Anthology Cherry

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If there were such things as wildfires in a shower stall, Ken thought that's what they'd be in, but
there wasn't, so that ache and burn that settled in his balls must have been hunger.
Whatever.
It worked.
It so worked.
Trent licked at his lips a little, touched their foreheads together as the kiss eased. "Man, our first
kiss. Was it good for you?"
Asshole. "No."
One hand measured his cock, from thick base to swollen tip. "Liar. Wanna come to bed?"
Trent had the prettiest fucking eyes, Ken swore. "No."
Cherry - 64
"Liar."
When Trent lifted his head, Ken got that grin, the one that made him growl and want to beat the
smug little fucker to death. There were two of them, after all, nobody'd miss it if one
disappeared. "Stubborn bastard."
Trent's grin didn't fade a bit. In fact, it got wider.
"Uh-huh," he said, and those fingers wrapped around Ken's hip, drawing them closer together
still, making some high-dollar promises. "I am. I get it from my brother."
Cherry - 65
Who Shall I Tell?
Martin Delacroix
Author s note:
In Florida, in 1977, gay people were under attack by the religious right. At the urging of Anita
Bryant and her followers, the Florida Legislature banned adoption of children by homosexuals,
a law that still stands today.
Back then, if you valued your job, you hid your homosexuality, and every day you asked yourself
a question:
Who shall I tell and who should I not?
***
I can t believe you re fucking Bosch, Jake McGovern told Adam Beckett. She s how old?
Forty?
Thirty-eight.
It was seven a.m. on a foggy Saturday in 1977, and Adam, twenty-four, dribbled a basketball on
an outdoor court behind a middle school. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Adam and Jake
and two other associates from Griffin & Lightfoot -- an Orlando law firm with ninety attorneys --
played half-court on their lunch hour. Jake and Adam were teammates, and lately they d lost
more than won.
The solution? More practice.
Jake raised his arms, facing Adam and guarding the goal. He told Adam, My dad says it s risky
having affairs with people from work. Jake deepened his voice a notch. `Don t put your pecker
in the payroll, son.
Adam chuckled and shook his head, dribbling in place.
The sun tried fighting its way through the fog, looking like a headlight shining through a dirty
window. Grass surrounding the basketball court was heavy with dew, and the only sound was the
thunk-thunk of the ball as Adam moved along the edge of the three-point circle, keeping his
distance from Jake. Pivoting, he faced the basket, bent his knees, raised his arms, and sprang into
the air, launching his shot with a flick of his wrists.
Cherry - 66
The ball arced toward the basket and swished through the net, never touching rim.
Perfect, Adam thought. Do it like that every time.
Persistence was Adam s trademark. His supervising attorney (and paramour), Deirdre Bosch,
called him my Rottweiler at work, but Adam looked more like a racehorse. Six foot two and
lanky, he was broad-shouldered and slim in the hips. His dark hair and eyes contrasted with his
fair skin. He came from a family of achievers: his dad was an engineer, his mom a high school
principal, his sister a physician. And though Adam s IQ wasn t stellar, he'd still managed to
finish in the top third of his law school class.
I wasn t the smartest student, Adam told a partner from Griffin & Lightfoot when he
interviewed for a job, but I worked twice as hard as everyone else.
Now, Adam played defense as Jake approached, dribbling. Jake dipped a shoulder, then moved
in the opposite direction, feet slapping the concrete, getting a step on Adam and executing a
layup that ricocheted off the backboard and flicked through the net.
Jake clapped his hands and whooped. Then he asked Adam, What s Bosch like when she s off
the job?
Just like she is at work, Adam thought. Aggressive.
Nice enough, Adam told Jake, and she s great in bed. They say a woman s sex drive doesn t
peak until she s forty, and I think it s true.
Jake looked at Adam and rolled his eyes. Also twenty-four and tall as Adam, Jake was more
sinewy. He owned a riot of curly auburn hair and a pair of emerald eyes. Freckles dusted his pug
nose and his ears stuck out like teacup handles. He wore size thirteen sneakers and he could pick
up a basketball with one hand. A native of Augusta, Georgia, Jake spoke with a syrupy drawl
that was easy on the ears, but he was no hick. At the university in Athens, he d co-edited the law
review, finishing fourth in his class. Like Adam, he worked in Griffin & Lightfoot s commercial
litigation department, handling building construction disputes, and Deirdre Bosch was his
supervising attorney as well.
You ve got to tell me, he said to Adam, how it happened.
Adam dribbled the ball while he spoke, moving from one side of the court to the other, looking
for an opening. We went to a hearing at the county courthouse. It was lunchtime afterward and
she asked me to join her for a sandwich.
Jake said, Go on...
Cherry - 67
Adam drove toward the basket, but Jake blocked him and Adam retreated, dribbling. I didn t
see it coming. We took a booth at Harvey s, and after we ordered she touched my knee and asked
what I was doing that evening.
That s it?
Adam nodded.
How long s this been going on?
A couple of months. Don t tell anyone, okay? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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