Page 40 of Sean's Sunshine
And suddenly the pleasant haze of the beer was burned off. “Fuckthe rent. I don’t care about the rent. I care about the company, dammit!”
Billy looked surprised—truly shocked—and then his expression softened. “Calm down. Jeez, I was only asking. Do you need help putting on your jammies, cop-man? Or did you want to watch some more TV?”
Sean scowled at him. “Another hour of stupid cop shows,” he demanded, feeling churlish.
“Good,” Billy said. “You make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right there with sandwiches.”
Sean opened his mouth to protest, but Billy beat him to the punch.
“And before you argue, I’m starving, so that’s what this is about. Not waiting on you.”
Sure.
“Fine,” he said, turning around and jamming himself in the corner of the couch to help prop up his back and chest. A moment later, Billy came over with a couple of pillows. Expertly, he shoved them behind Sean’s back and under his elbow, and then, before Sean could protest, he bent down and kissed Sean’s sulky, irritated mouth.
“Let me take care of you a little,” Billy murmured. “You said all these pretty things to me, cop, and even if I don’t got an answer, I’m feeling sweet, so let me.”
Sean parted his lips as Billy withdrew and smiled slightly. “Sweet?” he murmured.
“Yeah. Now find your stupid cop show, and I’ll be right back.”
“’Kay.”
A few minutes later and true to his word, Billy returned with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat for himself and a turkey sandwich on sourdough for Sean. Sean took the sandwich and his stomach growled, loudly and unmistakably, and he gave a sheepish smile before taking a bite.
“Good?” Billy prodded.
“Dank ’ou,” Sean said as he chewed. He swallowed, and the last of the beer sank into the fresh bread, and he felt a little less irritated. Another bite and another, and he let his consciousness slip into the cop show, which was its usual charming, exciting, unrealistic escape from his day.
Billy took their plates to the sink and returned, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the couch, he sat right next to Sean and tilted his body a little.
“Here,” he said softly. “Don’t crumple yourself, but maybe if you wrap your arm around my shoulders….”
Sean did what he’d suggested, and Billy put his head on Sean’s shoulder, and for a moment Sean’s vision went swimmy, but not with lack of oxygen.
Oh, this was nice. So good. Sean’s brain, which had been darting with questions like minnows in a pond, suddenly slowed down. Things like “How did you get into porn?” or “Do you still talk to your parents?” which he wasdyingto know, suddenly became so much less important than the very bearable weight of Billy’s head on his shoulder.
“So what did you and Andres talk about?” Billy asked during a commercial pause.
“About how hard it was to be married to a cop,” he answered.
“Oh,” Billy said, and Sean knew he got it.
“I was worried,” Sean told him, so relaxed in this moment. “I didn’t want to start anything that would hurt you. Andres said don’t worry about the people on the force being shitty—he’s my partner, and he thinks you’re okay. He said to make sure you could deal with that other thing.”
“The getting-hurt thing,” Billy murmured.
“And the sixteen-hour-day thing,” Sean confirmed.
“Mmm. He forgot about the big thing.”
“What’s that?” Sean asked.
“I really want to kiss you,” Billy said. “And I want to give you sandwiches when you’ve had one beer too many—”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You get a beer with friends. Not a crime. Unless you get mean.”
