Free Happy by Chris Scully

he was far too mesmerized
    by the play of lean muscles in Louie’s arms every time he lifted his beer or
    his fork. He wore another sleeveless shirt, and it showed off wide golden
    shoulders and the tufts of dark hair at his armpits.
    He and Louie both wore shorts, and every time one or both of them
    shifted, Peter was vividly aware of the gentle friction of hair-roughened leg
    against his own. And there seemed to be a lot of shifting to his muddled
    thinking. The sensation was so intriguing, his mind unwittingly began
    conjuring up thoughts of how that might feel in other places. Like say two
    hairy chests rubbing together. No, Louie’s chest had been smooth. Except
    for the few hairs that encircled his belly button and disappeared beneath the
    waistband of his shorts. Peter had had a good look earlier today. Twice. Did
    Louie wax? Or shave?
    “Still with us, Pete?”
    “Huh?” Peter jerked out of his brain fog to find everyone staring at him.
    “Where did you go?” Adam asked. His expression was innocent, but
    for some bizarre reason Peter had the feeling he knew exactly where his
    mind had been. His face grew hot.
    “Sorry. Daydreaming. Plotting my revenge on the courts. What did
    I miss?”
    “I was just saying that since Louie is apartment hunting, you should
    go with him—vet the neighborhood before he moves in and discovers a
    crack house on the corner. But it seems you’ve already got that covered.”
    The teasing glint in Adam’s eyes made Peter uneasy.
    “You don’t have to,” Louie was quick to say. His jaw was tight, his
    voice clipped. As close as he was, Peter felt the tension radiating off the
    other man.
    He was angry.
    Shit. A flood of uncontrollable panic rushed through Peter’s gut.
    Things had been going so well, and then his mother had to ruin it.
    Happy | Chris Scully
    48
    “I don’t mind,” Peter insisted. “Really. It’ll be fun.”
    Louie looked like it would be anything but fun for him. He mumbled
    some excuse about having to leave, and pointedly got to his feet.
    With a quick glance at his watch Peter realized he needed to run home
    and shower and change or be late for work. “Me too.”
    With promises to get together on the next game night, Adam and
    Louie exchanged numbers and they parted on the sidewalk in front of the
    restaurant. Louie declined Joe’s offer of a ride in favor of walking home, but
    before Peter could say he’d tag along, he was off with a final wave.
    He turned to chase after Louie, but Adam’s hand on his arm stopped him.
    “Be careful, Peter,” he warned.
    Peter blanked his face. “Of what?”
    “I think you know,” he replied cryptically before rejoining Joe.
    A feeling of unease coiled in Peter’s belly. He pushed it aside and
    chased after Louie.
    Louie was several blocks ahead of him, clearly still pissed, and Peter
    had to jog to catch up. He was slightly winded when he reached him. How
    sad was that? He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know the other man
    was angry. “I’m sorry about my mom,” he ventured. “The way she acted.”
    “You don’t need to apologize for other people, Peter. They’re from a
    different generation. I can take it. But don’t ever use me like that again.”
    “Like what?”
    Louie stopped and glared at him until Peter felt his face heat. “The
    touching? The arm around the shoulders? I’m not some sideshow attraction
    to be trotted out when you feel like making a statement.”
    “I know that.”
    “Do you?” Louie shook his head and kept walking. “If you want to
    rebel, do it some other way.”
    “I’m sorry. I wasn’t using you. Honest.”
    “No?”
    Peter saw the trap too late. He couldn’t very well admit the alternative:
    that he’d liked feeling Louie next to him, and touching him—that he’d been
    so comfortable it had just happened. “I was a little buzzed,” he hedged.
    “And okay, maybe there was a small part of me that wanted to tick her off.
    She thinks you’re going to