Page 51 of Bobby Green

“But people?” he asked, wanting to hear it from his mother, because the words might not give him courage, but they’d definitely give him hope.

“People shouldn’t be given up,” she said, her voice sinking. “Not if they make you happy.”

He smiled a little. Okay. He didn’t have to give Reg up. He’d go back home, find a place to move his mom, and hang out with Reg again. They could be friends. He could do this, have a friend.

Nobody had to know that he wanted more. Nobody had to know that he dreamed of sleeping with Reg in his arms, like he had when Reg had been sick. Nobody had to know that he thought about Reg’s mouth, lean but surprisingly soft-looking, and wondered—now that he knew what a man’s mouth could feel like—what would that mouth do on his body?

Nobody had to know but Bobby.

Not even Reg.

That Word Again

“SO,” BOBBYsaid, kicking back on the couch and smiling, “you ready for me to work on your house again?”

Reg thought about the bathroom, gleaming and perfect, and how the floor didn’t crackle under his feet anymore. The day Bobby had left, when they all got back from shopping, Reg had gone into the bathroom and painted the shelf.

His job wasn’t smooth and perfect, but the job was his own, and even though he’d been upset—hurt, and sad, and all sorts of things he couldn’t put a name to—he’d been proud too.

Bobby had left him a job and trusted he could do it.

Which was why he’d been dying, in little teeny increments, when Bobby didn’t text him the next day. Or the next.

He’d fucked it up. He wasn’t sure how—he wasn’t even surewhatthey were—but he’d fucked it up. It upset him so bad that the next time Trey asked to come over, Reg asked him, somewhat disconsolately, if maybe Bobby could come with him.

Oh jeez, Reg. Do you really want Bobby?

I thought he was my friend. Why won’t he even text me anymore?

He was sitting on the couch after dinner, tuning out Veronica’s show. Bobby had left a paperback the last time he’d been there—a thriller by some guy named Lee Child. Reg had tried to read it three or four times, but he just couldn’t get beyond how much he didn’t care about Jack Reacher. He wanted to ask Bobby about it, see if there were any books about people he could care about.

But he was afraid to text him, because Bobby had never texted back.

And now it looked like Trey wasn’t texting either. Oh, wait—

I told him not to. I didn’t want him messing with your head.

Reg stared at the text, a surprising anger surging in his chest. Of all the….

I’m not a little kid, he’d texted.Me and Bobby, we still had stuff to work out. He was my…companion?… friend, and I made him feel bad.

Sorry, Reg.

Reg grimaced—he really couldn’t hold a grudge for shit.

It’s okay. But is he there at the apartment?

He’s out of town. I take it you don’t want me to come over?

Reg thought about it.

I think it would confuse things right now, he texted regretfully.

No sex, I promise.

Reg stared at that. Oh God. That was the thing, wasn’t it? The thing that was hanging him up about Bobby? Bobby hadn’t made a move—sex didn’t seem to be on the table. They seemed to bemorethan sex, right? More important?

But did he have to stop having sex with other people to have themorethan sex with Bobby? Wouldn’t he eventually get horny? He knew he was sort of special, down to fuck, all the time, anytime, but seriously—no sex?