Page 269 of Wrath

Double Overtime

One

Ezra

The only Friday in February that theNew York Timesreporter is available, and so am I, turns out to be Valentine’s Day. Someone from Luke’s church set the thing up—with a writer that they know. So Luke offered to fly Josh and me to New York. But the reporter insisted on coming down to Tuscaloosa. He wanted to do the interview in my dorm room, but I’m not up for that. Anyway, I hardly even live there now. I’m Miller’s live-in house husband.

Somehow in the last month, our schedules have done a role reversal. Mills hit the ground running when spring semester started here at University of Alabama. He got himself enrolled in concert band and involved in intramural soccer, so as soon as classes started, he got busy as fuck. I, on the other hand, have been driving the Jeep from building to building, crutching my way to classes, and spending lots of time finding my groove with Netflix.

Even right now, Mills is finishing a cello practice, and I’m here at his—our—place, setting up his V-Day stuff and waitingon the reporter. If things go the way I think, Mills will get here an hour and a half before Dirk the reporter arrives. Mills knows about the deal and is prepared, but being welcomed in by two guys instead of one might be a shock to Dirk. Luke hasn’t told the guy I’m gay. But I know Dirk is, so I’m hoping it’ll work out.

I’m laying long-stemmed roses on the pillows of our queen-sized bed when my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket, feeling a little breathless, but it’s Miller and not Dirk.

“Heya, Mills.”

“Hey, angel. Whatcha up to?”

I let out a faux sigh. “Just waiting on my boyfriend. Nah, just kidding. Well, I am waiting, but it’s all good. How was practice?”

“It was pretty good,” Josh says. “Working with two girls and a guy in a quartet. Just messing around.”

I can hear the excitement in his voice, though, and it makes my chest go warm and fuzzy as I sit on the bed’s edge. I lie on my back, dangling my legs off the side.

“You gonna play for me this weekend?” I murmur into the phone.

“Oh yeah. I need to practice. You’ll be tired after Greeley and the gym on Saturday. So I’ll have a captive audience.”

That makes me chuckle. “Since when do I need to be tired to hear you play that good shit?”

He knows it’s true. I’m Josh Miller’s biggest fan. He claims it’s just the inherent beauty of cello, I’d be captivated by anyone playing it, but we both know that’s not true. It’s his fingers I want to see moving along the fingerboard. I want to see his eyes close as he plays for me, his foot tap gently on the floor. After he’s done, I wanna kiss his neck and ruffle up his dark hair.

I laugh. “I’m getting hard thinking about you with that cello.”

“You filthy auralist.”

I rub my hand over my boner, shaking my head with my eyes closed. “Someone who gets it up for music?”

“Yup,” he confirms.

“I’m a Millerist. Remember what happens when I sit on the sidelines at your soccer?”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Yeah, I think you’ve gotta wear a jock strap next time.”

Fuck, and now I’m harder. “I could be convinced to do that for you.”

“Shit, dude,” Mills says. “When is thisTimesguy coming? I want to blow you when I get home.”

“Dude! How is that helpful? What if he shows up right now when I’ve got a monster boner.”

“Luke said his plane was landing at 11:30 in Atlanta. It’s not even 2 yet, and he’s gotta drive from there to here. And don’t call my favorite dick a monster. He’s XL, and that’s A-okay.”

I start pumping myself through my basketball shorts. “Mills?” I whisper. “Can you hurry?”

“I’m about two minutes away. You want me to jog? I’ll do it.”

I laugh, and he says, “Now, don’t be coming, Ezra. Hold out for my mouth. Why use your hand when you can use me?”

Ohhhh fuck. “You’re not helping.”

---