Page 113 of College Town

“You’re so smart,” Lawson teases. “You should be my editor.”

“I should be,” Tommy says, entirely earnest. “You get too fanciful sometimes. You need to be – to be reined in.”

“Ouch,” Lawson laughs.

“It’s not an insult.” A sideways glance proves he’s scowling again, and clutching onto Lawson’s jacket like a koala. “You’re an artist. You’re supposed to be fanciful. And then I can be logical.”

“Uh-huh.”

“IsLeological? Does he rein you in?” The last he says sourly, and his scowl, when Lawson checks, has become comically bitter.

“I thought you liked Leo. You just said.”

“Yeah, well, he needs to keep his hands on his own reins.”

Lawson swallows a laugh. “I swear that Leo’s hands are nowhere near my reins. I only let him read a few pages, and I didn’t ask for a full breakdown of his thoughts.”

“Oh.” Tommy trips over a crack in the asphalt and pulls on his belt in back, his shirt in front, doubtless stretching the latter. “You should.”

Lawson sighs dramatically. “You’re very confusing: I shouldn’t let him help me, then I should. Which is it?”

“Iwant to help you.”

Lawson’s chest squeezes. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

Tommy makes a disagreeing sound.

When they reach the Navigator, Lawson has to let go of him to fish the keys out of his pocket on that side. He turns Tommy and leans him back against the side of the car, first; averts his gaze quickly so he doesn’t get trapped in the deep, unguarded black wells of Tommy’s eyes as he tips his head back against the window and breathes plumes of white vapor up at the stars. The stretch of his throat, the soft, relaxed line of his shoulders and mouth…that’s a bear trap waiting to spring if Lawson ever saw one.

But there’s something about a bear trap – knowing it’s there, waiting for you – that turns one clumsy.

Lawson drops the keys. “Shit.” He bends to retrieve them, and when he stands, Tommy grabs him by the collar and reels him in.

Lawson goes, because he has no self-control, and because Tommy looks so unguarded, and his big, dark eyes are pleading, and Lawson would walk over glass for him right now.

Tommy’s too eager, and their noses bump, and Lawson cradles his face and gentles things.

“Easy, tiger,” he murmurs, which makes Tommy frown and relaunch his efforts.

“I don’t wanteasy,” Tommy says between sloppy kisses. “I want you.”

Lawson grins against his mouth. “There’s so many jokes I could make about that right now. Mostly at my own expense –shit.”

Tommy grips his hair and tugs hard. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Lawson does.

An alarm goes off. It takes Lawson long seconds with Tommy’s tongue lapping into his mouth to realize that it’shisalarm, the one he sets on his phone each night.

“Shit,” he says again, drawing back. He has to cup his palm against Tommy’s throat to hold him off when he sways forward, chasing him, and if his alarm was going off for any reason other than Dad, Lawson would ignore it. “Whoa, hold on, baby.”

Tommy flops back against the car – head thunking against the window – and pouts. “What?”

Lawson fishes his phone out of his pocket and silences the alarm. He doesn’t put it back; instead gives Tommy an apologetic look that has Tommy narrowing his eyes.

“What?” he repeats.

“Nancy doesn’t work tonight.”

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