Todd wanted to be alone. No Cal. And certainly no Essie.
With a shaking hand, he drained Cal’s can of Bud, then gave him what he hoped passed for a grin. “I’m beat.”
Cal cocked his head. “You want I should go?”
No. I want you should stay. I want you should take care of me like you took care of Mom. I want you to show me the pecs under that tight tank top. I want you to kiss my lips, gently at first, and then give me a full-on mash with lips, tongue, even teeth. I want you to throw back the covers on the bed upstairs and crawl onto the bed with me. I want you to cover me like a big, furry man blanket. I want to count your freckles. I want you to make all the hurt and pain and disease inside to vanish—poof—and never come back.
I want you to be my friend.
I want you to be my lover.
I want to have a future with you.
I want to have a future.
But what Todd said was, “Yeah. Do you mind?”