Chapter 9
Greg laughed. “You’ve got a good, honest face, son. Use what the Lord gave you.”
“Oh, I do. Trust me.”
Cackling trailed behind Greg as he made his exit. Nathan went back to his desk, sinking into his chair. He held his head in his hands.
Maybe he’d stop in the middle of a crowded street one day and be straight, conservative, Christian, and godly, and he’d realize it’d been years since there’d been a club, a boy, or a fresh line of mind-numbing powder. He wouldn’t want to wake up next to a slumbering bear of masculinity, but rather the soft suppleness of a woman with whom he could have children and a life safe from the disdain of outside influences.
And at any moment, Nathan was going to sprout a curly pink tail, a snout, and wings and fly out the window oinking wee-wee-wee all the way to the gay bar down the street.
Lies made poor bedfellows. One nice thing Nathan could say about truth: it was awfully hard to kill.