Page 71 of Backward Motion

“I am, actually. More than a little.”

Blake blinked, taken aback.

“Do you have a problem with me now?” Connor stared Blake down. “Want to force yourself on me for shits and giggles? Isn’t that your thing?”

“No, man...”

“You know there’s a name for that, right? Even if no one had the balls to call you on it back then.”

The bravado had vanished, and Blake’s eyes dropped to the floor. Was he imagining it, or did Blake seem strangely subdued, almost frightened?

“It was a fucking joke,” Blake mumbled. “I wasn’t... it’s not like I was into him.”

Connor froze.Wait...

A voice called out from down the hall, and an older woman in slippers and a bathrobe appeared at the top of the stairs. “What are you starting, Blake? Leave the man alone, for Christ’s sake, and let him fix the damn washer.”

“Yes, Ma.”

She disappeared back down the hallway.

“This your mom’s place?”

Blake folded his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, coaching kids doesn’t pay much, does it? Just waiting till I’ve got a little saved up.”

Connor had noticed it at the door, how strongly Blake smelled of alcohol. He recalled Sam’s comment about how everyone else seemed to have their lives together. That wasn’t true by a long shot.

“I’ve got a couple replacement plugs in the van,” Connor said. “I’ll swap out the dryer at the same time so you don’t zap yourself before they chew right through. Do what you want about the rats. But trust me...” He fixed Blake with a knowing look. “If you don’t face up to your problems now, you’re going to find yourself with a lot more down the road.”

“So, I had a strange thought,” Connor said, his back to Sam.

“Hmm?”

They were on the couch at Connor’s apartment, and Connor sat shirtless between Sam’s legs. Sam was working lavender-scented oil into Connor’s back and shamelessly admiring the broad planes of his shoulders. The view made him think of how good Connor looked from this angle, which immediately turned to thoughts of fucking him from behind, and Sam burned with a newfound audacity that was oddly liberating.

In the end, he’d decided against the coconut oil and splurged on some expensive massage oil, which he’d picked up at the drugstore. It came in a box with an image of a half-naked couple on the front, the woman’s head thrown back in orgasmic bliss. He figured it couldn’t hurt to keep Mr. Willis guessing.

Connor had loved dinner and dessert, enough to go back for seconds, and Sam felt giddy and buzzed, partly from one too many glasses of champagne but also from the inexplicable delight of spendingthe evening together without having to come up with a phony excuse.

“Do you think Plimmerton might be... I don’t know—do you think there was something else behind that kiss?”

Sam stopped kneading a particularly stubborn knot at the base of Connor’s neck. The thought stirred an uncomfortable churning in his gut. “What, getting off on my humiliation wasn’t enough?” Then the penny dropped. “You think...?”

“I could be wrong.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“I was at his house earlier.”

“His house?”

“His mom’s house, actually, for a job. And I just got this feeling.”

“Your gaydar went off?”

Connor snorted. “No, but he seemed weirdly put out when I mentioned you.”

“How did I come up?”