Page 89 of Body Count

My plan was to take pictures of all these photos as well.Not because I thought they had something to do with Tip’s murder, but because I wanted a record of them before I asked Rory about them, in case he got rid of them.I stopped after a few seconds, though, and lowered my phone so I could get a better look at one photo in particular.The shot was unusual—Rory had taken the photo from a lower angle, and it showed a naked man standing at the foot of a bed.His back was to the camera, and it seemed obvious that Rory had snuck the photo while he was still lying down, trying to be discreet.The guy was in decent shape, with the kind of build that suggested he’d hit middle age—solid, instead of cut.A daddy type, like so many of Rory’s other hookups.

And then I realized his facewasvisible—in a mirror.It was a small photo.The details were almost too fine to make out, and all of it was made worse by the angle and Rory’s furtive attempt to take the picture without being caught.But I knew that face.It was Tip’s dad, Eddie.

Other details crowded in.Eddie’s overly aggressive homophobia.His anger about Tip’s little gaycation at the truck stop glory hole.The strangely emasculating way Lola had continued to work as a stripper, whether her Highway Patrol husband liked it or not.Jordan’s bizarre comment about Eddie being jealous of Tip.At the time, I’d taken it to be a reference to Lola; I’d thought he’d meant Eddie was jealous of the attention and affection Lola so clearly reserved for her son.But now, looking at the photo, I understood.And then more pieces started to fall into place.The day after Tip had been injured, at the hospital.The fight between Eddie and Lola that I’d interrupted in the hallway.Lola’s insistence that Rory leave, which was why he’d been here, at the apartment, instead of with Tip.The fresh set of scratches Rory had been wearing that day.

The sound of a key in a lock jolted me out of my thoughts.I pulled the photo of Eddie from the mirror and turned to face the kitchen.From the front of the apartment came the rattle of a handle turning, the squeak of hinges, steps moving inside.It wouldn’t be Jordan; I already knew that.And a moment later, Rory stopped in the doorway, staring at me.

He wore a tank and shorts and flip-flops, and he smelled faintly like chlorine and sunscreen.He shifted his weight.And then he said, “What the fuck?”

“Hi, Rory.”

His gaze moved past me, an automatic check of the body count photos.I wasn’t sure if he could tell I’d taken some or not, but color rose in his face as his eyes came back to me and he said, “What the fuck is going on?How did you get in here?”

“I think we need to have a talk.”

He looked at the body count photos again.“Did you break into my apartment?”

“Did you take a photo of me the night you fucked me at Sunny’s house?”

An unfamiliar combativeness tensed his expression, but then he shrugged and plastered on a smile.“Let me guess: Jordan told you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s not a big deal,” Rory said.“You were hot.It was a good fuck, right?”

It was a strangely earnest question, and I found myself remembering the top’s frantic, breathless thrusts.To my own surprise, I almost smiled.

“You’re still hot,” Rory said, breaking the silence.He grabbed the tank top at the hem and pulled it over his head, arms crossing.He was lean, smooth, tan from the pool.The smell of the sunscreen went straight to my balls.He pushed the shorts down enough to show freshly trimmed pubes, the fabric drawing tight across his cock.“I’m always super horny after a swim.”

“I’m starting to get the feeling you’re horny all the time.”

He grinned.The best word for it, I decided, was cheeky—aware of what I thought, and reveling in it.Even beneath the shorts, his dick was visibly filling out.“You want me to top you this time?”

“I don’t know,” I said.“Did you top Eddie?”

He stopped breathing.At least, that’s what it looked like.And then the moment moved on, and he pushed the shorts down further.His dick flopped out.It was still a pretty nice dick.“Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”

I shrugged.

“I changed my mind,” he said.“I want you to fuck me again.”

“Lots of options.”

“Last time was so fucking hot; I came so hard.I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“Thanks.”

“I even jerked off to it a couple of times, and I never jerk off.I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Is that why you went to my house and talked to my boyfriend?”

He was still doing a decent job—the cocksure way he had of standing, the smirk, even that nice, plump dick.But his eyes gave him away.The pupils were small and hard and roving, looking for a chance.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, “but I told you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and then you wouldn’t message me back.I was desperate.Why don’t you fuck my face for a while?And then you can have my ass.”

That time, I did laugh.Red rushed into his cheeks.I kept laughing, and he dropped his hand.The elastic waistband of his shorts snapped back against his hips.

“Jesus, Rory,” I said.“I know I’m not really the one to talk, but seriously?”

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