Page 30 of A Straight Line

“I know I talk too much,” He said. “It’s a nervous thing, I think.”

“You don’t like crowds, either?” I managed to mumble, my eyes closed.

“No,” He said. “I’m not great around cute guys.”

“Well,” I said, tilting my head to look at him in the darkness, “you’re in luck. There aren’t any here. I mean, besides you, obviously.”

He sighed.

“You don’t think much of yourself, do you?”

“I just let a stranger blow me in my uncles’ garage,” I said. “After I blew him. It’s a redundant question.”

“I’m not a stranger.” Denny turned to lean back against the garage wall next to me. “We’ve known each other several hours now. Shared a beer. Our uncles are friends.”

“Okay,” I said. “Fine. We’re not exactly strangers.”

“And you should think more of yourself.”

“Look, Denny,” I said as I turned my head to look at him, “you seem like a nice guy. Especially after what you, uh, just did, but—”

“You’re welcome. And thank you.” He grinned.

“—thank you—but you don’t know me,” I said. “I mean, isn’t it a little early in the relationship to start psychoanalyzing each other?”

“I do that, too.” He sighed. “Cute guys. Awkward. I don’t know when to shut up sometimes.”

“I don’t hate it,” I said, reaching down to tuck myself away and zip up my pants—an action Denny mirrored. “But I just—I’ve kind of been in a mood for a few months.”

“That’s cool,” He said, wiping his hands against his pants once he was zipped up. “I mean, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it, but obviously, you went through a break-up, too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we don’t have to talk about it,” He said. “But…maybe you could enjoy the company of a not really a stranger for one night? I don’t really know anyone here besides Bird, you, and the elders. And, I mean, after the blowjobs, what’s a night of hanging out?”

I laughed.

“Am I asking too much?”

“No,” I said. “That’s fairly reasonable, I guess. I just—don’t expect much. I’m kind of committed to this ‘woe is me’ mood right now. It’s kind of my thing. Okay?”

“I can work with that,” He said.

“Good,” I said, pushing away from the wall.

“But,” He said, grabbing ahold of my arm so that I was forced to turn and look at him, “you won’t be such a sourpuss by the end of the night.”

I stared at him briefly; the music that had been thumping away outside, suddenly stopped.

“We’ll see.” I frowned, wondering why the music had stopped.

“Is it too much to ask for a kiss after that?” He asked quietly.

“No kissing,” I said. “No dancing. But I’ll try to be a decent party date otherwise.”

“Okay.”

“And keep this between us,” I said. “Please?”