“I’m agnostic too.”
“That’s fine. At least it’s a conversation point. But a little too late for me. And I’m paying for this. You go write your content.”
Trevor put his wallet back, a little quickly George noticed.
“Well, thank you anyway, George. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah. Thank you, too.”
... for whatI won’t bother telling you because you’d never understand.
“Do you need a ride home?”
“No, I Ubered.”
Scott brought the boxes and the check and George handed him a credit card without even looking at it. He passed a to-go box to Trevor. “Here, take that home. At least I can feed you.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s all good,” George said, watching Trevor nervously scoop the contents into the box. It was hard to believe he was in his mid-thirties. He had the awkward mannerisms of a teen. After he closed the box, he began tapping on his phone again, Uber presumably.
Scott returned with the credit card slips, thanked them, and was away for the last time. George and Trevor stood, both heading for the door.
Before they parted on the street, George spoke. “Best of luck to you. Sorry, we’re not a match.”
“No worries,” said Trevor, holding up the container. “Thanks for the food.”
George nodded and waved bye, turning away toward D Street.
“Oh!” Trevor shouted from behind. “Please be sure to rate and review me. I’ll do the same.”
Chapter 8
When he got home, George was prepared to give May an earful. He knocked on the door to the upstairs wing of the old Victorian they shared on N. Randolph St. No answer.
Great,George thought.I don’t even get to rub it in right away.
Speaking of rubbing...
It was the perfect time for a little self-maintenance. He had a pounding headache from his date-gone-wrong, and rerouting blood from one head to another was just what he needed to ease the tension. May being gone further cemented the impulse.
He went into his bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and removed everything but his boxers. He stretched out on the bed and opened Tumblr for inspiration... scrolling through the profiles he followed—mostly pictures of shirtless, muscled, hairy men—some chiseled, some with soft, more cuddly attributes. Some were even nude, though Tumblr had supposedly eradicated that.
He reached between the folds of his fly and removed his cock, already stiff with the notion. He stroked it with his left hand while scrolling through pictures with his right. It wasn’t ideal, though. It was better with both hands, so he put the phone down and pictured David. Now, his right hand was free to play backup, combing through the hair on his chest and teasing a nipple while the other steadily stroked his swollen shaft below. He squirmed on the bed, edging himself close, then relenting, forcing himself to last longer than a ridiculous self-induced minute.
His headache was already fading, and as he approached a second chance at a climax, he was resigned to let it happen. The wave building was too enticing, too divine—
His phone buzzed.
Great,he thought, stopping.Now my rhythm’s fucked up.I should have come when I had the chance.
He picked up the phone, prepared to inform May that she had now managed to fuck up his night in more ways than she knew.
But the text wasn’t from May. It was from M. Napolitano.
Mikey.
George smiled, curious. He clicked on it.
