The Hardest Thing

been getting alfalfa sprouts and soggy grated carrot. What? A mental breakdown in half an hour? Seemed unlikely. Stirling’s good moods usually lasted well after I’d emptied my nuts in his guts.
    Analyze the situation, Stagg. Assess, analyze, act.
    “Has someone been here?”
    “No.”
    He wouldn’t look me in the eye.
    “Have you made a phone call?”

    “No.” He started kissing and sucking on my thumb—obviously to distract me. I moved my hand.
    “Stirling, tell me the truth. Have you been using a phone?”
    “No. For fuck’s sake.” He stood up. “You’re not my dad.”
    “Ah, good. You noticed that, did you? I kind of hoped the message got across.”
    He walked to the door, looked out at the car.
    “You’d better tell me what’s wrong.”
    “Nothing. I’m just upset.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m sorry.” He turned around. “Okay? I’m hungry. I’ll eat.”
    I gestured toward his wrap, which was leaking into its recycled paper bag. “Help yourself.”
    He busied himself with food and tried to make conversation about it, about the weather, our journey, anything. I let him talk.
    “Stirling.”
    “What?”
    “I’m waiting.”
    He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You want it again?”
    “I don’t mean that.”
    He pouted. “Oh. Shame. I do.”
    “What happened while I was away?”
    “I told you, nothing. Jesus. What do you want? Mr. Happy Face all the time?”
    “Tell me the truth.”
    He frowned.
    “Or,” I said, “just forget it.”

    He looked really frightened. “No! Don’t say that!” He sat at my feet; without thinking, I stroked his hair. At the roots, right by the scalp, there was a fraction of an inch of dark brown. Whatever fancy shit the hairdressers had been putting on him was growing out, just like the stubble that was starting to appear on his chest. He looked up at me. “I hate this whole situation. When you’d gone, I got thinking…I mean, if it wasn’t for my boss and his money, you wouldn’t give a damn about me.”
    “Hey, enough of that.”
    “It’s true.”
    “Without your boss’s money, we’d never have met. Anything that’s happened since…” What could I say? Were we in love ? He was, I guess.
    “I’ve been so happy the last couple of days, and it just hit me—you’re on the payroll, like all the rest of them.”
    “If you think he’s paying me for this”—I squeezed my crotch—“you’re very much mistaken.”
    He looked down, and licked his lips. “Maybe not that, then. But—this. Our trip. Our little honeymoon. It’s all part of his plan.”
    “What do you mean? He’s getting you out of the city because he’s worried about your safety.”
    “Like, he cares all of a sudden.”
    “He’s your employer, isn’t he?” Perhaps it was time to start asking the questions I’d been avoiding so far—like who is the “prominent individual” behind this crazy scheme? Who pays ten-thousand bucks and promises another twenty to do a security job that’s worth at best two? Who was giving Ferrari his orders? “Your boss, Stirling…”

    “He’s a jerk.”
    “He happens to be a very wealthy jerk. Now come here.” I pulled him toward me. “Drop your pants.” He did as he was told, and his cock sprang out, half-hard already. He sat on my knee, and we started kissing.
    “One more night,” I said. “Let’s make it a good one.”
    And we did.

    It didn’t occur to me— then—that there was anything wrong with this picture. It was just a job, and if I’d got a bit more involved with the cargo than I meant to—well, no harm done. I was getting paid to fuck one of the best pieces of ass in the eastern United States, and I could put up with the occasional bad mood. I felt sorry for the kid; his life must have been pretty grim if he fell in love with a guy like me. It’s not like we had a future together. I showed him a bit of kindness, gave him my cock, and he was hearing wedding bells.
    I still didn’t know who was behind Ferrari, who was paying me—and to tell the truth, I didn’t care. Sure, it mattered to me when I lay awake at night, staring up at those damn ceiling fans, listening to the late-night drivers hissing up and down the highway—but most of the time I slept, exhausted by driving, fresh air and fucking. It was a long time since I’d enjoyed the warmth of another body beside me. Hell—on the few occasions when I’d actually managed to spend the night with Will, we were always half-afraid of