Page 107 of College Town

With a sinking sensation, Lawson realized he’d done this before: had a tryst with a man in a place he shouldn’t. His guards wereusedto this. Lawson wasn’t special at all.

He turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Tommy gripped his hand and tugged him back. Met his gaze with his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I…” he started, then shook his head. Lifted Lawson’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “You’re okay,” he said, and sounded as though he was talking more to himself than to Lawson.

Now, in the car, Lawson drums his fingers on the window ledge and watches the familiar lines and lights of his city slide past. He doesn’t know what to say. It would be easy to banter; difficult to make genuine conversation.

“So,” Tommy says on a deep breath. “How much does Dana hate my guts?”

Lawson snorts. “What?”

Tommy adjusts his grip on the wheel as they slow at the next light. “Yesterday in the coffeeshop, she was like…” He lifts a hand and makes a stabbing gesture in the air which begs forPsychoviolin accompaniment. “Is she gonna poison my beer tonight? Stab me in the eye with a pool cue?”

Lawson bites back a laugh and rubs his chin, pretending to consider. “Hm.”

“It’s gonna be bad, isn’t it?”

“Well. Shedoeshate you, that’s for sure.”

“On your behalf?”

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry: she’s not pining for Noah or anything. But she has shared some very creative ideas for ways to, and I quote, ‘string you up by your balls.’”

Tommy gulps, and Lawson laughs.

“I told her that wasn’t necessary, but you know how she gets.”

“Yeah.” Tommy breathes a laugh of his own. “God, remember Andy Bristow?”

“The whole school remembers Andy Bristow.”

The aforementioned, unfortunate Mr. Bristow took it upon himself to write some colorful insults on Lawson’s locker with a Sharpie. The next time he openedhislocker, it tore the bag of pig’s blood Dana had rigged up inside, and he’dCarriedhimself in front of all his friends and had to go to the office and have his mother bring him fresh clothes. The smell was terrible. Revenge was sweet.

They spend the rest of the short drive reminiscing about Dana’s Greatest Hits at Eastman High. She never started any beefs, but she damn sure finished them if anyone messed with her friends. They’re both laughing when Tommy turns into the lot at Flanagan’s – but it’s a laughter that skips, and fades, and dies as Tommy kills the engine. It leaves a vacuum behind, one that crackles with nervous energy they’ve done a good job of ignoring so far.

“So.” Tommy jangles the keys against the console absently, gaze trained on the flickering neon of the bar.

“So,” Lawson echoes. “You gonna chicken out?”

It’s the right thing to say. Tommy says, “No,” pops his door, and climbs out.

They walk side-by-side to the door, not touching. Lawson’s hands feel like big, useless hams in his pockets, itchy along the palms. This isn’t a date, and Lawson realizes, suddenly, that he’s never actuallybeenon a date – at least not one he wanted to be on. They were all reluctant means to an end.

Now, though, he wants one. He wants to bechivalrous.

Lawson leans around him to get the door and pulls it open, holding it with an arm up above Tommy’s head.

“Oh,” Tommy says, with genuine surprise, and a crooked, sideways little smile as he heads inside. “Thanks.”

That pleases Lawson far too much.

It’s busy tonight, but not overcrowded. A nice balance between the pleasant din of voices and music and kitchen noise, and enough space to move around and find their way to a good table. Lawson has the height advantage, so he spots Dana right away: she and Leo have claimed a pool table and stand at its edge, tall pilsner glasses of beer resting on coasters at its edge. There’s a high-top table behind them with a pitcher and two empty glasses and a basket of something hopefully fried.

Lawson touches the center of Tommy’s back to get his attention – “There they are” – and then just…leaves it there, guiding him forward. He can feel the warmth of Tommy’s body through his shirt and jacket; can feel the flex of smooth muscle beneath the smooth leather, and his hand tingles with the sense memory of touching him there skin-to-skin, Tommy’s back rippling beautifully as he worked to meet his thrusts.

Dana waves again, when they reach the pool table, and Leo, cue in his free hand, comes around to greet them both with a proper shake. Lawson has to pull his hand away from Tommy’s back, and he sees Dana clock the movement; his cheeks burn self-consciously.

“Hi,” Leo says, “nice to meet you, Tommy.” He’s wearing a chunky-knit sweater over a blue collared shirt, jeans, and loafers, so professorial Lawson wants to pinch his cheeks. His gaze is warm behind his glasses, and he seems to genuinely think that it’snice to meetTommy.

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