Page 48 of Bobby Green

Jessica clinging to him like a limpet when she got off work, grabbing for Bobby’s cock the minute they were alone, and planning their wedding and their apartment and their children and their lives, never pausing for breath or giving Bobby a chance to tell her no, no, he couldn’t be her knight in shining armor—she was going to have to do what he did and rescue herself.

His mom, trying to cook things for him like chicken Alfredo when a grilled cheese would do, stared at him worriedly, trying to figure out the changes, from the waxed eyebrows to the bulging muscles to the grim look evenheknew rode his face when he wasn’t paying attention.

And Keith Gilmore, blackmailing him into giving a blowjob, every goddamned time.

This time Bobby hit the line. The line where he didn’t give a shit what Keith thought of him. He was aprofessionalat giving a goddamned blowjob—he knew how to squeeze, how to stroke, and goddammit, he was getting to be an expert at the spit grope. He had Keith shaking and ready to come with two fingers up his ass before he could say the words “Don’t do it, faggot!”

This time he moved out of the way while Keith shot come all over the hay bales in his daddy’s barn.

“Damn,” Keith swore throatily, his knees buckling as he landed on the slide of hay coming off the bale stack. “Jesus, Vern—I shoulda clocked ya for doin’ that, but God, that was amazing.”

“Thank you,” Bobby said, going to the sink to wash up. He had a chubby going on in his shorts, because this was his profession, he guessed, and getting aroused was part of it, but all in all, he felt pretty damned dispassionate about this scene now.

Those moments with Reg, lying in bed, looking to see Reg’s eyes glint as they told secrets, held hands, laughed softly—that seemed to matter so much more than going down on his knees in this dusty damned barn.

“You been studying up?” Keith asked suddenly, voice hard. “Sucking other dicks than mine?”

Bobby looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “What’s it to you?” He grabbed a hand towel and wiped off his hands and face, then pulled some lip balm out of his pocket to soften the cock burn around his mouth.

He’d had a scene three days before, and sucking a dick for four hours tended to leave a mark.

Keith got up and buttoned his jeans, then pulled his sweatshirt over his head. “What’s it to me? You’re my goddamned—”

Bobby cut him off before he could take another step, fisting his hands in Keith’s sweatshirt and shoving him back up against the hay bales. “Goddamned what?” he growled. “Goddamned whore? Goddamned property?”

He couldn’t mistake the hurt on Keith’s face, but he was beyond caring. “I thought we were friends!” Keith swallowed. “But look at you—you’re all buffed out and waxed—your hair’s cut special. Hell, your jeans ain’t even worn. You got yourself a sugar daddy down in the city, Vern? ’Cause I won’t hold for no—”

Oh Jesus. “Let’s get one thing straight,” Bobby said, making sure Keith was looking directly at him. “I would have done anything for you once. Yes. Fucking anything. But right now, the only reason—theonlyreason—I just got down on my knees is that my mom lives in this fucking town too. But that’s not going to be the case always. So the day I can pack up and move her ass the hell out of here, you will forget you ever begged me for it and we can end our association. Are we clear?”

“What about my sister?” Keith snarled. “Aren’t you going to take her too?”

Hell to the fuck no.“Whether I do or not,” Bobby told him, relentless, “it has nothing to do with you wanting your dick sucked.”

“Jesus, you fuckin’ whore—”

Yup. At least Bobby knew what he was at this point. No illusions there. “I am what you made me,” he said simply. “You’re lucky you got the finger bang for free.”

He dropped Keith then—just dropped him—and walked out to his truck. Keith’s house was within walking distance of the barn, so he felt no qualms at all jumping in the cab and driving back to his mother’s house.

His pocket buzzed as he pulled up the gravel-and-mud driveway.

For a minute he was tempted to ignore it, thinking it was Jessica talking about getting off work. Therewasa text to that effect, and he answered a vagueThat’s okay—go home and I’ll see you tomorrow, but he had to type every letter twice because he was sweating so badly.

There was another text. This one from Reg.

I miss you. I didn’t mean to make you so mad.

Oh Jesus. Jesus. Bobby had just walked away. Had he left as big a hole in Reg’s life as Reg had left in his?

I miss you too. I was more mad at myself, and I didn’t want to be an asshole.

He stared at the phone, wondering what Reg would do with that.

You can visit again, if you like.

Bobby closed his eyes and imagined what he’d do when he got home. Waiting tables. Fucking guys. Finding an apartment and moving his air mattress in.

Hanging out with Reg?