September 24th (4.15pm) by spiceylife
“If he shows.”
He’ll show. Sure he will. Jack Twist’s a man of his word, I know that much. He’ll come. Won’t he?
His nerves were almost shot. The waiting was so hard.
Feel like a kid at Christmas waitin’ ta open the presents. Jesus, hurry Jack…
He lit up another smoke, his twentieth for the day, and flicked the cheap, plastic lighter - on, off, on, off – his leg bouncing up and down with nervous tension…fiery anticipation at seeing that handsome face again, that ready smile….
What’ll I do? Will I kiss him? Like I used ta? Sweetest lips I ever seen, ever tasted. Or felt. Ah, fuck, Del Mar! You ain’t gonna kiss him! Whatcha thinkin, ya damn fool? Christ! Kiss another man out in public? Christ, anyone could see us, and no tellin what they’d fuckin do! Ain’t gonna risk Alma seein’ us, no way. No, ya ain’t kissin Jack here. That ain’t gonna happen. Save it for later, Del Mar.
He grabbed another icy beer from the fridge, his eighth for the day, and gulped down most of it in one hit, trying to ease his frayed emotions.
When he gets here, I’ll jes’ walk down those stairs and slap him on the back a few times, just like I do with the other ranch hands when I ain’t seen ‘em in a while. That’s it. That’s what I’m gonna do. Slap his back and say ‘How ya doin’, bud? How ya been?’ Jes like that. Like normal. Two guys smoochin each other? No way. I can stand it ‘til later. I ain’t kissin’ Jack out in the street.
He drained the rest of the amber fluid from the bottle as his mind drifted away, slowly filling with precious, secret, tightly-held memories of big teeth and full, curved lips, of dark hair and broad shoulders, of large, rough hands and tight denim and eyes that knew him so well…
The wind swirled and twisted, blowing fiercely in the street below as the sound of a pickup drew closer.