Page 111 of College Town

But where once the idea of scaling a literary mountain exhilarated him, now he only feels old, and tired, and worn out when he thinks of working on the project.

He shifts on his stool so he faces the table; wraps both hands around his cold water glass. “Eh. That was kid stuff.”

Tommy sways in closer to him, breath all warm rum and chocolate against the side of his face. “What? No, it wasn’t. It’s – it was – it’s your magnum opus.”

Lawson snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure, buddy. You’re drunk.”

“Fuck you, no I’m not,” Tommy says sulkily, and sucks on his straw some more.

Lawson expects him to pout after that, but after a few more sucks on his drink, he fixes Leo with a blurry version of his mafia don stare-down. “This contact of yours.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Lawson mutters, and Dana stifles a laugh.

Tommy holds up a hand to Lawson, a clearshut upgesture. “Does he know what he’s doing? Does he recognize talent?”

Dana spins around on her stool, shoulders shaking.

Lawson puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s on the up and up. Right, Leo?”

“Babe,” Tommy says, still staring Leo down, “be quiet and let me look out for you.”

Dana snorts, loudly.

Babe. Holy shit.Babe. And in front of witnesses.

“I’m asking,” Tommy says to Leo.

Leo glances to Lawson for help, gets none, and says, diplomatically, “Keith and I went to school together. He works for Harper Collins, and I think he has a good eye.”

Tommy’s jaw works as he chews that over, then he ducks his head and sips more shake.

Dana spins back around, face carefully blank. “Is it safe?”

“Who knows?” Lawson says, and chugs the rest of his water.

~*~

Someone asks for their pool table, and they hand it over. Lawson gets himself another water, and presses a glass on Tommy, now that his mudslide is down to the chocolatey dregs. Tommy shakes his head no when Lawson nudges the glass closer, but drinks it readily enough when Lawson puts a straw in it.

“No, no, that was in third grade,” Dana’s saying, arguing with Lawson over the details of an epic sandbox fight that landed them both in parent/teacher conferences.

“Fourth,” Lawson insists, grinning, though he couldn’t care less.

Tommy isn’t asleep, but he’s sleepy. He’s scooted to the near edge of his stool, looped his arm through Lawson’s on the table, and rests his head against Lawson’s shoulder. It’s an innocent contact, but an intimate one. Each time he chuckles, Lawson feels the vibration of his compact, warm body, and resists the urge to loop an arm around his waist. He keeps turning his face into Lawson’s bicep, breath warm against his skin where he’s shed his jacket, and it’s inexpressibly lovely.

Lawson doesn’t get cuddly on dates. Doesn’t ever have a man snuggle in close and hum in drowsy agreement to whatever stupid shit he’s saying. That’s his own fault, mostly, for always picking the wrong guy, for putting up walls, but he does those things because he hasn’t ever wanted to do this with anyone but the man currently melting against him like the spiked ice cream he downed earlier.

It’s a sweet moment, which means it won’t last.

All too soon, Dana gives a jaw-cracking yawn and Leo strokes her back. “We should probably head out, baby,” he tells her, quietly, and Dana nods and reaches for her water glass.

“Yeah. Shit, I shouldn’t ever drink this much on a weeknight.”

“Me neither,” Tommy mumbles, mouth squished against the thickest part of Lawson’s arm.

Dana yawns again, smooths her hair, and looks pretty alert for someone who put away the amount of alcohol she did tonight. “You guys gonna be okay to get home?”

Lawson’s slight beer buzz has long since worn off. He nods. “Yeah, I’m driving.” When Tommy shifts lower in his chair, he gives in to the impulse to slip his arm free and catch Tommy around the waist before he faceplants on the table. “I’ll get Cinderella home before he turns into a pumpkin.”

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