Page 42 of Bobby Green

Dinner, an activity, time talking together.

But it felt no more like a date to him than having obligatory sex with Jessica when his mom was at work.

In fact, going over to Reg’s house, working on his bathroom, and looking forward to a quiet dinner and talking in Reg’s bed felt more like a date to him.

God. Bobby was having sex with more people—morebeautifulpeople—than he’d ever dreamed of, and he was still more confused about who he should want to be with than he had ever been.

So Many Fish

REG’S THINGagainst girls who liked freaky shit had nothing to do with jealousy, really; it had to do with convenience and effort.

Two people, naked, was a perfect equation in his eyes—touch, reciprocate, touch, reciprocate, touch, reciprocate, happy ending, happy ending, sex had been achieved! He didn’t mind threesomes on set, because usually the director gave the whole thing shape: You, Reg, get the blowjob; you, Ethan, give the blowjob; you, Tango, fuck Ethan while he’s working. And then change positions. So, again—touch, reciprocate, touch, reciprocate, touch, reciprocate, happy ending, happy ending, happy ending, sex had been achieved!

But the idea that a girl would go off and have sex with someone else if Reg didn’t want to have the freaky sex withherdidn’t bother him. The problem was, once a girl did that—or left for a variety of other reasons, including “Man, you’re a sweet guy, but your sister scares the shit out of me,” she normally didn’t come back, not even to have dinner or go to the movies or something.

To be a companion.

More and more, Reg treasured his Johnnies guys to be his companions.

Which was why he didn’t really understand the feeling in his stomach when Bobby went off to film his scene with Ethan.

Bobby was Reg’s friend, right? He did everything with Reg that the other guys did—hung out, had dinner, helped Reg with Veronica-watch. The only two differences were that Bobby knew how to fix Reg’s house and didn’t mind doing that, and, well, Bobby wasn’t hooking up with him at night.

When Bobby stayed the night, they just… talked. Held hands. Rubbed backs. But they hadn’t kissed, and while Reg got aroused—and Bobby did too, for that matter; Reg had seen him adjusting himself—they hadn’t gotten naked.

No sex.

It was driving Reg bananas. He was starting to wonder if he’d done something wrong.

Bobby stayed at the apartment with all the guys the night between his stills and his shoot. He admitted that he slept better there, because it was easier to ignore all the sex than it was to keep an eye out for V, and Reg had insisted. But, dammit…

Reg missed him.

And the next night, the night after the scene, Bobby texted to say he was going to sleep at the apartment again. He’d won the coin flip for the bed and just wanted to curl up in a ball.

Reg could relate. When Bobby—or somebody—wasn’t there, he just wanted to curl up into a ball too.

Which meant that when Trey texted after Bobby and asked if he could come by because only the air mattress was left, Reg said that was fine.

He knew what he was in for. He got V settled down after her horrible news program—the one that taught her to be afraid but that she was afraid to let go of—and cleaned up the kitchen, and then cleaned up his own bathroom, because it was getting more traffic now. Reg had seen Bobby’s careful attention to detail, and he appreciated it, and admired the young man who paid it.

He was not sure why he kept thinking about that while he waited for Trey.

Trey himself was lanky and tall. Not as tall as Bobby or Lance, but when he stepped respectfully through the front door with a six-pack of beer in hand, Reg told himself he wasn’t that tall anyway.

He should be grateful for lovers he didn’t have to look up to.

He should be grateful that Trey wanted to kick back and drink a beer on his couch.

He should be grateful that Trey was a direct lover—none of this holding-hands bullshit, none of these secret, shy kisses on his shoulder or his cheek.

He should begratefulsomebody wanted to share his bed, somebody who’d been trained, like Reg had, to give and receive.

Someone who’d been tested multiple times and who knew the score. Knew it wasn’t lasting. Knew it wasn’t big eyes and sweetness. Knew…

Knew that companions were friends and not lovers and that lovers should eventually be girls, even if that didn’t seem the way Reg’s life was going right now.

Knew that sex was as straightforward as dogs humping, and as necessary.