Vince by J.M. Snyder

Author:J.M. Snyder [Snyder, J.M.]
Language: nld
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: erotic MM, Romance MM
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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At ten to three, Vince is still sitting in the station, trying to talk himself into leaving. Eric isn't coming—this is obvious. He changed his mind and tried to call Vince but couldn't reach him. Why not? Because he's here, waiting for the boy's sorry ass to show the fuck up. Which isn't going to happen. Did Vince honestly believe things could work out between them?

Did he think one lousy summer night changed anything?

No, he didn't. And he hates the part of himself that has the audacity to be upset by this. It just goes to show him that it's over. Whatever relationship they had before is through.

He stretches as he stands, his t-shirt pulling free from his jeans when he reaches his arms above his head. The safety pins that he's collected on the zippers of his denim jacket jingle when he moves. Black denim, to match the jeans. The t-shirt underneath is white, but it's dingy because he's doing his own laundry now for the first time in his life and the concept of separating whites and darks is lost on him.

Everything in his closet that isn't black is now the same shade of gray. Vince doesn't care. He tells himself he likes it.

Lazily he smoothes his shirt down and glances at the clock.

Almost three. Damn, there went his day. Maybe he can still catch up with James before he hits the clubs. The kid likes Vince, it's obvious the way he's calling him up all the time.

"What are you doing?" and "Hey, have you eaten yet?" A night out wouldn't be so bad. Fuck Eric.

He pushes through the door just as a bus pulls up to the gate. Not just any bus, the bus. Eric's, Vince knows it in his bones. His mouth draws down in a bitter scowl. Should've left five minutes ago, he thinks, angry again for no real reason.

Then you'd miss him. Hell, two minutes, you know? So much for the club.

With a loud whoosh the driver sets the airbrake, and the engine idles steadily as the door opens. Vince steps back against the side of the building, wishing he had a cigarette.

Maybe this is the wrong bus. Maybe—

It's not. Eric's the first one off, of course, right behind the driver. He steps down from the darkness of the bus's interior like a young king descending from his throne. Vince glares at him, at his golden aura, at the light that seems to surround him. For a moment Eric doesn't see him and Vince watches unnoticed as he blows the blonde curls out of eyes so blue, like fresh paint. Vince imagines pressing his thumbs into those eyes, digging in deep, until his hands are smeared with that color. His hands itch at his sides and he has to shove them into his pockets to keep from rushing forward to gouge out those marble-like eyes for himself.

Then Eric notices him, and he smiles like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Vince!" he calls, as if they're not just a few feet apart.

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