the counters and wipe out the sink. He could do laundry, he supposed. He wandered into his room and picked through the heap of dirty clothes in the corner. He hadn't brought much along, so it was probably time. His jeans and shirts and underwear were mostly dark colors, and he scooped them up and made the trek to the laundry room. The washer wasn't full, and he briefly thought about going into Trey's room and adding a few of his things. That was thoughtful, right?
    Although what would Trey think if he came back and found Josh had been picking through his underwear? Not a good plan. It was some measure of how off balance Josh was to even think about it. He'd never washed a lover's clothes, not even Linda's, although she'd sometimes thrown a shirt or two of his in with her own. Sharing laundry was a sappy living-together thing to do, and he and Trey were nothing like that. Not yet. Unfortunately.
    He slammed the lid of the washer down and started it, realized he'd forgotten the soap, jerked the lid back up and poured in enough to probably make bubbles explode out of the machine, yanked out the most soap-coated T-shirt and rinsed some of it off in the sink, and sat down hard on the floor. Damn. Just damn Trey for making Josh's brain turn to mush. And damn the man for having been gone an hour and– he checked his cell– an hour and fifty-six minutes without calling. Not that he wasn't a grown man and entitled to... Damn.
    The afternoon dragged into evening. Josh had thought he might keep himself busy cleaning but his enthusiasm for that faded pretty fast. He took a six-pack of beers onto the porch, drank one and then decided if Trey did come home, he wanted to be sober for the fight. Or the making up or whatever was going to happen. When the bastard finally did come home.
    Evening chores lost their charm when he was doing them