Page 31 of Good Friends
Gavin headed back out and realized he should just grab lunch, too. He turned around and told Morris he was heading out and climbed in his truck.
He was still learning his way around the area. Unfortunately, if he went over to 41, he’d hit horrible freaking traffic. It was still snowbird season, but worse, they had the dang highway all torn up with construction. It could take twenty minutes just to go less than a mile.
So he headed out the back way, drove east along Tallevast, and hit a sandwich shop over on 301. There, he sat in the air-conditioned restaurant and went through his e-mail on his phone. His headache was still throbbing but not as bad as it’d been earlier.
While he sat there, he checked Facebook despite his better instincts.
Porter had posted no updates.
At all.
Which wasn’t totally unusual, but when he skimmed through some of their mutual friends’ posts, which Porter would frequently like, he saw none from him.
Odd.
His finger hovered over the unfriend option and he still couldn’t make himself do it.
Shouldn’t I be more angry at him than at Jayce?
Except…he couldn’t. How fucked up wasthat?
Which is more proof that the last thing I need right now is a relationship.
* * * *
By the time he headed home that afternoon, his headache was still there, but with more applications of ibuprofen, and a two-liter’s worth of Mountain Dew, it had eased back enough he could mostly ignore it.
He stood under his shower with the water turned cool and beating on his head, and that helped, too.
I miss him.
His eyes popped open. He’d done a pretty good job not thinking about Porter for most of that afternoon while he’d been working. He’d finished the job he was working on and would start the next one in the morning, when the parts for it should arrive.
I need to work this weekend.
That was part of his problem. He’d allowed himself too much downtime. His brain did bad things to him then. He could work, get himself into a routine, and eventually reach a point where he wouldn’t be thinking about Porter-fricking-Hutchinson every damn time he turned around.
When he climbed out of the shower he dried off and didn’t bother getting dressed. All his blinds were closed, so it wasn’t like anyone could peep in on him. He was heading for the kitchen to make himself dinner when his phone rang.
He groaned as “It’s Raining Men” blared.
Fuck.
He answered it, knowing he couldn’t put it off. He’d sent her an e-mail last week telling her he was living in Sarasota and giving her his new address, but she wasn’t on Facebook, so he wasn’t too worried about her spreading the news there.
“Hey, Mom.” He propped the phone between his cheek and shoulder and opened the fridge. “What’s up?”
“Your grandmother was asking me about you this morning. Wants to know if you’re dating any girls. You could try calling her every once in a while. I don’t know what to tell her.”
He silently groaned. “Oh, I’m fine, thanks. How are you? Yes, the new job’s goinggreat, thanks for asking.”
He heard hertskthrough the line. “Don’t be a smart-ass, Gavin.”
“I’d rather be a smart-ass than a dumb-ass, Mom. What do you want? I’m standing here buck-ass naked in my kitchen and about to make myself dinner.”
“That’sdisgusting.”
“Why? I just had a shower. I’m clean. And you know damn well I’m gay. Tell herthat.”
