Page 24 of Coming Clean

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Connor’s truckwasn’t small but with Jeremy in the passenger seat, the spaceseemed confining. Jeremy was everywhere: his scent, the warmth ofhis smile, the need Connor had for him. Had the cabin suddenlybecome airtight? He wasn't sure there was enough oxygen left tosurvive the drive home.

They chatted about theplay. Connor asked about a few parts he hadn’t understood—how didanyone keep up with all those characters? At least he was no longerafraid Jeremy would laugh at him for being ignorant. But once he’drun out of questions, Jeremy grew quiet. Connor had no idea what tosay that wouldn’t lead him somewhere he wasn’t ready togo.

Not ready? So now you’readmitting you might be ready in the future?

I don’t know.Maybe.

Jeremy yawned and droppedhis head back against the seat.

“Tired?” Connorasked.

“Yeah. I hate to ruin theimage of poets in their garrets working feverishly by candlelightinto the wee hours, but I’m usually asleep by thistime.”

“So am I,” Connor admitted.“Too many years of starting the day at five or earlier, and toomuch appreciation for the chance at a full night’s sleep. I’m notsure I’ll ever get over the feeling that I have to sleep when Ican.”

“That sounds… What can Isay that’s not trite?”

“Caring enough not todismiss my experience with a pat statement is enough,” Connor said.“You don’t have to say anything else.”

“I might not agree with allthe wars we’ve fought but I have the utmost respect for the men whofight them. I can’t begin to imagine what you saw. I would neverdismiss how difficult it must have been.”

Jeremy had said he expectedConnor to judge him, that he was nervous around military typesbecause he was gay, but Connor had his stereotypes too. He’dexpected Jeremy to scorn military service, to think those whoserved their country were stupid for signing up and defending anation that screwed up again and again. Sure, the country had itsproblems, including not appreciating veterans like it should, butwhat country didn’t? From what he’d seen elsewhere, the US had ahell of a lot going for it.

Connor pulled into Jeremy’sdriveway and put the truck in park. The interior was dim but therewas enough light coming from the lamp at the edge of the drivewaythat Connor could see the outline of Jeremy’s face. “Thank you. Forsaying that, and for tonight. I really had a good time.”

“Me too,” Jeremy said.Connor saw the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. His hair had fallenover his forehead and Connor wanted to brush it back, but thatwasn’t something a straight guy would do. A straight guy probablyalso wouldn’t have covered Jeremy’s hand with his own, but thatcould be dismissed by the high tension of the play.

High tension, my ass. Howabout high lust?

Shut up.

Connor unbuckled hisseatbelt and started to pull off Jeremy’s hoodie. He’d beenthankful for it when the temperature plummeted soon after the sunwent down.

Jeremy laid a hand on hisarm, stopping him. “Don’t worry about it now. You can bring it backto me next week. I’d hate for you to be cold on the drivehome.”

“Thanks.” He thought of allthe times he’d been freezing in the desert at night and thendripping with sweat in the scorching daytime heat. The thought ofworrying about being cold driving home on a chilly summer night inthe mountains should be laughable, but there was no way he wasgiving back the sweatshirt unless he had too. It still smelled likeJeremy.

You’re going to sleep withit, aren’t you? Bury your face in it and jerk off thinking ofJeremy, thinking of what you could be doing if you were braveenough to pursue him?

Connor hated how right thatsarcastic voice in his head was.

“Okay. I guess I’ll see younext week then.” Connor wanted to ask to see Jeremy the nextday.

“Yeah, that soundsgood.”

What else could Connor say?He’d be seeing Jeremy because he was coming to clean his house, notfor a date. This night was a fluke. “Sleep well.”

Jeremy gave him a look.That wasn’t really longing in his eyes, was it? He was imaginingthings in the dark.

“You too,” Jeremy said ashe opened his door and stepped out of the truck.

“You… uh… want me to walkyou up?” Fucking hell! Could he sound like more of an idiot? Jeremywasn’t a girl and this wasn’t 1958, even if his sweater did comefrom that year.

Jeremy leaned into thetruck, seeming to study Connor. Checking for signs of sanity?Connor cursed the darkness, wanting to read Jeremy’sexpression.

“The place does get a bitspooky sometimes,” Jeremy said. “But I doubt there’s anything toworry about. Of course, if it were haunted, that would be perfect.A writer living in an old, haunted house. Whatinspiration!”