Laugh Cry Repeat by John Inman

Author:John Inman [Inman, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63533-634-4
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-12-04T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“PICK YOUR feet up!”

“Blow me!”

It was a week later. Wyeth had managed to evade the jogging issue for seven days, but now his reprieve had expired. Grumbling under his breath while his heart kaboomed and flopped around alarmingly inside his chest cavity, he reluctantly trailed Deeze up Sixth Avenue in a pair of red sweatpants and a yellow tee. He wore the sweatpants in eighty-degree heat because he had taken Deeze’s advice and not returned to the salon for his spray tan booster. Deeze might love Wyeth’s pale hairy legs, but Wyeth still didn’t.

As far as running went, the only redeeming factor in the whole enterprise was the fact that he got to stare at Deeze in his cute little running shorts, thudding along in front of him. He knew he ran a pale second (no pun intended) as far as sexiness went, but how could he not? he thought wryly, staring once again at Deeze’s ass. Just look at the guy. The man’s a god.

With downtown behind them and Wyeth worn out already, they slipped through some trees and jogged into Balboa Park with all the other insane people who rose at the crack of dawn to batter their joints to mush in the pointless quest of outrunning their own mortality. Or more likely, hurrying it along.

Wyeth had to admit it was sort of lovely being in the park this early in the morning, with the sun barely up and the birds chittering in the bushes. Jewels of dewdrops spotted the grass, and remnants of the last mowing stuck to his shoe tops. The long sloping lawn smelled like a field of hay, which for a city boy was kind of nice. Still, he would have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t been waiting to fall flat on his face the moment his legs gave out or his tendons started snapping like rubber bands or his heart suddenly exploded like a roadside bomb. His eyes burned with sweat, his shirt was stuck to his chest, he had bitten his tongue after jumping off a curb, he couldn’t be more than fifteen steps away from heat prostration, and he was annoyed that without his spray-on tan, he looked like a sweaty little albino next to Deeze, who apparently never perspired (or faded) at all.

Chaucer wasn’t looking too thrilled either. Wyeth had released him from his leash so they wouldn’t trip each other up, but the dog was lagging behind already, and they had barely gone five blocks. Deeze, of course, was prancing around having the time of his life, flinging his arms about, sucking in great gulps of morning air, goading Wyeth to run faster, and singing one fucking ABBA song after another as if begging Wyeth to hurl a sneaker at him and smack him upside the head.

Expecting a lung to collapse at any moment, Wyeth called out in jittery little oxygen-deprived gasps, “Could you be slightly less happy? It’s pissing me off and depressing the dog!”

Deeze sang all the louder for about a minute just to be annoying.

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