Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
In no time, I’ll have Bobby smiling again.
No matter the shitty customers he likely dealt with.
Or the stress of Mr. Lemon and his mounting list of demands and expectations out of his new totally-underpaid Bobby.
Or that asshole Anthony Myers, who I don’t trust for shit.
And sometimes, even despite being advised against this, I go up to the theater whenever he works a late night shift and watch the last showing of whatever movie, not caring what it is, even if I’ve already seen it six and a half times. I sweet-talked the box office girl, so I don’t even get a ticket most of the time. I’ll sit in that theater, chow down on some popcorn, and then stick around afterwards to hang with Bobby up in the projector hall where I totally don’t belong. And since we’ve figured out which days Mr. Lemon leaves early, the misbehaving pair of us will kick back, or mess around, or just be a pair of idiots until two in the morning.
“Y’know,” I tell him one night as we’re sitting in the bed of my truck outside the theater after one of his closing shifts, “I did say I was swearin’ off girls this summer.”
Bobby already finds the humor in that, chuckling. “You did.”
“I’m a man of my word, aren’t I?”
He looks at me, tired eyes and all. “I can always count on you to make me feel better no matter what, Jimmy.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Feel better?”
He shakes his head. It appears he let that particular wording slip out unintentionally. “After a hard day at work, I mean.”
I nod slowly, but study him skeptically. “Is there something goin’ on at work that you ain’t tellin’ me, Bobby? Is Mr. Lemon treatin’ you right? You looked stressed when I first showed up.”
Bobby plays it off with a flick of his hand. “I’m always stressed at my job. It’s … well, my job, after all.”
“You sure?”
He makes a movement, as if he’s about to kiss me right here on the bed of my truck, on the curb in front of the theater, in front of whoever’s possibly out here on the Spruce streets at two in the morning. Then he thinks better of it and settles with a pat on my thigh and a hearty, “Yeah, Jimmy, I’m sure. Just job stress.”
“Just job stress.” I nod. “Alright.”
I privately decide I’ll come back to that subject later.
Later that same night, I’m holding Bobby in my arms, it’s well past three, we’re in his bedroom, and neither of us can sleep.
“Jimmy? You still awake?”
I’m playing big spoon, and he’s the little spoon, so I speak to the back of his head. “Yeah, Bobs, I am.”
He squirms a bit under the covers to get more comfy, which presses his cute gym-short-wearing butt into my crotch. If he does that a few more times, we’ll be up all night fucking, I just know it.
“I just wanted to say that you make me happy.”
“I know. You make me happy, too.”
“You think things will change when we go back to campus?”
“Nah. In fact, they’ll be better,” I insist to him. “We’ll be back in our own dorm. Just us. Hey, we can push our beds together.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, make ourselves a big ol’ bed. Might have to move one of the desks down a bit to fit them, but … we’ll make it work.”
“What’ll your friends say when they hang out in our room and find the beds pushed together? Are we …” Bobby frets. “Are we … gonna have to come out to everyone? Are you ready for that?”
“I’m ready for anything.” I kiss the back of his head, then give his chest a rub with my hand. “Anything for you.”
“Mmm.” Just that moan indicates Bobby’s smile. “You sure?”
He squirms again, grinding his ass deeper into my crotch.
I growl. “I’m sure your ass is askin’ for some action tonight.”
“Is it?” he asks tauntingly, then squirms again.
I flip him over at once. My lips are on his, and the night is lost to our fevered kisses, sweaty bed sheets, and greedy hands.
21
BOBBY
It’s the middle of another hot summer night when I open my eyes. We must have separated at some point, like we usually do on account of his overly-sweaty body and the summer heat. Jimmy’s busy on the other side of his bed snoring lightly, wearing nothing but a pair of tighty whities—and looking downright adorable with his mouth hanging half open in his slumber. I’m on the other end with an arm dangling limply over the edge, just one innocent roll away from falling clean off the bed.
I’m super thirsty from sweating so much, so I sleepily climb to my feet, pull on my pair of loose gym shorts that rest on the floor in a balled-up clump next to Jimmy’s, then slip out of his bedroom.