GTO

Craig thoroughly enjoyed the rally. It was the most pleasure he’d had in some time, and he quickly lost the shyness he’d built up from months of seclusion. And he warmed even more to Bob, who was glad-handing everyone and looking good as he sauntered around the maze of cars in his tight, low-rise jeans, a cut-off T he said he wore to keep himself cool and that showed off his washboard abs and a very intriguing belly button, and his brown-leather cowboy boots. He was the star of the show—if you didn’t count the cars.

They stopped for dinner and beers at a steak house and didn’t make it back to the motel until late.

Bob declared he had to have a shower right there and then and, with a wink, told Craig to choose one of the double beds in the room for himself while Bob was gone.

When he came out of the bathroom, with just a towel around his waist, Bob asked Craig which bed he’d picked, and Craig, having spent the time fighting with the thoughts he was having rather than picking a bed, hazily pointed to one of them.

“That’s the nicest one,” Bob said, flashing that smile again. Then he dropped his towel and said. “Do you mind if we share it?”