Date: Mon, 10 Nov 2003 21:36:15 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: boys of summer - part 6

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any
resemblance to anybody is unintentional.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would
recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my
junk mail filter may screen you.

Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question
from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian
and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they
can all be found in the Boybands section, which is a subset of the
Celebrity section, for those of you who have not been there.

***

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Stroke, stroke, stroke.
Maintain the pace, one arm following the other. Reach, pull back, reach,
pull back.

I was deep in the world of the pool, my brain droning along in the way that
it tended to when I could manage to get the rhythm down and find my way
into my zone. I went to the pool to think, but mostly what I did when I was
really swimming well was not think.  Instead everything would just fall
away as I spent my energy maintaining calm, keeping myself on pace, not too
fast, and not to slow. I arrowed through the water, turning my head to
exhale, breathing in quickly before blowing it back out, trying like hell
not to think about the one thing that kept circling through my mind.

I was going to see Casey tonight.

My heart hammered every time I thought of it. I hadn't seen him since Sam
and I had talked to him the other night, which seemed forever ago instead
of two days.  I found myself wondering what he did all day, where he went
when he wasn't out in the driveway washing the car. He didn't know anybody
besides Sam and I, and I knew he wasn't stopping by the video store to hang
out with Sam, because I'd asked. Sam had given me a strange look when I
asked if Casey had come in, and I explained that I was just curious since
he didn't know anyone.

Not seeing him seemed to amplify him in my thoughts. I could see every inch
of him, every piece that I'd seen already, in excruciating detail in my
mind. I felt like I could tell you exactly how many hairs were on his
forearm, or how many there were on his stomach leading down from his belly
button into his shorts. I could envision all the curves of his chest and
stomach, the hollow of his throat, the shade of his tan, all of it behind
my eyes every time I closed them and tried to think of something else. I
could hear the sound of his voice, and my nose twitched at the scent of the
aftershave he wore, mixed in with the way he smelled. Every time he stood
close to me, all of twice that it seemed to have happened, I'm been almost
hyperaware that he just smelled good, in a way that made you want to lean
in close and inhale him.

I felt like I was starting to crack up.

I was fixated on the way he smelled.

I might as well start snapping pictures of him in the driveway and building
a little shrine in my bedroom with candles around it, like the Justin
Timberlake wall my friend Deb had in her dorm room.

That's why I was in the pool so much. The past two days, I'd been in before
lunch, gone home to eat, and come back after lunch. My coach certainly
wouldn't complain, since the extra time was good for my endurance, and it
meant I was spending longer on different strokes, which could only be a
benefit in the long run. For me, being in the pool meant that all I could
smell was chlorine. All I could feel was the warm water racing over my
skin, and the rush of air briefly skittering over me each time I broke the
surface. All I could see were the lines on the bottom of the pool speeding
away beneath me, and the oval globes of the floating lane dividers flowing
smoothly past my face.

Until I got to the end of my lane, and saw a very familiar pair of calves
before me, ending in a pair of old white cross trainers. I glided to a
stop, holding onto the edge of the pool, and stared up at Casey as he
smiled down at me.

"Hey," he said, his lips curved into a smile.

"Hi," I panted. I hadn't been out of breath until I'd seen him.

Casey wasn't dressed for swimming today, unlike the last time I'd seen him
at the pool.  Then, he'd been in a pair of wet trunks, clinging enticingly
to his body, molded to his thighs and highlighting his full basket. Today
he was wearing a pair of baggy cargo shorts, frayed at the bottom of the
legs a little, looking very broken in and comfortable.  Above that, a black
tank top stretched over his chest, and his arms, his thickly muscled, but
not overly developed arms, ended in black fingerless gloves. There was some
kind of faded graphic on his shirt, words or a picture or something that
frequent washings had rendered illegible, and his bronze hair was held back
under a black and white bandanna, wrapped around to serve as a headband. He
looked very butch, very macho, and very sexy, and I was glad I was in the
pool because suddenly my speedo was very full. I pressed forward against
the wall, squashing my hard cock against it as it snaked across my hip.

"What are you doing here?" I asked nonchalantly, feeling my heart jump up
into my throat. I was glad I'd decided to crowd against the wall, because I
felt very exposed realizing that I was almost complete naked.

"I came over to say hi," Casey explained, squatting down. His thighs bulged
when he did it, calves shifting, shorts drawing in tight across his
package, and I swallowed hard. There was definitely something there, a
lower bulge and a higher one, and I knew it had to be his balls and a fat
cock above it, hanging down. I forced myself to drag my eyes off of his
crotch and up to meet his dark blue eyes, and I saw that he was still
smiling. Oh my God, had he seen me looking?

He can't have, or he wouldn't still be smiling.

"I meant here at the pool," I clarified. On the plus side, I was doing a
lot better at actually speaking to him without saying stupid things. Maybe
hearing Sam talk to him the other night like it was nothing had given my
mind some sort of signal that I could do that, too.

"I came to use the weights," he answered. "I've kind of been off my
schedule since I got here, and I wanted to try to get back on."

"I figured you must work out," I blurted. Aaaaaah! The stupid things were
tumbling out of my mouth again! Why was I speaking at all? I needed to
cover that, quick, before he started trying to figure out why I was
noticing his build. "I mean, you know, you have all those muscles, and they
had to come from somewhere, so I figured you must, you know, work out, or
something, to get big like that. Not like you're too big, or anything,
because you're not, but, well, you're bigger than me."

My voice trailed off as I realized I should just let go of the wall and
drown myself. It would be so much quicker. Casey's smile stretched wider,
flashing me those bright white teeth, and I wanted to melt. All thoughts of
how much of a moron I must sound like were gone as I started to fall into
the dark pools of his eyes.

"You're not so bad," he said, reaching out to touch my shoulder. He brushed
over it with the tips of his fingers quickly, and I felt goose bumps race
down my arm as I stopped breathing for a second. He was, oh, Jesus, he was
touching me. He pulled his hand back, and the air rushed out of me. I had
no idea how he couldn't have noticed, but he just kept talking as if the
whole world hadn't stopped spinning for a second. "I mean, you're in great
shape, but if you ever wanted to bulk up a little, I'd be happy to work out
with you.  Weights, or, you know, any other kind of exercise."

"Thanks," I said, my eyes still fixed on his. What was I reading there? Was
he being friendly, or was he being, well, flirty? His tone of voice hadn't
changed, and he was still smiling, but there was something,
something. Something that was probably just me reaching for something that
wasn't there. I dropped my arms off the wall, treading water.  "I better
get back to my laps."

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "Just wanted to say hi. Tonight, nine, your
place?"

"To work out?" I asked, the gears in my brain apparently slipping. He
chuckled a little, a good, strong laugh that made his adam's apple bounce
and the rise of his chest puff out for a second.

"No, the party," he answered, standing. "No wonder Sam calls you 'space
cadet'."

"Sorry," I said, feeling a blush creep across my face. Great, now he
thought I was stupid, too. "I'll see you tonight."

I turned and pushed off from the wall, throwing myself back into my laps
without waiting to hear what he would say, but my attempt to throw myself
back into my laps to forget about Casey was unsuccessful. All I could think
about now as I sped up and down the pool was that brief second when he had
touched me, when Casey had his hand on my shoulder. His fingers had darted
slickly over my wet skin, the tips soft, and I wished that he had held on
longer. I had barely felt it, barely noticed. By the time I had noticed, he
was already pulling his hand away, and I didn't know of any way in the
world to prolong that. It had only been an instant, and I could play it
over and over again in my mind, but the truth was it had only been a second
or two, and I hadn't even thought to make it last when it might be the only
time Casey ever touched me.

I felt like I had swallowed a ball of knives. My stomach clenched so hard
that I missed my stroke for a second, fell out of rhythm and for a quick
moment began to sink. It wasn't as bad as a cramp, thank God, wasn't that
sudden rock hard tightness in your arm or leg or shoulder that you couldn't
fight against and that could sink you like a stone.  Instead it was a wave
of pain, a sudden washing of sickness that spread through my body as I
realized that this might never happen again. I might go through the entire
rest of my life without knowing what it felt like to have his hands on me,
to feel his skin against my skin. He'd touched my shoulder, and he might
never touch anything else, and suddenly all I could feel was a terrible,
crushing sense of loss.

I grabbed the end wall so hard when I reached it that it was almost like
crashing. I'd finished the lap sloppy and unfocused, splashing, flinging my
arms out of sync, kicking too hard and not concentrating on actions that
should have been almost as automatic as breathing after this many years. I
coughed a little, realizing that I'd also managed to inhale some water. I
was like a kid at his first swimming lesson, and I smacked the sidewalk in
front of me in frustration as the lifeguard walked over.

"Nate?" he asked, kneeling down. I couldn't remember his name, but all the
local lifeguards knew me from high school. I should have just gotten a job
here.  "You ok?"

"Yeah," I panted, not making eye contact. It was easier to lie that way, to
him and to myself. "Yeah, I just, I got a cramp."

"You need help?" he asked, concerned. His partner was watching the rest of
the pool from up on the lifeguard chairs.

"No, no, I'm good," I lied through gritted teeth. My stomach was churning,
and I felt like I might throw up, right there in the pool. I started to
pull myself toward the ladder. "I'm done for the day, anyway. Thanks."

I was still in a bad mood when I got home, just in time to see my parents
off. They'd taken the afternoon off from work, and were just loading up the
car when I got home. I gave them both a hug as they made me promise not to
get into trouble, to have a good time, and to call them at the hotel if I
needed them. As I stood at the window and watched them pull away I realized
that I was carless for the weekend, so it was a good thing that Sam had
asked Casey if he could drive us. I also realized, again, that it meant I
would see Casey in a few more hours, and the idea filled me with a mix of
anticipation and dread.

I sat down with a sigh on one of the kitchen chairs, holding my head in my
hands. What the hell was I going to do? I wanted to see him, to spend time
with him, to talk to him and hang out with him and hope for more. At the
same time, I was setting myself up for a fall.  I was hoping for something
that wasn't there and wouldn't happen, which meant that I was going to be
even more miserable when it finally became obvious that there wasn't going
to be anything between us. What I'd felt at the pool would be magnified and
multiplies a thousand times. I couldn't picture it, couldn't imagine what
it would be like to see him walk away, turn away from me, to not hear him
again now that I'd finally started talking to him, to not have him near me
now that we'd just started hanging out, to not have him touch me when he'd
only done it once. I couldn't imagine it because it was just too much
thinking that whatever was there, whatever little sparks I felt and hoped
he did too, would just die, like fruit withering on a vine.

And that wasn't the worst that could happen. What if he told people? What
if he told Sam, or my parents? Our town was a lot smaller than it looked,
and people talked. What would the people I went to high school with think?
Or the neighbors? What kinds of things would they say, to my face or behind
my back? And after I left to go back to school, what would they say to my
parents? Would they be shunned? Ostracized by everyone, having people
whisper behind their backs that their kid turned out gay, like they'd done
something wrong with me? And what about Sam? Everyone knew how close we
were. Would they just assume that there was more? Would they think all
kinds of ugly things, just because he was friends with me?

I pounded my fists against the kitchen table, standing up so fast that my
chair fell over.  Why did things have to be like this? Why the fuck did
everything have to be so complicated? I left the chair where it was and
went upstairs to lay down, pulling the shades in my room and just hoping
everything would go away for a little while. More than anything I wanted to
be back in the pool, but barring that I just wanted to shut everything out
and go to sleep.

I jerked awake as I felt a hand gently touch my arm, sliding across the bed
and pulling away. The room was dark, and I blinked as I saw Sam step back,
holding up his hands.

"Nate? You ok?" he asked quickly. The light in the hallway was on, but that
was it.

"Sam?" I asked, sitting up. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't have to ask how he'd gotten in, since Sam had a key to my house on
his keyring, and had for years. Instead I wondered what time it was? How
long had I been laying on my bed, on top of the sheets, forcing myself to
sleep?

"Dude, it's almost time to go," Sam said, hands on his hips. "Casey'll be
here in like ten minutes."

"What?" I asked, jumping off the bed. "Shit!"

"Yeah," Sam agreed conversationally, nodding. "How long were you asleep?"

"I don't know," I answered, shrugging as I turned on the lights. I winced,
covering my eyes for a second, and realized that I had a whole other
problem. "Shit! I didn't eat. I didn't have any dinner."

"And you look like crap," Sam added, running his eyes up and down me. I
looked down, and realized that my t shirt was completely wrinkled from
being slept in, whereas Sam was party ready in cargo shorts, a sleeveless
black t shirt, one of those little shell necklaces that everyone but me was
wearing lately, and a black baseball cap.  "You got a lot of problems,
bro."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, jerking my closet doors open. "Sam, I can't
drink on an empty stomach. I'll get completely trashed."

"As opposed to just looking like it," Sam snickered, hiding his mouth with
his hand. I shot him a glare, pulling my t shirt off and throwing it on the
floor, and he dropped his hand, looking somewhat sorry as he stared at the
carpet. It would have been completely convincing if he hadn't still been
smirking as he did it. He held up his hands in surrender, trying not to
laugh. "OK, I hear you. I'll go downstairs and make you a couple
sandwiches, you know, lots of bread, and you pick out something to wear,
ok?"

"Thanks," I said, staring into my closet.

"Have fun making yourself beautiful," Sam called, stomping down the stairs.

I rolled my eyes and went back to the closet. This really shouldn't be that
hard. I mean, I got dressed every single day, sometimes a couple times a
day, and there really wasn't that much to it. On the other hand, I was
going to see Casey in a minute. He was coming to take me to a party, to
hang out with me, and I wondered what he'd be wearing. I also wanted to
look nice for him, to dress up a little. It seemed a little absurd, knowing
that he'd seen me almost naked in my speedo and that he'd already seen me
in my regular bumming around the house clothes, but I wanted to look
good. I wanted to look like someone he might want, and I had no idea what
to wear. I thought about calling Sam to come up and help, but then I'd have
to explain why, and things would get all kinds of complicated. While I was
trying to figure it out, I heard someone knock on the door, and then Sam
answering it, and I just grabbed for a shirt as I heard him greeting
Casey. It was a thin button down, and I was rolling up the sleeves on my
way downstairs, listening to the two of them talking in the kitchen.

"Nate'll be right down," Sam said, moving some stuff around on the counter
that must have been the sandwich supplies. "He had to get dressed."

Like I was just wandering around the house naked. Good one, Sam. Thanks.
Casey must have just nodded, because Sam kept babbling away in his chirpy
Sam way.

"He slept right through dinner, so we gotta feed him, or else he'll get
really wrecked," Sam continued, dropping a piece of silverware into the
sink. "You know, barely walking, puking all over, making a mess. Nobody
wants to see that."

"Probably not," Casey agreed. I noticed that his voice didn't sound the
same way when he talked to Sam that it did when he talked to me. It was a
little less open, less guarded, and I knew that when I walked into the
kitchen he wouldn't be smiling. When I came around the corner I saw that I
was right. Sam, oblivious and focused on wrapping my sandwiches in a paper
towel, didn't really seem to take note of Casey's expression, but his face
was blank. It wasn't hostile, just closed, but when he saw me it broke up,
shifting into one of his small, hidden teeth smiles. "Hey."

"Hi," I said, my feet skidding to a stop as my brain did. I had no idea
what to say to him, suddenly. All I got out was the greeting, and then I
was just staring. His shorts might have been the same ones as before, but
he'd changed his shirt into a plain white undershirt, thin and clinging to
his chest. I could easily see his dark nipples through it, and he had a
small silver chain around his neck. His hair gleamed under the kitchen
lights, rich chestnut brown lightening to gold on the edges, and was just
hanging loose, pushed back from his forehead and falling an inch or two
below his ears.  Longer hair on some guys looks girly, or really lame
sometimes, but on someone like him, someone so built and substantial and
there, it looked kind of wild and untamed, the kind of hair you wanted to
touch and get your fingers tangled in.

And there was my brain, wandering off again.

"Do you want to eat those before we leave?" Casey asked, nodding toward the
sandwiches. Sam held them out toward me, and I took them.

"No, I can eat them in the car," I answered, my tongue mercifully unfrozen.
"Unless you don't want me to eat in the car. Because, you know, I know some
people don't like it when people eat in their car, even though it's not
your car, but I guess it's your car for now. I could eat them here, or out
on the porch, and then we could get in the car, if you wanted."

My voice trailed off a little as I realized that Sam and Casey were both
smirking now, and I wanted to kick myself again. Suddenly speechlessness
didn't seem at all like a bad thing.

"In the car is fine," Casey said, shrugging. He was standing with his hands
in his pockets, and when he shrugged the bottom of his shirt rode up just a
little, enough for me to get a glimpse of the tiniest strip of tanned
stomach, bisected by that small dark line of hair, and then it was gone
again. His smile widened a little as he looked at me, and then his eyes
ticked over to Sam. "Are we ready?"

"Sure," I answered.

"No," Sam said, stepping toward me. Before I could say anything he'd
unbuttoned my shirt down to the middle of my chest, and then he stepped
back, grinning.  "There. Let's go."

"Sam," I said, reaching for the buttons with the hand that wasn't holding
my dinner. Sam smacked my hand down lightly.

"Leave it," he said, shaking his head. "It's the middle of summer. Show a
little skin.  What could it hurt, right?"

He asked the question of Casey, who was looking at my now partially exposed
chest. The shirt was open just enough to show that I had pecs, and if he
had undone one more button I'd probably be flashing nipples when I
moved. Casey's face was still mostly neutral, but his eyes sparkled.

"Right," he answered, leading the way toward my front door.

We didn't talk much in the car on the way over. I was too busy sitting in
the back and eating while Sam directed Casey through town, pointing
excitedly and describing who lived where, how we knew them, what they were
like, and whether they would be at the party tonight. Casey, for his part,
seemed to have adopted a strategy of just nodding and occasionally making
an affirmative noise as Sam chattered, and I wondered if he did the same
thing when my brain slipped gears and I just started babbling. The
difference between us was that Sam, in his friendly outgoing way, was
always like that, easily mistaken for an airhead by people who didn't know
him, and I wondered if Casey thought I might be, too. I wanted him to think
I had at least half a brain, damn it, even if I hadn't really been able to
convey that impression so far.

At Sam's direction, Casey parked a little ways down from Sue's house, so
that we'd be able to get out easy later without getting blocked in. When we
got out of the car we could already hear music blasting, and I figured Sue
was pretty lucky she didn't have close neighbors. Even still, someone would
eventually call the cops at some point, so I figured we needed to get in
and start partying before it was over. Sam seemed to have the same idea,
fairly bounding across the field toward Sue's house as Casey and I
followed. We could see kids lounging out on the patios and the picnic table
out front, and there was a lot of screaming from the pool. Sam was grinning
happily, and I was smiling as well, but when I looked over at Casey his
face was shadowed.

"Casey?" I asked, wondering what was wrong. He was still walking, but
without that easy grace he always had. His body was stiff, his shoulders
tense. "You ok?"

He gave his head a little shake, like I'd startled him, and then he smiled
at me. It looked tight, and I couldn't read his eyes again, but he was
trying really hard to look happy.

"Yeah, sorry," he said quickly. His voice sounded guarded, too. He sounded
like the way he talked to Sam, and he hadn't ever talked to me that way
before. "Come on, let's go party."

We followed Sam up to the house, and I kind of lost myself in the moment
for a while.  Sam was hugging girls and tapping guys on the shoulder with
his fist like we hadn't just seen all of these same people last weekend at
some other party. I followed behind, smiling, nodding, shaking hands, never
quite the social dynamo that Sam was, but between the two of us we managed
to introduce Casey to enough people that I hoped he'd be
comfortable. People were always bringing cousins and friends from college
and everything else to these things, so it's not like he was really out of
place, anyway, but I noticed that he tended to hold himself off from
people. Each time I looked up from my little group of swim team friends I
saw him sitting off to the side, or leaning on a wall, talking to someone
else who was doing the same thing. We'd been there for a few hours, though,
when I realized that I hadn't seen him for a little while, so I went
looking.

Sam, seated at the head of the dining room table and deeply engrossed in a
raucously boisterous game of Asshole, pointed me toward the backyard when I
asked, so I went outside, but didn't see him anywhere near the pool or the
back sheds. I was wondering if maybe he'd gone back to the car, if maybe
he'd just felt like going home or we'd offended him or made him feel left
out or something, when I heard his voice around the side of the house.

"We should go find your friends," he said softly, and when I peeked around
the corner I saw him sitting on a bench with some blonde girl. She was
exactly the kind of girl I'd imagined the other day, the kind that I didn't
want anywhere near him. The kind of girl who had big boobs practically
bursting out of her tube top, the kind of girl who, apparently, wasn't all
that interested in going back to the party. "You're pretty drunk."

"I don't really want to go back," she said, giggling, as she rested her
hands on his chest, palms flat against him. I wondered how I'd be able to
get over there and break the two of them up without being ragingly
obvious. Casey, on the other hand, seemed to have the situation under
control.

"Yeah, but I don't really think you're in best shape to make decisions," he
said firmly, gently taking her wrists and removing her hands. "Come on,
let's go back inside."

"But we just got out here," she protested, slurring and pouting like a
little kid.

"That was about twenty minutes ago," Casey pointed out. He seemed really
adept at reasoning with drunks, but she wasn't having any of it, and
smacked her hands down on his chest.

"I don't want to go back in," she whined again. "We just got out here."

"Not quite," Casey said patiently.

"And you haven't even kissed me yet," she continued, leaning in.

OK, that was it. I was going over there to take her by the hair and haul
her off of him, and then I was going to drag her behind the garage and beat
her with farm tools.  Bitch was going down, damn it.

Casey stopped her before I'd taken a second step.

Lucky for her.

"I don't really think so," he said, his hand on her mouth.

"What the fuck?" she asked, pulling away from him.

"Look, Cindy, you're a really nice girl," he began, and I waited to see
where this was going. What, exactly, was Casey about to tell her?

"And you're really fucking hot," she said, climbing up on the bench. She
was almost straddling him, her movements drunken and awkward, and he
started sliding away from her.

"And, like I said, you're really drunk," Casey said, a little more firmly.
She giggled, but still sounded pissed, too.

"We can still have a little fun," she purred, leaning toward him.

"But we aren't going to," he said bluntly.

What the hell? What kind of a guy, especially a big, red blooded American
teenager college type of guy like Casey, was outside on a secluded bench at
a party and actually fought off the drunken advances of a slutty
cheerleader? He came here looking hot, he'd been talking to people the
whole party, and he wasn't interested in even making out with someone? What
the hell had he dressed like that for, then, like a big piece of candy, if
not to pick people up? Then again, maybe she just wasn't the right sort of
person. Wait, that was probably just me being stupid again. Just because he
didn't like this girl didn't mean he didn't like any.

Not that it was any consolation to Cindy, who huffed away from the bench as
Casey sighed and looked up at the stars.

"Dick," she muttered, stomping past me. I don't think she even noticed I
was there, but I figured it was safe to go talk to him now, and walked
around the side of the house to where Casey was sitting, holding a bottle
of soda. As promised, he didn't drink, and I wondered why. Things about him
didn't quite add up.

"Hey," he said, brightening.

"Hey," I said, tilting my beer in a kind of half salute. "What are you
doing out here?"

Casey sighed.

"Not a lot," he answered, which I guess was honest. "I get a little bored
at parties sometimes."

"Bored?" I asked, giggling. I guess I was a little more tipsy than I
thought, but I was feeling pretty good. "Who gets bored at a party?"

"I guess I do," Casey answered, chuckling. He sighed, smiling up at me, and
I wondered if I should sit down. There was room next to him on the bench,
and I could smell the faintest whiff of his cologne from where I stood,
some sort of light, crisp scent. I started to move toward him, and heard
someone call my name.

"Nate?" it was a guy, someone I should probably recognize. "Nate, you out
here?"

"Yeah, I'm around the side," I called as Casey stood. He looked at me
questioningly, and I shrugged as we watched someone peek around the side of
the house.

"Nate, Sam's kind of sick," the guy said, walking over to me. I recognized
him as one of Sam's track friends from high school. "He's in the bathroom
right now, with Mikey, and I think he's throwing up. You might want to take
him home."

"Shit," I sighed, pouring the rest of my beer out on the ground. "Thanks,
Dan."

"No problem," he said, patting me on the back. "You need help?"

"No, I think we got it," Casey answered for me. "But thanks."

As with so many things, it was all easier said than done. Sam had not had
the best game of Asshole, it seemed, and we more or less had to drag him,
an arm over each of our shoulders, across the field back to the car. On the
way home we had to stop once so that he could throw up again, and the smell
of it almost made me do the same. I sat in the back with him, letting him
rest against me, as Casey drove us back to my house, and then we helped him
climb the stairs to my room. I thanked Casey for driving and told him I
would take it from here, and then pulled off Sam's shoes and bundled him
into my spare bed, leaving a garbage can next to him. Pulling the sheet
over him, I decided that I should probably grab some bottles of water from
downstairs, for when we both woke up tomorrow, and padded barefoot down to
the kitchen. The house was completely dark, so I didn't realize Casey was
still there, leaning on the kitchen counter, until I opened the
refrigerator.

"Jesus!" I yelped, so loudly that both of us jumped. "What the hell are you
doing here?"

"I wanted to make sure Sam was ok," Casey answered, walking over to me. I
was kind of stuck in the refrigerator, the door open at my back, and in my
slightly drunken haze I wondered why he was standing so close. "Is he?"

"Yeah, he's good," I answered, staring into Casey's eyes. I knew I
shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself. They were such a dark blue, and in
the low light of the kitchen, they almost looked black.

"You're a good friend to take care of him," Casey said, his voice lower. It
was softer, almost a whisper, and I shivered. His chest, stretching out
that thin white t shirt, was almost against mine. I could see his dark
nipples standing out, the tips hard, and I jerked my eyes back up to his
face.

"Best friends," I said, the words barely squeaking out. I swallowed, my
throat suddenly very dry. Around his mouth, dusting his cheeks, I could see
the tiny glistening stubble of a five o'clock shadow.

"You know," he began, resting one arm on top of the open door, his sleeve
riding up a little over his round, bulging bicep, "I was a little worried
about you guys being friends."

"Why?" I asked. Why would anyone worry who my friends were?

"Just, you know, you seemed so close," Casey said. His cologne was a thick
scent in my nose, making me want to lean in. He was standing so close to me
now that there couldn't have been an inch between us. I could feel his
breath caressing my face and neck when he spoke. "I was worried that you
guys might be a little more than friends, you know?"

I couldn't speak. My tongue was a lump of clay, glued to the top of my
mouth. Casey kept talking, kept leaning in, closer, closer, as if I'd
spoken. His eyes were so close, right there, right in front of mine.

"But he's got that girlfriend," Casey said, his chest just brushing mine. I
had nowhere to go. My brain was screaming that I needed to back up, that I
couldn't do this, that I must be drunk and this couldn't be happening and
he couldn't really be right here up against me in my own kitchen, but my
feet were frozen, too. Casey smiled, his face crinkling a little, his eyes
lighting up. "You, on the other hand, Nate."

And then his lips were touching mine.

***

To be continued. Sorry for the delay, but my schedule, as always, has been
hectic.