Toby’s heart races, his dick beats rhythmically, and his hands begin to tremble with nervousness. He’s unsure of what has just occurred on the sofa, reaches down for his shirt near his feet, slips it over his head and shoulders, covers his hairy torso, and asks again, “What did I do?”
Grant is a melancholic pale in his cheeks and shakes his head. “Nothing. This isn’t about you.”
“But it is about me. We were just getting ready to give each other blowjobs. Of course it was about me.” His octave sounds damning and hurtful, but Toby doesn’t intend for it to come across this way. Not as of yet, anyway. Confused, he rubs a hand down and over his face, concentrates on the stud positioned on the opposite side of the sofa, and adds, “Something tells me you’re not being honest to me or yourself. What’s your story?”
Grant stares at Toby, attempts to smile, but can’t. He rolls a hand across his pumped pecs, scratches the bone between their naked humps, and confesses, “The guy I like is named Ralph. He’s a biologist who lives in California, near San Francisco, and I can’t seem to get him out of my head. He’s blond, blue-eyed, and a doll. And I think I’ve fallen in love with him. My crazy career keeps me from seeing him, though, which scares the hell out of me because another guy will probably bump into him, meet him, pick him up, and decide to keep him forever.”
It all makes sense now why Grant pulled away from Toby while they were making out on the sofa only seconds ago. It’s crystal clear inside Toby’s head, which now causes the erection between his thighs to go limp, deflating. Grant’s in love with a guy on the west coast, dazzled by the man and emotionally taken. Grant’s heart and mind are elsewhere, not in Templeton with Toby at the moment. Love will do this, of course, Toby knows, having experienced its doings at least twice in his life.
“It’s alright…alright,” Toby consoles, patting Grant’s right kneecap, and providing the singer with some compassion and strength. “We can’t help who we fall in love with. The Greek Gods have control over us weak mortals.”
Grant is flustered on the sofa. Again, he sighs, shakes his head. “The biologist really doesn’t know I exist. We met at a fund-raiser in Sacramento. He donated a shitload of cash to a nonprofit kick-start program for young musicians. We talked about earthquakes for a few minutes, and then he was gone. I was lucky to get his name and learned everything I could about him online.”
“Does he listen to your music?”
He shrugs. “I can’t answer that. I know next to nothing about the guy, but I like him. Rather, my heart does. It doesn’t make any sense to me, and probably never will. I’m being a fool about Ralph, and foolish.”
“Love is a crazy emotion and taunts every part of one’s being. Trust me, I know.” Toby recalls waking up to Blue every morning, longing for the man, happy that Blue was in his life. Not a moment in Toby’s day had slipped by when he stopped thinking about the professor, caught up in an emotional and euphoric blur with the guy, lost in him, even when Blue started cheating on him. Of course Toby knows, and can relate to what exactly is going on in Grant’s life.
“I want to see him…and hold him,” Grant says. He finds his T-shirt on the floor, slips it over his stunning and sculpted chest, hiding its massive pecs and hairy abs. “I want to make him mine, Toby. Does that make any sense whatsoever?”
“Clear as rain, my friend. I get everything you’re saying.” He pours the both of them another shot of whiskey, passes a glass tumbler to Grant, and says, “I want to make a toast.”
Grant smiles, looking uber-handsome, drop dead attractive with his white smile and fall-into eyes. God, the guy is gorgeous. Dreamy. Chiseled. A God. “I’m listening.”
Toby lifts his whiskey between them and says, “To the men that get away when we don’t want them to get away.”
“And those that we chase after,” Grant says, clinks the rim of his tumbler against Toby’s, and the two men drink to the toast, beginning an end to this evening’s unplanned, but eventful, time together.