O.B. lay spooned against a sleeping Avery.
The evening had been great. Avery was a good chef. The steaks, salad, and baked potato were just the way O.B. liked them. He’d helped Avery with the dishes, then they’d sat on the couch drinking wine and talking for several hours. They’d made out and then retired to the bedroom, where the s*x had been spectacular. Afterward they’d showered together.
O.B. softly stroked Avery’s hair and thought about how different this was from anything he’d ever even imagined he would get involved in. He’d always dismissed any unwelcome, stray idea of s*x in the context of a relationship with a man. s*x that expressed any emotion other than lust was foreign to him. Yet here he was, spending his second night with this man, feeling—he wasn’t sure what label to use
