Page 57 of Point of Contact

Once back inside, Trevor asked for a piece of paper, and they perched side by side on barstools as Trevor not only wrote down what to get for the grill, but also two of his favorite marinade recipes.

He was left-handed, Jesse noted, unable to help but admire the lazy grace in his handwriting. It was bold, yet perfectly readable, and Trevor wrote with long, sweeping strokes that slashed across the page.

Oh, God. Am I really getting turned on by watching him write? Jesse kicked himself mentally. Really need to get laid here, junior.

“I should call a cab and get home,” Trevor said at last, breaking into Jesse’s thoughts. “Carl will be—well, he won’t be happy with me.”

“He’s probably worried sick, more like. And fuck taking a cab, I’m driving you.”

Trevor’s expression was rueful, but gratitude showed in his eyes. “Thanks. And again, please apologize to your date for me. I really hope she’s the understanding type.”

Jesse blinked. “Uh...yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine. No worries.”

They made the drive in silence, and Jesse couldn’t help but notice Trevor’s grimace when they pulled up to the house blazing with lights, a sleek Mercedes parked haphazardly in the driveway as if the driver had roared up and screeched to a halt.

“Carl’s home, and he’s definitely not happy.”

As Trevor started to get out of the truck, Jesse said, “Call me if you need me, okay? Anytime. I mean it.”

Trevor’s mouth set stubbornly, and it was so Riley-like that Jesse caught his breath, a sudden twist of grief stabbing him in the chest.

“You deserve to live your life, Jesse, without some sad old dude constantly interrupting it. Now go home and call your date. Promise her that you’ll make it up to her, and then do it.”

Trevor got out of the car and tapped his fist on the roof in a final goodbye before turning to trudge up the driveway.

His heart aching for him, Jesse waited until he disappeared inside before he shoved the truck into gear and reluctantly drove away.

Chapter Sixteen

April 2009—Eleven months after

The exuberant rap on the front door startled Trevor, and he dragged himself up from the couch and went to answer it. Jesse stood on the stoop, wearing a white Atlanta Braves jersey and a faded pair of jeans, the whole ensemble topped by a backward baseball cap.

“Oh. Hi, Jesse.”

Trevor stood back to let him in, and as Jesse brushed past him, he got a whiff of a light citrusy aftershave that smelled amazing, one that made him aware of his own unwashed, sorry state. He tugged self-consciously at his wrinkled T-shirt and hitched up his sagging pajama pants. “What’s up?”

“Well, I have the day off so I thought maybe I’d kidnap you for a few hours.”

“Kidnap me?”

“Yep. I scored two tickets to the Colorado Rockies opening day. Wanna go?”

“The Rockies?” Trevor raised his eyebrow, staring pointedly at the Braves jersey.

Jesse smirked. “They’re playing my hometown team, so we’ll be a house divided, but... What do you say? Come up to Denver with me?”

He looked so hopeful that it killed Trevor to disappoint him, but showering and getting dressed seemed like a monumental task at the moment.

“I don’t know, Jesse. I—”

“I’ll wait while you get ready,” Jesse said firmly. “And I’m not in any hurry. We get there when we get there.”

Trevor opened his mouth to refuse, but something made him say instead, “Okay. Gimme fifteen minutes.”

“Great!” Jesse plopped down on the couch and helped himself to the sports section of the newspaper Trevor had been reading.

Sighing, Trevor headed for his room, and as he stripped off his pajamas, he grimaced at the sour smell of them. How many days had he been wearing them now? No clue. The days blurred together since Carl had packed up his stuff and driven out of his life. Who was there to get dressed for? Carl was gone, Riley was gone...