Page 106 of College Town

But he inherited his mom’s hair, and her eyes, and, though he’s loath to admit it, her romantic heart, and he can’t hide this from her with any believability.

He says, “I can’t.”

“You can. You should. He needs to know, so he can make an informed decision.”

He feels a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat and manages to clear it away. “Sure, Mom. I’ll do that.” He’s being a smartass, and she knows it, pain etched across her face.

“Have fun,” she says, with a small, sad little smile, and turns back to the window.

~*~

To Lawson’s surprise, it’s Tommy himself behind the wheel, no sign of a guard, though doubtless there’s a Town Car waiting to tail them to the bar.

“Hey,” Lawson says as he climbs in and shuts the door, and then he looks across the console at his date.

Tommy wears the same brown motorcycle jacket from the last time they were at Flanagan’s, and not one streak of gel in his hair. He must have used some sort of product, but it’s soft, rather than holding, and his hair is a loose, slightly-curled mass that Lawson immediately wants to rake his hands through.

“Hey,” Tommy returns, and his brows lift expectantly.

Lawson’s staring.

“Right. So.” He turns his attention to his seatbelt. “Flanagan’s.”

“Right,” Tommy echoes, a smile in his voice. He puts the car in reverse, and then puts his hand on Lawson’s headrest as he twists around to back them out of the driveway. “You look nice.”

“Shut up.”

Tommy chuckles.

Sure enough, there’s a pair of bright, halogen headlights waiting down the strait that peel away from the curb and follow them once Tommy puts the Navigator in drive. It’s a sobering sight.

“Do you ever hate it?” Lawson asks, watching the side mirror as Tommy pilots them out of the neighborhood.

“Hate what?”

“Having people shadow you all the time.”

“I hate it every day,” Tommy says, without rancor, matter of fact.

The memory of last week flashes up to the front of Lawson’s mind like a well-lit Interstate billboard. After they finished – and Lawson could be sure there weren’t tears in his eyes – they separated and availed liberally of the Kleenex on the edge of the desk to clean themselves up. Tommy had not just travel-sized lube, but hand sanitizer in his pants pocket, and they scrubbed their hands and forearms until they both reeked of chemical lemons.

Lust sated, the heat of the moment past, shame began not just to creep in, but crash over him in waves.

Tommy tucked his shirt back in, tightened his tie, and save the high color in his cheeks, and a stray lock of hair stuck to his forehead, looked none the worse for wear. He gave Lawson a serious up-and-down examination, then stepped in close to fix his tie with a businesslike, “Here, it’s crooked.”

Up close, Lawson could smell sweat and sex on him, even over the strong tang of the sanitizer. The bridge of his nose was still flushed, and there was a mark on his right cheek where he’d ground his face into the edge of the desk blotter.

Lawson swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bumping Tommy’s knuckles.

Tommy finished, and smoothed his hands down his chest, warm and welcome, yes, but not as grounding as probably intended. “You okay?”

“Is your security detail going to know what we were doing in here?” he countered.

Tommy’s mouth pulled to the side. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Okay, they definitely will. But.” He shrugged and stepped back. “It’s fine. They’re discreet.”

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