Rich sat quietly and took a long drag of his beer. Olly watched him—the copper stubbles on his face, his lips curled around the mouth of the bottle. “So did he?” Rich asked at last.
“Did who what?” Olly asked, having lost the thread of the conversation during the lull.
“Did what’s-his-face get into your pants?”
Olly grinned. “He sure did!” His gaze drifted and lost focus as the memories came alive. Wade’s slick fingers in his ass and the thick beard tickling his inner thighs as the burly, hairy tattoo artist swallowed his cock down. The first real blowjob of Olly’s young life, and what a glorious blowjob it was. He pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch without thinking, but quickly caught himself and snatched his hand away. Rich was staring at him with the same dark eyes as when he showed off his ink. Olly pulled himself together. “Ahem. Yes. Good times.”
Rich shook his head like a dog with fleas and turned to the cooler. He took out a fresh bottle and opened it. Olly’s gaze glued again to Rich’s lips as he drank. They were a lot like Sandy’s but not quite as full, their lines sharper, more masculine. And they made Olly’s thoughts stray into lecherous territory.
Olly already had half a boner remembering Wade’s technique of deep throating—imagining the same with Rich was doing him no good. So he picked up his beer and tried to think unsexy thoughts. He’d finish this beer and go home, he told himself.
Rich clearly had something on his mind too. “When did you know?”
“What?” Olly asked cautiously. Was he leering too obviously?
“That you were, you know…” Rich made a vague gesture.
Olly got it. “A fruit?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it was pretty clear to anyone interested when at age five I decided to dress as a princess for Halloween.”
“But you’re not…” Rich seemed to cast about for the right word.
Olly decided to help. “Transgender? No. But I figured I’d have a better chance finding my prince dressed as a princess. I blame Disney.”
“How did your parents take it?”
“Mom sat me down and told me love was the strongest force in the universe, stronger than gravity because it could make you fly. And no matter who I’d fall in love with, I’d always be her little prince or princess—whichever I chose.”
Rich frowned. “And your father?”
“He agreed and told me to listen to my mom. He pretty much goes along with anything she says. Mom wears the pants at home. Literally—Dad wears sarongs most of the time.”
“You have strange parents.”
Olly laughed. “No kidding. They were stoned through most of my childhood. They never checked if I did my homework or if I even went to school. Some people would call them negligent or irresponsible. We were lucky the child protective services never caught on. How about your parents?”
“They divorced. I tell you this, though, if I ever put on a dress, my father would’ve blown a gasket.” He lifted the beer and drank till the bottle was empty. He followed it up with a manly burp.
Olly figured he should split, but before he could make his exit, Sandy burst through the door. “I’m going to kill someone!” she growled. “Not you. Stop looking so guilty.” She threw herself between them on the couch. “The morons lost my cabinets—sent them to the wrong address. Somewhere in Al-fucking-hambra. They might arrive back tomorrow. Or the day after.”
Rich opened the cooler. “You need a beer, sis.”
She shook her head. “I need something stronger. Hey, I have an idea! I’ll make margaritas and we’ll have a party. There’s mix and tequila in the fridge and ice in the freezer. And there’s a tumbler in one of the boxes in the garage, I’m sure.” She pushed herself up.
“I should be going,” Olly interjected.
She put her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Nonsense! You must stay. Monday’s your day off, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You can sleep on the couch. Rich won’t bite, I promise. Look at him, he’s like a puppy—any minute he’ll lie down and let you scratch his belly.” Olly saw Rich’s cheeks turn crimson and felt the heat on his own. Fortunately, Sandy was already marching away. “Roll me a joint, Rich,” she yelled back over her shoulder.
Avoiding Olly’s eyes, Rich dug a plastic baggie and cigarette paper out of his pocket, but his fingers were unsteady and the joint he was trying to make was looser than a pair of well-worn gym shorts.
It was painful to watch. Olly had to step in. “You’re doing it wrong. Let me.” He took over and in short order produced the perfect doobie. “Here you go.”