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I press my lips into a flat line. “Yeah … yeah, alright.”
“Yeah? You mean you will? You’ll slow down for me?”
My dick throbs. My balls ache. My insides are yearning for him in ways I’ve never felt before. “Yeah, I will,” I insist anyway, swallowing down all that bottomless desire.
Bobby bites his lip, then gives a gentle nod. “Alright.”
Then we both lie back, detaching from each other, and stare upwards some more, letting all our thoughts and troubles float off to that endless, colorless oblivion that is my ceiling.
His stomach growls.
Mine does immediately after.
“Breakfast time?” I mutter.
“Sure,” he agrees with a tentative smile.
The pair of us climb out of bed, then proceed to fetch some clothes from my drawer. I toss him a pair of gym shorts and a light tank, then pull out the same for myself. While we get dressed, we keep sneaking glances at once another.
Bobby cracks a smile.
I do, too.
Once we’re dressed, I grab one of my crutches off the wall and decide to be a good boy. No use having my mama and Bobby scold me for not using it to get around today. Bobby heads out of the room first and right on down the stairs. I lag behind a bit, using the dumb stick to help myself out of my bedroom, across the long L-shaped landing, and carefully down the stairs.
The whole way down, I can hear my mama already hounding poor Bobby in the kitchen about his date last night, Lord help him.
“You didn’t even kiss?” she’s in the middle of asking him.
“Nah, we didn’t get that far. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with the Tucci boy, I just—”
“But he’s prime datin’ material, ain’t he? He’s intelligent, he’s got a good family, he’s as handsome as a pineapple …”
“Mama, give it a rest,” I call out as I hobble my way into the kitchen, “and there ain’t nothin’ handsome about a pineapple.”
She quirks a sharp eyebrow at me. “You look like you wrestled with an alligator and lost, and good mornin’ to you, too.”
“Sorry for our condition,” says Bobby on my behalf. “After we got back from Fairview last night, the pair of us just crashed.”
“Crashed,” I agree lamely, then eye Bobby.
He gives me a muted, cautious smile in return.
My mama lifts an eyebrow at me. “You went to Fairview with Bobby on his date? Why?”
I shrug. “I was his chauffeur. You knew that. He doesn’t have a car. Oh, and uh, by the way,” I quickly add, “Cindy is a great server. Treated me super well. Just puttin’ in a good word for her. Jimmy-Strong approved.” I put on a tight, not-anxious-at-all smile.
My mama gives it one more second of thought, then shrugs it off. “Well, anyway, it’s been—Jacky-Ann, the boys are up!” she calls out suddenly, interrupting herself, “It’s been far too long a time since I’ve seen you, Bobby. What’d you think of Malcolm?”
“Oh, Mama,” I grunt as I hop past her to the counter and slap down two glasses from the cupboard, then pull open the fridge.
“What?” she sings innocently, then ushers Bobby over to the table where they take a seat. “Malcolm’s a handsome young man.”
“If you can get past how much of a dick-sneeze he is,” I mutter over my shoulder as I pour us a couple glasses of orange juice.
She ignores me. “I’d think that you’d have a hundred boys lining up to be your boyfriend at South Wood. What gives?”
Bobby notices what I’m doing and quickly rises from the table to get his own glass so I don’t have to carry them both. “I’ve got this,” I insist to him. “I’m just gonna—”
“Yeah,” he mutters back, “until you go hoppin’ over to the table and spill half our juice down your front.” He grabs both of them out of my hands. “I’ll take these.”
I smile at his back for a bit, watching him head back over to the table with the glasses, strutting all cutely in those shorts of mine that fit him so damned well, you’d think they were stitched right on his body. With a chuckle, I follow on my crutch and sit at the table across from them.
My mama, who I didn’t realize was avidly watching us during that exchange, starts glancing back and forth between us, chewing on her lip with growing agitation. “Somethin’ is goin’ on.”
Bobby and I share a look. “Hmm?” I mumble right after taking a sip of orange juice. “What do you mean …?” asks Bobby lightly on top of my grunt, lifting an eyebrow.
She shakes her head while wagging a long finger, making her hoops jangle against her neck, and eyes the pair of us. “You two. I can smell it. Somethin’ is up, and I want to know.”
“Nothing’s up, Mama,” I’m first to say, an annoyed edge to my voice. “We just didn’t get all that much sleep last night.”
