I flick through channels on the radio while waiting for Emmett to stop acting like a princess and get the fuck into Theodore’s piece of shit car, even though I commiserate with his pain. Those legs in the back of that sardine can? I’d make Ted pay for the chiropractor. Then again, Mikey could probably get him a discount.

A glance at the time tells me it’s too late to be hitting the clubs, but my twitching cock also tells me that I won’t be sleeping anytime soon. Fucking Justin. Sliding into my space when the lights went down, rubbing against me, practically purring. Licking his way across my neck, drawing me in with a scent of Ivory soap and clean fresh cotton. Is it any fucking wonder I ended up sucking on his tongue instead of paying attention to the photos of Mikey standing at the Rue Who Gives A Fuck?

I glance over my shoulder at the door to Dave’s humble abode, debating. I know the kid wanted me to take him home. But that just reinforces his delusions, and I’m tired of playing into his love-struck fantasies. He’s got to learn that he’s nothing to me. I’ll use him when I can and ditch him when his purpose has been served. He got me through a boring night of Parisian snapshots, but I don’t need him for anything else. I can find a nice piece of ass anywhere.

I turn my attention back to the driveway. Ted’s car is long gone. I rev the engine and head for home.

The guy from Man-2-Man smells like three-day-old pizza. His stubble is annoying, and he doesn’t know how to cover his teeth. Fucker.

I unceremoniously kick him out the door, and place a call.