Page 92 of The Last Guy On Earth
She sends me a photo of her and Raul all dressed up to go out to dinner. They’re glowing. Both of them.
My heart lurches, and I smile at the screen like a fool.
Have a great night. Eat an extra dessert for me.
The twins will fight you for it.
I set the phone down and top off my whisky. It’s going to be another long, lonely night.
It’s hard to do pullups when you’re drunk.
These are my thoughts from the damp wood chips beneath the pullup bar on the playground. I’d been trying to metabolize the liquor through exercise, but the damn bar was slippery.
At least there’s nobody around to witness my hijinks. It’s dark and cold, and nobody is interested in the playground. Including me.
I lie back on the wood chips, my breath making visible puffs in the chilly air. There’s almost a full moon tonight, which is probably why I can’t see any stars.
Or maybe my eyes are just unfocused. It could really go either way.
“Clay?”
Someone is calling my name. I’m not in the mood to be interrupted, so I close my eyes.
“Jesus.”
A body lands beside me with a thud, and two warm hands touch my cold face. “Clay, baby. Open your eyes.”
I do, and the only thing I see is Jethro’s worried face. “Hi. Is something the matter? Did I forget a meeting?”
He makes a noise of disbelief. “Are you…drunk?”
“Maybe,” I hedge. “If I was, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
“It would if you froze to death,” he snarls, and it’s way hotter than anyone has a right to make a snarl sound.
“You’re very hot,” my mouth says. “In a rough way. I always went for prettier guys until I met you.”
He blinks. “Um…”
“Thinking about your scruff on my sac makes me hard.”
He closes his eyes. Then he opens them again. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up and walk back to your condo with me.”
“I like this idea,” I say, picturing him naked. But then I sit up too fast, and the motion makes me nauseous. “Uh-oh.”
“What? Are you hurt?”
I hold up a hand for patience, then I take a cautious breath of cold air. After a moment, the squidgy feeling passes. “Okay, I’m ready.”
He braces a hand under my elbow and carefully helps me to my feet, like you would with somebody’s granny. “There we go. Good work.”
“Well, duh. I still squat over three hundred. And you should see my bench. Keeps the pecs looking fiiiiiine, you know?”
“Like I hadn’t noticed,” he mutters. “One foot in front of the other, hot stuff. Let’s move.”
“You’re very bossy tonight,” I say with a yawn. “Kinda dig it.”
He sighs. Then he tucks me against his side and wraps an arm around my waist.
