Page 128 of College Town

“I should take a shower,” he says, and Tommy lets out a relieved-sounding breath.

His hand withdraws. “Okay.”

Lawson gets off the bed, less gracefully than he used to, and pauses at the door to glance back. Tommy’s sitting where he left him, weight resting on one hand where he was leaning against Lawson’s side before. He offers a quiet, uncertain little smile that’s still encouraging, and Lawson does his best to return it before he slips out.

~*~

He’s been known to take his sweet time in the shower lately. Lets the hot water beat the tension out of his shoulders, and takes care of any errant, amorous thoughts when necessary. Tonight, he hurries, and breaks his own record. He steps out of the bathroom four minutes later, showered, wet-haired, teeth brushed minty fresh – and nearly collides with his mom.

“Whoa.” He grips her elbows before she can trip, and she laughs.

“Whoops! Sorry, sweetie.”

“You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” When he turns her loose, after making sure she’s steady on her feet, she grips his biceps in turn. “How are you? Areyouokay?”

“Fine.”

Her gaze cuts toward the closed door of his room, the strip of light visible beneath it. She leans in and whispers, “Is Tommy spending the night?”

He’s thankful for the dim light of the hall, because his face heats. “Yeah.” Then, anxiety pinging: “I mean – if that’s okay…?”

She squeezes his arms and lets go, smiling as she draws back. “It’s fine, hon. Tell him I said goodnight, will you?”

“Sure.”

She gives him a knowing, mischievous smile.

“Mom.”

“Alright, alright.” She turns toward the main suite. “Sleep tight, you two,” she calls over her shoulder with a laugh.

Back in the room, Tommy’s stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers – not the slinky, fitted black boxer-briefs Lawson’s seen before, but good old plaid cotton – pulled the coverlet down so he sits cross-legged on the sheets, reading another book.

Lawson shuts the door behind him, then locks it for good measure. “I’m pretty sure my mom just wished us happy humping.”

Tommy glances up, making a face. “Shewhat?”

“Not in so many words.”

Tommy relaxes, slumping down so his elbow rests on his thigh, and his chin rests on his hand. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re not? You chose to stay over.” Lawson grins and goes to flop down next to him. “She did want me to tell you goodnight for her.”

Tommy’s mouth twitches consideringly. “Is she okay with me sleeping over? Is your dad?”

“I think they want you to sleep over every night. You could move in for all they care. They’d probably throw us a party.”

Too late, he realizes how revealing that is.

And then he realizes that the thing in Tommy’s lap isn’t a book, but a stack of unbound printer paper cramped with eleven-point Garamond.

“What is that?” he asks, though he already knows. Though his blood’s already gone cold at the sight of it.

Tommy shuffles the pages around and taps the bottom edge on his knee to straighten them. “I found it on your desk. And I figured…” He turns to meet Lawson’s gaze, and his eyes widen at whatever he finds there. His throat bobs as he swallows, and he chews at his lip. “I figured,” he repeats. “I always used to read your stuff…”

Lawson allows himself a few seconds of cold dread; of shame; of wanting to crawl under a rock. And then he takes a deep breath and acknowledges that it’s a little late to be putting up wallsnow.

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