Page 72 of Bobby Green

Bobby kissed him again, short, tender, and then slid to the side.

“We should clean up,” he suggested unwillingly, but Reg knew what he meant.

“You take the shower first—I’ll clean the couch.”

Bobby pushed off the couch and offered his hand up. “Deal.”

But once Reg was standing, he felt compelled to pull Bobby down for a kiss. “That—I’ve fucked a lot, Bobby. All over the place. That there on my couch, with you. That was my best time.”

Bobby grinned tiredly. “Mine too.”

“Do you need to have more sex to figure out if it’s still your best time?” Reg knew he asked that wrong, but it was just now hitting him—he was older. By a lot.

“No,” Bobby said, voice gentle. “I know my best time when I have it. Let’s clean up and watch some TV, and I’ll go through your books and see if there are any that didn’t get thrown away that I might still be able to replace.”

Suddenly Reg felt a wholly childish moment of glee. “You’d do that?”

Bobby looked at him, brows drawn together. “Of course. I wanted to read those books too. I thought we could go through the bag together.”

Oh. Of all the…. Reg ducked his chin and blushed. “That sounds like a real good idea,” he said softly. “I like that idea.” He swallowed. “Do you think I should bring V a book when I check on her?”

Bobby grimaced. “She needs to be nice to them,” he decided. “If she wrecks one, we’re going to have to make her earn it back.”

“Like with taking her pill without fighting?” Reg asked hopefully. “And not throwing stuff when she’s mad?”

“Yeah. That’s good.” Bobby seemed to brighten. “Here—let me hit the shower. Operation ‘Buy V’s Love with Books’ is about to commence.”

V WASasleep after Reg got out of the shower. He left her a book with a soggy cover, since he and Bobby were going to have to replace it anyway. He figured they could have the book talk when she woke up.

He paused for a moment at her doorway, looking down at his sister for an honest minute.

She was lying on her side, the hand with the padded cuff tucked under the pillow, her head on top, and her spill of graying mousy hair covering her eyes.

She was getting old.

The thought shocked him a little, becausehedidn’t feel old, but then he was pretty much fucking around and getting paid, same as he had been when he was nineteen.

But his hair was thinning on top—he’d let it grow out some, but he could see his hairline going back a little. He was going to have to cut it short or shave it, pretend he’d never had thick curly hair, if he wanted to stay on film.

But you could still see the down-to-fuck nineteen-year-old he had been in his eyes. Could you still see Reg’s savior, his beloved older sister, in the face of the sleeping giant?

He closed his eyes and remembered her as a kid, and when he opened them and looked at her, he could see that person in her again—the girl who had protected him and showed him how to cook when their mom was gone. He saw the girl who’d taught him how to read and who used to buy him cookies and who used to use coat hangers and tinfoil to find cartoons on their old tube TV.

He saw the sister he loved.

How often did he see that person these days?

He had to ask himself that. Hehadto. Because Bobby, not once, had said, “I want to be your guy, but you got that crazy sister.” He’d gotten to Reg’s house—to a disaster area—and had buckled down to help clean up. No bitching or moaning, just practical to the bone, that was Bob—Vern. That was Vern Roberts.

Reg knew his real name, and that made him proud.

But Vern or Bobby, that boy had stepped up, and Reg realized that asking him to step up to V’s mess was a lot to ask. Today he did it without question. Could he do it tomorrow? The next day?

Five years from now?

And it wasn’t fair of Reg to expect it of him. Reg knew that. And Reg knew that if Bobby walked away because he got tired of sleeping with one eye open all the time, that would be on Reg’s head, for keeping a promise he’d made when he’d been still in high school, to a woman who wasn’t the same today as she’d been back then.

And Reg might lose him—the one person who’d ever offered to stay.