Page 33 of Bobby Green

“All this… thisdoingstuff.”

“Not good for you. Saying.”

The two guys regarded Bobby from wide, guileless blue eyes, and Bobby squinted back. “I think you guys need to bale some fuckin’ hay,” he muttered. “But thanks for bringing the Camaro—let me get my duffel out of the kitchen and I’ll take off.”

HE STOPPEDon the trip back to get a pack of cards and then thought of a couple of games that would need two decks. And then, on impulse, he bought a game of Monopoly too. It had been a long time since he’d sat down with his mom to play games. He had the feeling Reg wouldn’t be letting him win.

Reg was curled up at a corner of the couch, watching a rerun ofLaw & Orderwith unhappy eyes.

“What’s up?” Bobby asked, setting a bag of takeout teriyaki bowls on the coffee table.

“This show moves damned fast,” he muttered. “I can never keep up with who they’re talking to and why.”

Bobby grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “Yeah, well, I gotta admit, I don’t watch a lot of television. Here—eat this. It’s good for you.”

He handed Reg a bowl of teriyaki chicken with a plastic fork and scowled when Reg just sort of picked at it.

“Don’t like vegetables?” he asked.

“Never had this before,” Reg confessed. “V eats pretty simple stuff, and I don’t like messing with that. And I gotta keep my calories down, so I just eat a little bit of what she’s having.”

“Well, man, you’re in luck. This is chicken and veggies, and as far as we’re concerned, it’s the food of the gods.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, coming in from one of the bedrooms and yawning. “Unless you’ve got a scene in two days.”

“Gas,” Bobby confessed but Reg gave an impish grin.

“Six days, Lance—can I have it now?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lance looked longingly at the bowls—and Bobby had bought four too, because he hadn’t known who’d be home. “Bobby, you want my chicken and veggies? I can have a little bit of rice this far out.”

“That’s the best part,” Bobby said, grateful.

When they were done with lunch, Bobby pulled out the cards and dealt out a hand of three-man cribbage, keeping score on a napkin. Reg picked up the rules really quick, and what followed was sort of a magic pocket of time. Lance was funny and quick, and he lost Reg sometimes, but Bobby learned to watch when Reg’s eyes glazed over, and he’d insert something to clarify in the middle until Reg perked right up. For his part, Reg seemed eager to be entertained. Jokes, anecdotes, stories from Bobby’s misspent youth—all of it was digested and remarked upon and generally enjoyed.

Bobby couldn’t remember spending such a simple afternoon with friends. Not before his father left, because why would he bring a friend over to a powder keg, and not afterward because his mom was always so worried about money.

Lance put down his last hand regretfully. “Gotta study,” he sighed. He stood up and yawned. He paused as he passed Reg and put a gentle hand on his head. “Buddy, you’re ready for some more meds and your own nap. Bobby, could you get him to bed for me?”

Reg grunted, eyeing Lance sourly as he walked toward the tiny round kitchen table where his books sat, still opened. “I can get my own pills,” he muttered, but mostly to Bobby.

“Yeah,” Bobby said through his own yawn. “But I’m ready to nap too, and I can snag Rick’s bed since he’s gone.”

“You don’t want Rick’s bed.” Reg stood up and wrapped the couch blanket around his shoulders as he shuffled to the bedroom. “He and Skylar had messy sex on it this morning when they thought I was asleep.”

Bobby hissed air through his teeth. Rick and Skylar fucked like rabbits, sometimes with Billy, Lance, or Trey—although Billy had a girlfriend he brought over some nights, who apparently thought a sock on the door was a ticket to a soundproof room—but mostly with each other. Bobby had seen them sometimes, crossing paths in the apartment, one getting out of the shower while the other was cooking dinner, and he’d seen a hand hovering over a shoulder and a bit of confusion when a kiss on the cheek or a hand on the back would be the most natural thing in the world.

A little voice in his head was asking how they didn’t know they were in love.

And right now, it was asking if he was willing to crash on Rick’s bed if they hadn’t changed the sheets.

“You can sleep with me,” Reg volunteered. “Skylar’s got a queen-sized. Just crash next to me, and if I thrash too much, grab the spare blanket at the foot and then go sleep on top of the comforter.”

“That’ll work.” That little voice again, telling him he was happy about this because it meant he’d get to hold somebody—holdReg—without anybody thinking it was wrong or strange. There was such freedom here. It was almost daunting how many things he could say or do in this apartment, with these guys, in thislife, that he’d yearned to do in his old life.

How much of his fascination with Reg had to do with the freedom to touch, to be kind, that he had here and hadn’t had at home?

He made sure Reg downed his medicine and then tucked him in against the wall. He took the edge of the bed, and Reg started shivering as Bobby got him settled. It was the most natural thing in the world to spoon up against his back, the way Jessica always expected him to do but he’d never wanted to do. Until now.