I turned my back on Richard, and laid a light kiss on Jean-Claude's mouth, but that wasn't what I wanted. I shook my head. Zerbrowski squeezed my arm hard enough to bruise. The bed frame being gone probably explained why Richard had removed his jean jacket and was just in an olive green T-shirt.
Was that wrong? It didn't feel wrong. Come on, Ronnie, let's go home. I knew who was inside my head, even as I put a hand in Micah's hair and pulled his head to one side, so his neck stretched long and clean. Either you're getting funnier, or it's fucking late.
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