Free Far from Xanadu by Julie Anne Peters Page B

me again, “I have a rule with straights — and so should you. Look, but do not touch.”
    I plucked his greasy fingers off my forearm. “Play by your own rules.”
    “You still won’t admit it, will you?”
    I acknowledged I was gay, okay? I just wasn’t like him.
    “Anyway,” he stretched his arms over his head and wriggled his skinny butt down into his chaise. “Beau was yesterday’s cock tease. I’m in love with Shane now.”
    Shane. Jamie’s imaginary boyfriend. This guy he’d supposedly met in an online chat room. Jamie’d been bringing up his name for the last month or so, but I’d tuned him out. Next month it’d be someone different.
    “He called me last night. From Mississippi.”
    “Who?”
    Jamie turned his head. “Hello? Shane?”
    I whipped around and frowned at him. “You’re kidding. You mean, like, on the phone?”
    “No, from a hog-calling contest. ‘Hoo eee, Jam-eee.’ Yes, on the phone. From work.” Jamie crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “He’s everything I ever dreamed of. And more.”
    “What did he say?”
    “None of your business,” Jamie sniped. “It was a very private, very intimate conversation. Maybe if you ask me nice...”
    This bothered me. Sitting up, I took off my shades and swung around to face Jamie. “You shouldn’t have given him your phone number. That scares me.”
    “Yeah, it scares me too,” Jamie admitted. “I’ve never had anyone actually be interested in me. I have to wonder why.”
    That wasn’t the problem. Jamie was attractive. He was a good guy. Anyone would be lucky to have him for a boyfriend. Although, I couldn’t imagine Jamie having a boyfriend. “You’re not planning on meeting him, are you?”
    Jamie dropped his jaw. “Well, duh. Of course I am.”
    “Jamie, you can’t!” My voice rose an octave. “Come on. You’ve heard the horror stories about meeting people on the Internet. All the perverts and child molesters. Get real.”
    “What choice do I have? It’s not like we live in San Francisco. You want me to go to Wichita and hang out in the gay bars?”
    “No,” I said. God, no.
    “Then tell me, where are we going to meet people?”
    Here, I thought. They’ll come here. She’s here.
    Jamie’s head lolled back on the chaise and he closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be the oldest living virgin on Earth. Aside from you.”
    I sneered, which he missed because he was totally out of touch with reality.
    “He’s calling me again tonight.”
    “Jamie —”
    His voice softened as he added, “I like him, Mike. I really do. We have a lot of the same interests: music, movies, porn stars.”
    I blew out an irritated breath and put my shades back on. The water tank behind us was reflecting heat like a solar panel. My skin sizzled. I needed to move. Take action. I scrambled to my feet. At the railing, I leaned over to catch a breeze and asked Jamie, “How old is he? Where’s he from? What’s his family do?”
    “You sound like Geneviève. ‘James, sweetie, who is this Shane person? Where is he from, honey? How big is his dick?’” He imitated his mother perfectly, except for the last part.
    “Well?” I said, turning and extending my arms along the crossbar. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
    “Okay, Katie Couric. He’s from Alabama, and he’s got the sexiest southern drawl to prove it. He works in a gas station, but that’s just temp. He wants to become a filmmaker. He’s twenty-two —”
    “Twenty-two!” My voice bounced off the water tank. “He’s too old for you.”
    “No, Mother Superior, he is not. That’s only five years’ difference. Geneviève and Hakeem are twelve years apart and it works for them. They’re celebrating their twentieth anniversary this year.” Geneviève and Hakeem. Jamie’s parents.
    Jamie scrunched up, hugging his knees. “He lives in a small town where there’s not much action. None, he says. He’s lonely, Mike. Like me. I’m so fucking lonely.” Jamie’s