Raining Men by Rick R. Reed

Author:Rick R. Reed [Reed, Rick R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, sex addiction, therapy, friends to lovers, hurt-comfort, guilt, reparation, over 40
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2020-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Bobby awakened to the smell of urine on the pillow next to his head and the stink of regret inside his head. He reached over, feeling the little handful of warmth and fur that was Johnny Wadd, and tugged him close. “You’re supposed to go outside,” he mumbled sleepily, shoving the soiled pillow to the floor.

Unshaken, Johnny curled up next to Bobby’s chest and began to snore.

What the hell are you doing? Bobby wondered, staring up through the darkness at the ceiling. I know you haven’t been all that selective in the past, but taking this little guy to bed with you has to be one of your dumbest moves ever. I mean, he’s probably completely ridden with fleas, and now you and your home are too. Bobby thought this in spite of the fact that his first order of business, once he’d gotten Johnny home, was to give him a long, luxurious bath using Kiehl’s shampoo. He then left a shivering Johnny in a file drawer lined with towels and a throw pillow while he ran out to Walgreens for dog shampoo with flea-killing properties.

He absently petted the dog, hoping against hope that maybe the dog wasn’t afflicted with fleas, just as he hoped he had not been afflicted with crabs at the bathhouse earlier that day.

Hey, sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes misfortune passes us by.

The smell of urine was not what had awakened him. Nor was the feel of a strange male he had just met in bed next to him sleep-interrupting. (After all, there was nothing new about the latter.)

No, what had awakened him was remorse, guilt, shame.

He knew, when (if?) he went to a meeting tomorrow, they would inquire if anyone had recently slipped. Would he be man enough to raise his hand? Confess what he had done?

Or would he, like a weasel, keep his transgressions to himself, thus negating any chance for redemption?

Now, these were the kind of thoughts that keep a man awake at night.

He lifted his head from the pillow to glance over at the nightstand clock. It was only a few minutes after midnight.

Is it too late to call him? Will he be mad? Is it rude?

Bobby didn’t know if he was being selfish or smart when he got up on one elbow, snatching his iPhone from the table next to him. Without giving himself a chance to second-guess, he located Aaron’s number among his contacts and pressed the button to call him.

Aaron didn’t sound as if he was asleep when he answered.

Bobby asked anyway. “You weren’t sleeping, were you? If you were, go back to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’m fine. I was actually lying here on the couch, watching To Kill a Mockingbird. I must have seen it a couple dozen times, but it never gets old. And sometimes, drifting off to sleep with Atticus Finch’s Alabama-accented voice in my ear is pretty perfect.” Aaron paused for a moment. “So what’s up, my friend?”

Bobby stared at Johnny, whose furry, spotted gut was rising and falling with his easy breathing.

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