Free The Gift by A.F. Henley Page B

hanger-ons that might have got a foothold in her place.
    He laughed through a couple of drinking games while the music pounded and Ursula mooned over him, and the smile never left his face. This was how it was supposed to be. This is why guys got into music. This would make it all worthwhile—the pleasers, the attention, the amusement. Except that within a couple of hours, Doren was sick to death of the cheap beer and the crowd. It was fun for a while, but he hadn't really slept and he was starting to get a headache. With his eyes closed, Doren laid his head against the wall and considered a quiet retreat. He was saved the plan making when Ursula slid beside him and ran her fingers through his hair. She whispered, close to his ear, "Maybe it's time to upgrade to some champagne, hmm?"
    He opened his eyes and locked them with Ursula's. She was older than he was, probably by a few years if he had to guess it, but she had the rocking body of a nineteen year old and eyes that were so captivating, so enchantingly green they were almost cat-like.
    "Green eyes," his conscience whispered. "Just like Aug—"
    He shut the thought down before he gave himself a chance to finish it. No. He wasn't doing that again. "Sounds good. But only if we can find someplace quieter."
    She stood, reaching out her hand and pulling him from his chair with a wide smile when he offered it. "I know just the place."
    Her voice sounded like bells as it bounced off the concrete walls she led him past. It was musical and yet, somehow, oddly annoying. It got into his insides and messed with them, twisting them into a snake pit that ate him from the insides out. He didn't bother to ask how she knew where to find the little room she playfully shoved him into, or where she managed to acquire the bottle of champagne. Instead he dropped on to an old couch that smelled of mildew and mice while she opened the bottle. The music had faded when they'd left the party, the heavy door closing out most of the sound. Still, he was able to pick up a trace of the pounding bass line, the steady thud of the drums, and he reached for it, closing his eyes and following the trail of hard rock that coupled with the reptiles rolling in his guts and activated their teeth. Even as it wounded him, it made him feel alive: hard, fast, and mean, like downing a shot of JD. He opened his eyes, stared into Ursula's as she handed him a glass of champagne and straddled his lap. He locked their gazes, let the stem of the glass slip through his fingers to shatter on the ground, then grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth to his.
    She responded unquestioningly.
August
    Great. So now, through no fault of his own, he was the one who couldn't sleep. Like somehow, lying peacefully, in his own room, not bothering anyone, his conscience had somehow let this become all his problem.
    He drew himself out of bed, just to walk, just to get rid of some of the nervous tension. His body felt more awake then it had ever felt in his life. Not the wet interior of the coveted sleeve tucked away in his suitcase, not the adored little toy he'd had since he was sixteen and finally managed to get the nerve to put something inside him, not even his own palm had felt as good as that simple touch had. Which was ridiculous, wasn't it? Surely it couldn't make that much difference just because a touch came from was someone else? Or was it because it had been Doren? And if so, exactly how many men had Doren touched to know how to make it feel that good?
    The thought shouldn't have made August feel as sick as it did.
    "Okay," he told the room. "I want him. I like the way he feels." But that wasn't even true. Yes, Doren had felt good lying beside him. Yes, Doren's touch made him hungry to feel it again. That didn't make August want him though. What August wanted was someone. The someone. Mister Perfect. Mister I Will Love You Forever. Doren didn't even come close to that. Roll in some good old-fashioned musing on the whole concept