good breaking. Evan always wore a leather jacket and tight,
black jeans tucked into biker boots. He was too small to be
badass and too beautiful to be threatening, what with the
emo mop, bright blue eyes, and full lips.
Evan never talked to anyone at The Rock, and if a guy
tried talking to him, Evan left, which was why Cam never
talked to him—just watched and laughed with friends and
pretended not to watch until Rose finally said, “Just kidnap
him, you fucking perv.”
She dragged him to the Big Boy next door, along with
the third of their threesome, Eddie: a chain-smoking, HIVpositive sales clerk who worked at Macy’s. They slid into
their usual booth.
“How old do you think he is?” Rose asked.
“Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two,” Cam said. He
ordered three coffees.
“And why aren’t we talking to him?”
“It’s an art form,” Cam said. “I’m scoping.”
Eddie nodded in agreement and fingered his lighter.
“Bet he’s nasty in bed,” she said.
Cam smiled. “Not as nasty as me.”
“He’s your size,” Eddie said.
“Yeah.” Cam only liked guys smaller than him and
usually more delicate, too.
Cam himself was a big dude, all muscle, who hiked and
camped on the weekends and drove the stereotypical mudspattered Jeep. He kept his long, blond hair in a ninja bun
on top of his head and kept his beard cut close. No one
knew he was a raging, horny homosexual unless he told
them—or, obviously, fucked them in an alley, which was
what he wanted to do with Evan: fuck him everywhere,
really.
Yeah, just Cam’s type, and if Cam moved at his regular
pace, he’d have Evan begging for it by the end of the
week. Some things are just inevitable.
***