Page 78 of Full Service

I reach over for some tissues, an industrial-sized box I picked up last week. I hand him one and he starts to wipe himself up.

“I already ate.”

“Bummer. Is it okay if I have one of your frozen dinners?” he asks, looking almost shy.

“You can have anything you’d like,” I tell him and then stand up, pulling my shirt off, making Everly’s eyes fall to my chest.

“Anything?” he asks suggestively.

My hand flexes near my side. Good God, he makes it hard.

Makes me hard.

“Anything,” I say and then tilt my head toward the hallway. “I’m going to go shower.”

He nods and stands up, his dick still out of his jeans, looking delicious. I need to shower stat. Before I do something ridiculous.

Like fall to my knees.

I’ve been doing so well. I’ve been so professional.

I’ve been like seven percent professional.

“See you tomorrow?” I ask, and he nods.

“Tomorrow.”

And as I walk away, I can feel his eyes on me, and tomorrow feels like eons away.

I don’t know when I changed my mind about being professional, but sometime in the middle of the following week, I snap. Maybe it’s the fact that the nightly jerk-off sessions with Everly have worn me down. Or maybe it’s because I hear him every morning getting off in the shower.

He makes no effort to be quiet about it. He moans my name like it’s a sin.

I stand outside the door and get off too.

Like the pervert I’ve become.

But I think what really pushed me over the edge was Wednesday, my birthday. I’ve told no one about it, but still, I pout the entire day because I’ve received no calls. Not even a text message. Even my sister forgot about it. Not that I expect her to remember. She has her own life, and we were never big on birthdays growing up. She’s not to blame.

Lee doesn’t mention it either, but then again, how could he? He doesn’t know.

I just like to feel sorry for myself, it seems.

I’m thirty-six now, one more year closer to death.

When I arrive back to my place that night, I plan to sulk about and drink a gallon of wine and wait for Everly to return. Maybe I’ll tell him, and he can help me celebrate. Maybe he’ll let me smear him with cake and lick it off him.

What’s the point of professionalism when I’m going to die anyways?

What’s the point of living if I never live?

I’m contemplating my entire life. Growing older does this to a person. It makes you wonder what the hell you’ve been doing all your life. I got my doctorate at a young age, got a great job, and yet here I am…single. My best friend is a ninety-two-year-old dude. And I have no love life.

I’m unhappy.

Fuck, I just want to be happy.

“I can be happy,” I grumble to myself as I enter my place. I drop the keys into the small ceramic bowl, and when I flick my gaze up, I see Everly. He’s naked, wearing only a jock strap, and standing in the middle of the living room, a chocolate cupcake in his hand.

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