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The last towel folded, Dale smiled to himself and trotted to the locker room door. Empty, post-practice, post-shower, post-laundry. Still smelling of sweat and dirty socks, Bill’s aerosol deodorant (rumored to be prescription from Doc Montoya) and cheap cologne. He breathed deep, probably as proud as Coach Sauers, and walked to the exit doors. Ignored the disdainful giggle of a few cheerleaders with their boyfriends’ jackets draped over their shoulders, clustered around the corner phone booth.
To heck with them. He was the towel manager.
Dale scanned the high school parking lot, rich with leaded gas exhaust and rumbling muscle cars, a few clunky beaters handed down from parents. Gleaming pickup trucks. Dome of sky gone to inky black and a few stars behind scattered clouds. Hank and Peggy stood with fingers linked next to Hank’s truck, both of them blushing and virginal, their faces inches apart as she murmured something gossipy. Hank blushed and stammered, suppressed a laugh. Opened the passenger door for Peggy and helped her step inside like a knight aiding a lady onto his steed. Dale smirked and wondered if they’d made it to second base yet. Likely not. Peggy had once shown up to the Whataburger with her top blouse button unfastened, only to button up once again when Hank whispered in her ear with alarm.
He liked Hank, but that kid would set a wild squirrel on the straight and narrow, table manners and everything. ‘Possums, too. If he could have his way.
Bill lounged against his oily green Impala, the left front fender flirting with rust and a few of the larger ladies clustered about him. Matching breast to bulk. Suzie Plank, her lipstick smudged on her front teeth like barbeque sauce, a cigarette parked in the corner of her mouth, seemed to be in the lead tonight. Bill was smiling to himself and staring down the front of her dress.
A quick search, and Dale found Boomhauer, who had promised him a ride home. The blond boy was sliding out the far door of Miss Sally, parked over by the schoolyard fence and shielded from the street by an electric box. Hands at his waist, trying to covertly buckle his belt. Grey henley on his broad shoulders. Millie Daxon slid out the near side, grinning to herself and smoothing her auburn hair down, though one side of it stuck up a little, locked into place by AquaNet hairspray. She brushed the hem of her plaid skirt and shoved Miss Sally’s door closed with her foot. Walked off as if nothing naughty had just happened in the back seat.
“Wingo!” Dale crowed, though Boomhauer could not hear him over the roar of someone’s Chevelle. He prided Boomhauer on his prowess, the skill of seduction that came easy to him as breathing. Grateful too. Boomhauer’s charm had led Dale into the arms of several beauties, simply by association. The first time he’d had sex, Boomhauer had been parking in Miss Sally with Grace Piaf while Dale leaned up against a tree with Barbara Klein. Condom in his pocket from Boomhauer’s own stash, the other boy grinning at him in congratulations before he had heaved the passenger door shut.
That led later to Annie Thibodeaux and Clara Limon. Girls that would peel off the group after Boomhauer and Bill had made their choices for the night.
Score.
“Hey Gribble,” Boomhauer said as Dale approached, street lamp light falling soft on his features. Almost glowed, that tan skin and blond hair contrasting with his deep brown eyes. He smoothed his sideburns down and Dale unconsciously ran his hand through his own strawberry hair, flowing down to his green flannel collar. “Yougettin’ ready ‘a go home or what, can cruise man a bit just up and down the main street up to the dang ol’ quarry if you want.”
“Yah, I’m up for anythang,” Dale said, grinning, putting a growl on because it was late October and he felt so damn good. He didn’t even need a cigarette yet. “What are Saturday nights for?”
“All righ’, man. Hop in.” Boomhauer allowed a small smile, his eyes warm with affection. Dale’s heart pounded with pride.
His friend. His.
Loved Hank, liked Bill, but Boomhauer was special. There were times that Dale wondered why a beautiful man like Boomhauer hung out with a skinny kid like him. All high-squeak voice and raging insecurity, liked to tell himself stories and play with the ham radio. Tuned into little weirdos like himself in Roswell, Willow Creek, Point Pleasant.
Anything to help him ignore the dark house and cold stove and his father carrying on with half of the floozies in Arlen on any given night. As he had been since Margot Gribble had died of a massive embolism just that spring.
Anything to hide the fact that Dale felt better now that his mother was dead, his resentment and grief like sour ash in his mouth. He blinked hard behind his mirrored sunglasses and pulled his mind back into the parking lot. Emptying out, knots of girls and boys reassembling to cruise and flirt and grab a late bite at Foster’s.
“Let’s keep on truckin’,” Dale said, sliding into the bucket seat. Miss Sally smelled of Boomhauer’s cologne and sex, a lingering ribbon of Millie’s perfume fluttering out the rolled down windows. Chanel No. 5. The same kind Nancy Hicks had worn when they met under the bleachers. Not that they were dating or anything. Not yet. They’d made out twice, after football practice. Dale preferred to keep his horizons open for a little while longer, and Nancy was still a junior at Arlen High.
“You goin’ to play in college?” Dale asked, half shouting over the Mustang’s deep roar.
Boomhauer caught his meaning. Football. He had a good shot at a scholarship in Houston, not a full ride, but it was better than Hank, Bill, and Dale could ever get. Playing football with a sports scholarship would take him all the way.
“No man,” Boomhauer shook his head and slung his left arm out the window. “Tired of bein’ tapped on the dang ol’ head, tell you what. But this surfin’ meantime, let me tell you. Longboards. Bikini bottoms like moths to a flame, man. Never sleep alone ever again.”
Dale nodded, a fierce smile planted on his wide mouth. Sorrow wove in through the pride. He’d miss Boomhauer the four years he would be gone.
But that was in June, lightyears away. Right now they had a mild fall night and a cool car, a full wallet and half empty gas tank. Even his skin was a little clearer, just a few pepper marks of acne and a clean shave for once. He put Houston out of his mind and admired Boomhauer’s smooth tan hand taking the gear shift in his palm.
Light touch. Like an angel.
“Hit up Whataburger?” Boomhauer addressed the rear view mirror and adjusted it so the pickup headlights behind them wouldn’t blind his eyes so much.
“Hell yeah. I’ll pop. In lieu of gas money, my good sir.” Dale shifted to pull his wallet out. One crisp Hamilton, not even crumpled. “You want a cherry pie for dessert?”
“Yo, man.”
An hour later, bellies full, Boomhauer and Dale kicked back in the front bucket seats, with Miss Sally’s dark headlights staring out over the quarry void. To the south, various cars lined up, teenagers parking or smoking or losing their virginity. Maybe breaking up in anticipation of asking someone better out for Homecoming. This spot held only one car, a private place where the view wasn’t quite so spectacular and some homesteader’s rose bushes had grown wild with abandonment. Charred remains of the lonestar cabin stood back in the sparse woods. It had a reputation for being haunted.
“Fuckin’ A, man.” Boomhauer’s deep voice gritted with rust around a lungful of marijuana smoke. He released it, passing the fragile joint back to Dale.
“Yeah, didn’t think Bug would miss just one,” Dale said, inhaling deeper than Boomhauer. Unlike his friend, he didn’t have the threat of drug testing looming over his head. Being a quarterback wasn’t everything to Boomhauer, but it was a cherry position that elevated him to the status of a minor god. Being kicked off of the team would mean disgrace and demotion to shop class, a real baby course full of sophomores and freshmen. “My dad’s been hanging out with Eustice Miller’s dad this month. They roll ‘em. Got a bunch drying in the oven. It reeks. Damn tomcats.”
Dale winced and flicked a glance at Boomhauer, but the other boy didn’t seem to take the insult personally, despite his own reputation. He only blinked slow, fingers tapping his taut belly, gazing out at the stars.
Popped an after-dinner mint that he kept in the glove box and cracked it with his teeth. Gave one to Dale.
The silence stretched long, and several times Dale bit down on his tongue to keep from chattering. Sometimes babbling brought out good conversations with Hank and the guys, but with just Boomhauer it was different. Boomhauer didn’t suffer from pressure of speech, as Dale did, nor was he inclined to mooning over a girl like Bill or prattling on and on over one subject, like Hank. Boomhauer could vibe. He was relaxed, content. The arrogance that one might expect from a life so gilded just wasn’t there.
“Yo.” Boomhauer pointed at an arc of meteor blazing silver in the sky.
An owl hooted, was still.
Dale pinched the joint out, seeing that Boomhauer was done. Tucked the delicate thing into his wallet. Two tokes a piece. Dale appreciated the symmetry of it.
“...that’s two yeses for Carl. What about Hank?” A few girls’ voices drifted near on the road that circled the defunct quarry.
“Hank Hill? Nah. He and Peggy are solid, Sug.” Nancy Hick’s sweet southern drawl fluttered through the rose bushes like moths.
“Not for real. This is purely hy-po-thetical.” Trish Valenzuela’s voice ricocheted off of the trees. “Would you or wouldn’t you?”
“Wouldn’t.” Nancy said. Closer, not quite even with Miss Sally’s rear bumper.
“Would. Have you gals ever looked at his hands? Broad, like dinner plates. Bet they’d be gentle, though. Guys with big hands always are.” Grace Piaf giggled. “Pass the wine, Nance.”
Dale glanced over at Boomhauer, who had tilted his head back on the reclined bucket seat. Eavesdropping, but without a kindle of sexual interest. Usually, if he were inclined to chase tail, he would be sitting up and checking his hair in the rear view.
“Would. How about Bill Dautrieve?”
“Wouldn’t.” Nancy again. “Too big for me Sugs. Heavy.”
“Wouldn’t. He reminds me too much of my dad.” Grace.
“Ick. I was gonna say yes, but with that image… Okay. Boomhauer.”
“Mm. Tempted.” Nancy purred. Evidently the girls were answering in the same order. They lingered around the oldest oak near the roses. There was a flick of a lighter, a long inhale. “Put him in my Definitely column, Sug.”
Boomhauer wagged his eyebrows at Dale and smiled, shook his head. Mute way of saying “Naw, man. She’s beautiful, but I know you have a crush on her.” There was a gentle chivalry to Boomhauer’s affection.
“I have. Twice. Better than ice cream.”
“Twice with Boomhauer? You’re practically married.” Trish said, her voice likewise clotted with breath held around marijuana smoke. “Me too. Would definitely. Dale Gribble?”
Grace erupted in derisive laughter that made Dale flinch down in his own inclined seat. His cheeks and ears blazed hot, and he was glad for the dim light of the car; he and Boomhauer were both bathed in starlit blue. His humiliated blush would remain invisible.
“Dale? That bug-eating creep?” Grace’s voice screwed up, sharp and revolted.
“A definite no. Me too. He’s just so… like string cheese. Skinny, bony. A bit stupid. And will he ever shut up? Dios mio. Nancy?”
“I dunno. He’s cute. You have to get to know him, Sugs.” Nancy’s voice lilted, melted. “Yes.”
“Nan-cee and Day-ell, sittin’ in a tree…” Grace sang. A swig. “Par-a-noid-ing-I-N-G.”
“That just don’t make sense.” Nancy, getting angry. Voice hard, like a cat’s ears back against its skull. “You’re the Mattress Queen of the Caves. Leave off, Sug.”
“‘Kay, okay.” Grace made one last swigging sound. “C’mon, let’s finish this lap and get back to the car. There’s a party at Kenny’s tonight. His parents are up in Fort Worth for the weekend.”
“That’s enough, Grace. Give the bottle.” Trish sounded exasperated. “Nancy. How ‘bout Fred?”
“Pass.”
“Maybe. He’s got this kinda cute way of sayin’ his H’s…”
The girls’ voices passed the Mustang without noticing its red paint and chrome gleaming in the bushes. Laughter bubbled through the dark. Faded entirely.
Dale concentrated on keeping his expression completely neutral, mouth set. Staring out at the stars from behind his mirrored sunglasses. Hands limp on his thighs.
“Hey, man.” Boomhauer said. Nudged him on the elbow. “Hey.”
“Mm.” Dale didn’t feel like talking. Nancy had been nice, but the disgust in Trish and Grace’s voices when they spoke of him had stung. He pressed his tongue hard into the roof of his mouth and fought against the sob building in his chest. He knew that his experience in high school would have been vastly different had he not made friends with Hank, Bill, and Boomhauer late in elementary school.
Persona non grata.
Rejected.
“Gribble.”
Like Ma had often said. “Useless, head-in-the-clouds and ass-on-the-floor stupid,” as she extinguished one of her cigarettes on his arm.
He went off at angles every time he tried to fit in. Like eating the bugs in elementary school. He had mistaken the expression all of those kids’ eyes trained on him as respect. Wrong. The fascination had been there, but they had been disgusted by Dale’s freakishness. Like watching a train wreck. Like poking at roadkill with a stick.
Though he had gained acceptance as Hank, Bill, and Boomhauer’s friend, there was no one outside of this brief circle. Carl Moss was not above tossing used towels over Dale’s head as he sprinted back onto the field. Fred had shoved him into his locker twice in the past month. Whenever he was caught alone without the guys there would be someone to trip him or laugh as he passed. Or hold his head down on the shower tiles as icy water poured over his naked ass.
“Dale.”
Startled, Dale turned on the headrest. Couldn’t help his eyebrows popping up and expression crumpling. Boomhauer had called him by his first name only twice since they had met, aged nine.
“Hey, man.” Boomhauer put his arm around Dale’s neck and pulled him over. Ruffled his long strawberry hair and patted him on his back. “S’okay. S’alright. You’re good, man. Come back from that dang ol’ dark.”
Dale lay over the drive shaft and kept his head on Boomhauer’s chest. Listening to the thump of his heart.
Without Hank or Bill around it was alright. No one else would see.
They had held each other many times when they were alone. Tent camping out in Boomhauer’s backyard when they were kids, watching the stars after sneaking away from the powwow fire as Straight Arrow scouts. Anchored mid-morning on Lake Tecumseh on Dale's 18th birthday, when the fish weren’t biting.
Like brothers, Boomhauer would murmur, his muscled forearm warm against Dale’s neck or shoulders. Dale knew that Boomhauer’s relationship with his brother Patch was strained. As an only child, Dale was happy to be the brother his friend had always wanted. Even though he was five months Boomhauer’s senior, he clung to the other man like a baby.
The earthy cologne Boomhauer favored mixed with the smell of water, roses, the pungent marijuana and sweet strawberry wine that the girls had been drinking. Dale pulled the sunglasses from his face and closed his eyes, concentrated on Boomhauer’s heartbeat and the pull and fall of each breath. Fascinating, how he could hear air moving through another body like that. How warm. How safe. His body tingled where Boomhauer touched him.
Dale had never fallen asleep next to another person. Barbara, Annie, Clara, all of them had pulled their clothes back into place and slipped away from where they had lain on the grass or in Dale’s narrow twin bed, and each had walked out without a glance back.
“You just need practice, man. Tell you what, I’m a gonna help you, ‘n you just need lil’ ol’ polishin’. Diamond in the rough, Gribble.” Boomhauer said at length, shaking his arm to get Dale to sit up. “Sorry. ‘S killin’ me. Gone numb. Pins and needles, dang ol’ blood froze.”
Dale sat back, feeling a little better. “Yeah?”
“Yo, man.”
He thought for a moment, folding his sunglasses and setting them on the dashboard. The world fuzzed a bit at the edges; he would need prescription glasses soon. Glanced over at Boomhauer, who was staring at him with a little smile playing in the corners of his mouth.
Dale grinned. “Lessons from a master, eh?”
Boomhauer giggled, a startling sound coming from a man. Yet, somehow it fit him. “No dang ol’ master, man. Apprentice of love, maybe, dang-all tryin’.”
Dale arched an eyebrow. Smirked. “All right then. Demonstrate. I’ll take notes. Seduce me.”
He held his arms open in challenge, heart pounding at his own audacity.
Boomhauer giggled again and stilled. Regarded Dale for a long while then glanced out at the void over the quarry. Shrugged. “Alright, man.”
When Boomhauer looked back at Dale his expression had changed. The light humor was gone, replaced by a heavy-lidded stare. The blond man sat closer, his body loose and graceful, arm draped over the back of Dale’s seat. “Hey, Baby,” he crooned, soft, deep.
Dale sat still, blood hot and rushing, heart high in his chest. God.
“Lemme play a ‘lil,” Boomhauer said, leaning in close. Not taking his dark eyes from Dale’s blue ones. Warm breath smelling of wintergreen mint, curling over Dale’s half-open mouth.
Time both stopped and quickened when Boomhauer leaned in for the kiss. Dale found his arms drawing around the other man, one hand in the golden hair and the other over Boomhauer’s spine. The grey henley damp with sweat. Closed his eyes. Pressing together. Lips chapped but soft, then Boomhauer’s hot tongue tip pushing, snaking in. Dale shook and opened his mouth, tongue nervous and tracing, tasting. God. God. God. He hadn't known how much he wanted this.
Boomhauer kept leaning in, kept their mouths locked, crawled over the gear shift until he was practically in Dale’s lap. Dale panted through his nose as he drank of Boomhauer’s mouth. Leaned back. Flinched when the door punked open and let them fall in a slow spill to the ground.
He cracked one eye open. Boomhauer was slowing their fall with a well-practiced hook of his knee behind the seat, a brace of arm and shoulder. God, he was good. Not just an apprentice.
The grass was cool under Dale’s shoulders as he eased backward, kiss breaking, lips swollen. Boomhauer didn’t stop but crawled along the length of him until they were laying pressed to the earth. Heat above and cold below. Dale shivered and accepted another kiss, just as deep.
This was new, through and through. His time with Barbara had been a mad scramble, fumbling, the thrill of his first time greater than the physical pleasure. Later, with the other girls, sex had been pale and mismatched, their interest in him carnal only. This… this with Boomhauer… There was a weight behind it that had not been there with the others. Boomhauer cared about him.
“Let me,” Boomhauer mumbled against Dale’s mouth. He lifted up a little, hand sneaking between their bodies to Dale’s belt buckle. Undid it one-handed while his tongue darted with distracting little dips into his mouth.
Part of Dale registered the clink of buckle and what it meant. That part panicked but was quashed by the rest of him, his legs opening wider to cradle Boomhauer’s hips.
Boomhauer finally hesitated, his kisses slowing as he half glanced down the length of the other man’s body. Worked his hand over the button and zipper, twisted his palm down, up again, fingers spread. Evidently Boomhauer had not done this with another man before, though he remained calm. Trying to figure out how to do this backward.
With a shrug, Boomhauer slipped his hand inside Dale’s jeans and white briefs, hand sure once again. Took Dale in his palm, just as he had with the gear shift. Rubbed slow. Dale hissed through his teeth and pressed his head against the cool grass, eyes squeezing shut. God. God.
“Alright, Baby?” Boomhauer purred.
“Unh,” Dale grunted, pushing his hips upward as Boomhauer stroked him. “Yeah.”
Dale gulped night air as Boomhauer kissed his neck, marked him with a bite to his shoulder. He clung to the other man as the caressing hand withdrew. Clink of belt, another zipper. Boomhauer raised himself up to his knees and casually reached behind the passenger seat, drew a soft blue blanket out from the back. He lay it on the ground still half folded and rolled Dale face down onto it, reached back into the car and took out some small bottle. Dale watched him over his shoulder and drew his hands up close under his chin. Knew what Boomhauer was aiming for and wanted it, even if he was scared as all hell.
When Boomhauer pushed his own jeans down Dale looked away, embarrassed and relieved at the same time. This was gonna happen. And God, he wanted it. He pushed his jeans down to mid-thigh, grateful for the warm blanket and the hot body lowering onto him.
“Here,” Boomhauer said against his ear, and his right hand was taken, cool KY jelly pooled into it from the bottle.
Dale pushed his hand under himself and rubbed his length, moaning softly.
“Okay?” Boomhauer asked. Giving Dale a chance to back out if he wanted to. He had kept his body raised a little, leaving space between them.
“Give it,” Dale said, his voice catching.
Boomhauer lowered himself, hand between Dale’s buttocks and fingers working, touch gentle and sure. He knew what he was doing, here. Probably had done it a hundred times with the girls he favored. Dale could feel the other man’s hard sex against his thigh, the fingers moving inside of him, his own heart thudding massively behind his sternum.
“Baby,” Boomhauer whispered. Guided himself with his hand, slipped in, nice and slow. Giving Dale’s body a chance to open and accept him.
Silence followed, save for the gasp and pull of their breaths. Dale’s soft cries and Boomhauer’s rumbling moans against his shoulder. A click of belt buckle, a rasp of cloth. Skin kissing flesh, over and over, as Boomhauer’s loins pumped against Dale’s buttocks. Dale sweated in his flannel and felt as though the night belonged in soft summer. Boomhauer moving inside the narrow places within his body. He felt it building inside of him along with Boomhauer’s pushing, the tightening of his loins and quick pace of his hand.
“Jeff,” he gasped as he was overcome. Body pulsing to the heart of him.
“Dang ol’. Got… Dale.” Boomhauer grunted and pushed hard. Once, twice, three times, four, five. Dale’s cheek and temple chafed against the blanket.
They lay there in stillness for a long while, enough for the night to get cold again. Boomhauer pulled out and crouched over Dale for several breaths, then stood shivering. There was the sound of the trunk opening as Dale pulled his jeans to rights with awkward tugs and a few curses. Then Boomhauer was at his side with a damp automotive cloth, cleaning his fingers.
“Hold still,” Boomhauer said, his voice pitched low.
Dale glanced at his friend and found Boomhauer’s eyes averted, focused on caring for his skin but unwilling to look him in the face. His heart sank, and the world tilted slantways.
Fuck.
Had they screwed up? Had they thrown out years of loving each other for an ill-thought lay?
With his jeans in place, Dale slumped into the car and pulled the blanket up onto himself, huddled under it with just his face showing. Aware of places in his body that he seldom thought of. He watched Boomhauer in the mirror as the man turned away and cleaned himself off. Closed the trunk. They hadn’t used the condoms that Dale now caught sight of in the glove box. He shut it hard.
Boomhauer fell hard into his seat and pulled the lever to right it. Sat with hands gripping the wheel but not turning the key. His face had gone impassive, staring straight ahead, and Dale squeezed his eyes shut again.
After twenty minutes of this, Boomhauer started the car. Eased out over the labyrinth of dirt roads to the blacktop, leaving the quarry behind in darkness.
Neither man looked at each other. The silence lay thick around them in spite of the icy air tumbling through the open windows.
Dale automatically got out of the car when they pulled up in front of his dark house. Took his sunglasses with him and kept the blanket against his chest. He didn’t want to let go of the warmth that it gave him, the smell of Boomhauer’s cologne and sex that had threaded into the cloth.
Only the sound of Miss Sally driving away into the late October night remained with him as he stumbled into his empty bed and lay with the blue blanket over his head.
Sunday morning, and Dale went through the motions of showering, shaving, keeping his eyes off of himself in the mirror. He had slept badly, and his eyes were red, swollen, pale skin blotched with crying. The tears came unbidden, huge and rolling, even as he dressed and ate his dry cereal.
Feet on the pavement, hands in his pockets. Towel Manager letter jacket on his shoulders. Today was a cold one. He paused in front of Eugene’s house to flick a spent cigarette, light a new one. Closed one eye against the smoke and peered at the driveway. Bug’s yellow Cadillac wasn’t in this driveway, either. Dale shook his head and made his way to Hank’s house. Late enough to be after church, surely. He hadn’t felt like going, nor had he looked at the clock.
“...I tell you hwhat. We’re makin’ State this year, I just know it.” Hank’s popped consonants floated around the fence corner.
“Yep.”
“Mmhm.”
Dale hesitated at the mouth of the alley. Boomhauer was there already. He considered turning about face, but he saw the Colonel stumping along the front walk and didn’t feel like talking to him, either. So he slouched past the fence and over to the middle of the group, making sure that Bill shielded him from Boomhauer.
“Dale.” Hank reached into the cooler and tossed him an ice-cold Cola. “You comin’ with us?”
“Where?” Dale asked the telephone pole across the way. He side-eyed Bill and couldn’t see past the cascade of his curly brown hair and prodigious profile. Only Boomhauer’s smooth, tan hand was visible, holding a can of rootbeer.
“Where? To State!”
“Which state?”
“Kaynn-tucky,” Bill drawled, and Boomhauer chuckled. Maybe a good sign, unless it was at Dale’s expense.
“To the Texas State Championship. Football. C’mon, Dale.” Hank shook his head, indicating that he thought Dale dumb in the head. “You’re our towel manager, You’ve got to be there for the big game.”
“Only if you send me an engraved invitation,” Dale said, without inflection.
“I’ll engrave your ass.” Hank bumped him in the shoulder with his own can of Cola. “No kiddin’, looks like the Mustangs might be the ones to beat. And Bill an’ Boomhauer can run over them roughshod without breaking a sweat.”
“You bet!”
“Mmhm.”
Dale tuned them out, listening only for Boomhauer’s occasional mumbles of agreement. After a long conversation of mutual admiration between the three football players and three of Dale’s silent cigarettes, Hank challenged Bill to run laps around the block.
As they thundered off, Dale kept face forward, spine rigid. Took a long drag off of his cigarette with a deliberate sweep of his hand. He was acutely aware of Boomhauer’s silhouette, vague at the edge of his vision.
Then Boomhauer leaned forward at the waist, peering at Dale as if around an invisible Bill.
Dale glanced at him.
Boomhauer smiled. Shy, sheepish, but every bit as warm as it always was.
Heart pounding, Dale quirked a smile at him. Shivering. Giddy in spite of himself. “What?”
“Mornin’, beautiful,” Boomhauer said with a wink. “Boy howdy.”
Dale blushed and grinned. Raised his Cola to toast Boomhauer and shouted “Wingo!” as Hank lapped past. He still belonged, after all.