Page 3 of The Trailer Park Twink
“So good,” I admit. Normally, I feel mortified when the post-ejaculatory haze lifts, but not this time. Not after he walked me through my orgasm like he was walking me down the aisle. “What was it you were wanting to talk about?”
“It’s about our trip.”
The world goes still around me, and it feels like my blood’s gone cold. I know what he’s going to say before he’s even said it, and the unspoken words linger in the air, giving the room an all-around foreboding feeling.
“No,” I whisper. “Dallas, you promised.”
“I’m sorry, Austin. You know I wanted you to come. You mom just wants to spend a little one-on-one time with me.”
I bite my tongue to stop from unloading on him, but it doesn’t work, and the words fly out like machine gun bullets. “She has all the one-on-one time with you! She gets you every night. You promised. You swore we could—” My words end on a cracked sob. I’m not even playing dirty, I’m genuinely heartbroken. “It’s supposed to be—”
Us.
It’s supposed to be him and me. It was always supposed to be us, and my goddamn mom is ruining it again. Hasn’t she taken enough? Doesn’t Dallas know I need him too?
“You promised,” I whisper again, wiping my eyes. “We were gonna goswimming in the lake.”
I won’t win him over this way. I won’t convince him that I’m his other half by blubbering like a baby. So, I focus on what I can do. I set my sights on a new target. Sniffling, I dry my eyes, but he must think I’m still heartbroken, because he tries to soothe me.
“Ah, hell. Don’t cry, baby. You know what that fuckin’ does to me.”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll be okay. It’s okay, I promise. I don’t mind.”
“Really?”
Of course not. Of course I don’t mean it. “Yeah. We can plan something later. Just me and you. If you still want to spend time with me, I mean.”
“I always want to spend time with you.”
Just not enough to take me to his week-long trip to Minnesota. He’s been planning it for over a year, scrimping and saving to afford a trip to his family’s cabin on the lake. His parents left it to him when they died. He told me there’s a casino in the next town over and everything. We were going to play penny slots, drinking bottomless, watered-down margaritas while Mom crashes in the hotel room, sleeping off the effects of a five-or-six-day meth binge. He said it was supposed to be a special trip with his special boy.
Fixing a smile on my face—because Dallas always says you can tell when someone’s reallysmiling on the phone—I tell him, “I know you do. I’m sorry for getting a little emotional. Don’t be mad, okay? I just got a little bummed out because I was really looking forward to spending time with you.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Let me talk to your mother when I get home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do. If it’s upsetting you this much, it’s my job to handle it. Maybe you could clear out for a few hours, though. I don’t think you should be there when I talk to her. I don’t want to risk her flying off the handle again.”
“I can go over to Ezra’s house before you get off work.”
“Good,” he says, sounding relieved. “That works out perfectly. Just give us a few hours before you come home. I’ll text you to let you know the coast is clear. I love you, buddy.”
“I love you too. Don’t get overheated at work. Stay hydrated, then come home. I’ll see you tonight.”
Once I end the call, I lie back in bed and try to steady my racing heart. I’ve been looking forward to our trip for a year. My mother might think she’s stopped me from spending a week of uninterrupted fun in the sun with her husband, but she’s about to find out she fucked with the wrong one. Dallas is mine.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and when I look down, Ezra’s name and smiling face are stretched across my screen.
“Hey, Ez,” I say once I’ve answered. Lifting my leg, I close my laptop’s lid with my toe and lie back on the bed. “What’s up?”
“My blood pressure. We were supposed to rehearse after class. What the fucking fuck, Austin?”
Shit. I totally forgot. Ezra landed our acapella group a gig at an all-queer prison unit. A special-housing-something-or-another, he called it when he pitched the half-formed idea. I don’t care what Ezra says on the matter, the only reason he agreed to the gig is because former famed Tallulah-verse drag queen—the illustrious Ms. Sukki Cox—was recently sentenced to twenty years, and Ezra has had a massive crush on Sukki-slash-Brandon since they met at Manhole, the only gay bar within a forty-mile radius of Tallulah, Texas. I don’t know if he plans to literally back her into a corner just for a moment of her attention, but Goddess help us if he does, because I’ve personally witnessed Sukki bust a beer bottle over a man’s head for talking during her set. She’d snap Ezra like a twig. Whatever his reasoning, we still have twenty songs to learn over the next three weeks, and here I am, skipping out so I can jack off while my stepfather listens.
“Are you still free? I’ve got a few hours to kill. I can come over and we can practice in your apartment.”
“Yeah. We can do that. I need you to take this a little more seriously, though. This entire acapella group was your idea. Itwould be nice if you’d show the same amount of initiative as you do with seducing your dad.”
