Page 127 of Wrath

He lies out on his back, and now he’s rubbing his erection. I adopt the same pose.

“I could help you with that.” He grins, angling his body toward me.

“I could help you.”

We start jerking one another, and we’re both so hard that by the time I thinkwe should be sixty-nining it, my balls are drawn up and he’s blowing all over my hand, and then I’m spraying jizz all over his.

“You wanna get a shower?” I laugh.

He flops onto his back, tilting his head toward me. For a second, he’s just smiling at me. Looking into my eyes.

“Nah,” he says. “Let’s get a towel or something. I’m hungry as fuck.”

“I know something perfect,” I say, swiping a towel I’ve got folded in my nightstand drawer for just this reason. “You like bacon, right?”

He nods as I clean both of us up.

“Pimento cheese?”

“I think.” He frowns.

“Biscuits?” I ask.

He nods, still looking slightly puzzled.

I thump his abs. “Get dressed. I’m about to blow your mind. We’ll pick up our food from this shack in the middle of nowhere and I’ll take you somewhere quirky and small-town to eat it.”

“Will we be the only people there?” he asks me.

I nod. “Just us, the birds and the ants and the grasshoppers, and maybe a ghost or two.”

He laughs. “Sold.”

Ezra

It's kind of fun to drive Mills' little white car. Even though I’m fucking starving, I feel happy in the car with Miller, both our windows cracked, our hands linked in his lap. We rib each other about nothing in particular as I head toward this country road where Miller says there's a trailer on the edge of a field selling greasy breakfast food and pecans.

“Hang a left here onto this dirt road,” he tells me after a while.

The narrow, hard-packed, red dirt road cuts through thick pine forest. We pass mailboxes sometimes, set atop stumps or even nailed to tree trunks. I feel like I’ve been driving for miles.

“Lookin’ a little murdery,” I tease.

"Murder for your taste buds,” he says.

We pass a white-washed sign with faded lettering, and then a long, dirt driveway. Then the road bends, and I see a small, teal camper on the right, parked at the edge of a field of crops.

"What are those things?" I ask Mills, squinting at the leafy green things sprouting from the dirt.

"Peanuts, baby. Ever eaten them boiled?"

"I don't know."

"That's a no, then,” he says. “You'd remember. Nice and salty. Soft. A little gooey when you chew them."

“I know something gooey and nice.”

Miller snorts, and I snicker like I’m in sixth grade.

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