In the bathroom he checked to make sure he still had that condom in his wallet. Just in case. Then he glanced in the mirror, taking in his narrow face, his aquiline nose, his deep-set, gray-green eyes. His hair fell to his chin in one brown sheet, the ends curling under from the cut. He remembered the way Wes’s hand had felt through his hair, tentative, unsure. “I used to love your hair…”
Wes had meant the long locks Nathan sported all through high school. On the basketball court he’d worn it pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the ends of his hair would curl whenever he worked up a sweat during the game. I’ll show you curls, Wes. His gaze drifted down his reflection in the bathroom mirror to linger at the zipper of his jeans. I’ve still got plenty of them where it counts. Absently he
