Page 65 of Second Story

“Busy day with your hot chocolate client?”

“Amongst others, but yeah. Kwasi’s trial date is rushing up and he’s refused to walk into a courtroom twice now. Still gotta keep trying.”

Joe’s told me so much about his work that I can almost picture this teen who could be Teo or Noah, only without their chance to escape knife crime central.

“One minute, he’s acting like a top boy, you know? King of the heap. Scared of nothing. The next, he’s shitting bricks about being in the same room as the real version.”

His top-boy term doesn’t belong in Cornwall. Likefedandfamandbruv, it’s a whole other language that Joe reminds me of while wincing.

“They made him feel like family. Included, yeah? Like he had a future in their organisation. Gave him a ladder to climb out of Wintergreen, only to find out it led straight down to where they really wanted him. A drone at the bottom of the heap doing their dirty work for them. A fall guy. A pawn, like me.”

“Like you were.”

“Yeah.” Him scrubbing at his face asks for a change of subject, so I ask about his pregnant sister-in-law.

“Meera?” I don’t know how he ever passed for a criminal when he can smile with this much sweetness. “She’s changed her mind about the shade I painted the nursery. Said Josh wondered about me and Dad getting it done with him once and for all.” His smile fades. “That’s not happening. It’s a nursery, not a three-man project. I mean, all three of us could do it, but…” He looks away, his next glance full of feeling. “Tell me a story with a happy ending, yeah?”

I do, sharing happier news with him about video calls and prison visits being on our horizon thanks to a chaplain’s intervention, but his smile doesn’t touch his eyes, so I reposition my phone and try harder for that happy ending.

“Once upon a time, a librarian wanted his boyfriend to push his sheets down a little lower.”

Joe smiles, and fuck me, that’s better.

“Boyfriend? Moving a little fast there, aren’t you?”

“Fast?” I shrug. “Doesn’t feel fast to me. I started reading this story a whole year ago. You want me to go even slower?”

“Nope. I’m just saying that I don’t know the rules for storytelling. The last time someone read me a bedtime story, it wasThomas the Tank Engine. I’m all aboard this boyfriend choo-choo. Keep going.”

I do.

“That librarian wanted his boyfriend to push his bed sheets down, but his boyfriend wouldn’t take the hint.” I point at my own sheets pooled low at my hips.

“What a fucking muppet.”

“Tell me about it.” I smile so hard my face aches, and yes, there are hundreds of miles between us, but Joe’s with me and that does something to my voice box. “So he had to show his boyfriend what he wanted.” I shove my own sheets all the way down to show him what he does to me.

His voice pitches lower. “Then what happened?”

“His boyfriend copied.”

Joe does, and if I wasn’t thinking with my dick, I’d do a little happy dance like Asa, only not for catching a crab. I’d do it for Joe baring himself without hesitation. To be fair, I’m not interested in what acid etched on his surface, in scars that don’t register beyond being part of the one man I never stopped thinking about.

Now my gaze locks on his hard-on, his does on mine, and I’m done with the talking part of storytelling. This section is all about adding actions.

“Yeah?” His breath catches. “Show me.”

I do, and his hand around his cock flexes while mine models a slow slide followed by faster movement. He holds his phone closer when I pay the head of my dick some attention with spit-slick fingers.

I close my eyes to Joe watching closely, then open them to a question.

“Does the librarian want his boyfriend to copy his actions or to keep watching?”

“Copy.” My mouth dries, my dick so hard for this audience of one who narrows his eyes when I lick my fingers again. My breathing picks up. So does his hand, speeding in a race to an ending he almost spoils by reminding me of actions I once made in a school library.

“Just warn me if you’re gonna do the robot. Not sure I got the coordination.”

And yeah, it takes longer than a week for him to come back to Glynn Harber, but that’s okay. I’m used to countdowns.

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