Chapter 18

I should call Timothy. He’s home by now, probably worried because he hasn’t heard from me. From the living room, Joey hollers, “Brian? Saved you a seat—you coming?”

All thoughts of Timothy disappear. I need a drink, something heady and alcoholic, with a strong kick to knock some sense into me. I need a drink, and maybe a nice smile that I can work with, hands I can feel on my body without guilt or shame, a tight ass and soft lips I can lose myself in tonight. I need to release this tension winding up inside of me, I need to get out, get drunk, get laid.