Read Online Name Games by Michael Craft - Free Book Online

napkin.
    I poured more coffee for him. “Did Thad say anything about the school play?”
    Neil shook his head before sipping from the mug. “We never really talked last night. You were late at the paper, he was on his way out to meet friends, and dinner was catch-as-catch-can. I assume he spoke to his teacher—no details yet.” Then Neil slid his chair a few inches from the table, leaning back. He pushed the still-heaping plate of toast to the far side of the table. “It doesn’t surprise me that Thad’s sleeping in, but I was sure we’d see Doug this morning, especially on the heels of your endorsement.”
    “Guess he hasn’t seen it yet.” But Neil was right—of course I’d expected Pierce to bound up the porch stairs early that morning to thank me. He’d had no clue that the editorial would appear so soon, and I knew from our many past breakfasts that it was his habit to check the paper first thing upon rising. So where was he?
    Neil’s face brightened with a thought. He rose from his chair and stepped behind me, taking hold of my shoulders to massage my neck with his thumbs. “As long as it’s ‘just us,’ why don’t we go for a run? It’s perfect weather, and we haven’t been out for a while.”
    “Great idea,” I told him, twisting my head to look up at him. We shared a smile acknowledging the erotic history that running had played in our relationship. Some three years earlier, on a Christmas morning in Phoenix, Neil and I had run together along a mountain road just prior to first making love. Ever since, our runs had taken on the magic of a private ritual that frequently served as a prelude to sex—all in the guise of aerobics. Ah, the joys of healthy living.
    Sitting now with Neil standing at my side, I reached inside his robe and stroked his leg. Feeling the taut muscles of his calf, I worked my way up to his thigh. I don’t know whether Neil was responding to my touch or to the stimulus of some mutual memory, but he began to breathe heavily as the first stages of an erection plumped the flannel of his robe near my shoulder. I leaned my head to feel his heat against my ear. Then he leaned over my face, upside down, to kiss me deeply. With my free hand, I uncinched my robe to tend to my own erection. Through the slits of my eyes I saw the unshaven stubble on his throat; in my mind’s eye I saw the indelible vision of sweat darkening the crack of his faded gray cotton running shorts as he led me up that mountain. I heard the treaded soles of our shoes slapping the earth in unison, pounding the pavement.
    Pounding the door. “Any coffee left?” The spring creaked as the screen opened.
    Good God. Douglas Pierce—sheriff of all the land—was walking into the kitchen. Had he been half a minute later, he’d likely have witnessed two grown men in the throes of something torrid (which he might have enjoyed). As it was, Neil and I barely had time to disentangle ourselves, clumsily concealing our arousal in the folds of our bathrobes.
    “Hey, guys. Beautiful day,” said Pierce as he approached the table with jaunty steps, delivering a bag of muffins, apparently fetched on his way to the house. If Neil and I projected the guilty look of being caught in the act, Pierce didn’t notice, oblivious to everything but the pleasant autumn weather. His cheery manner—his “glow,” for lack of a better word—was the result, I assumed, of my unexpected endorsement in that morning’s paper.
    We greeted him, grinning, amused by his bright attitude, enjoying his company in spite of the untimely arrival. Neil got an extra mug from a cupboard, then joined Pierce and me at the table, pouring coffee for all of us. The muffins were fresh and smelled wonderful, with gobs of wet blueberries erupting from the dough, so Neil and I each took one—toast be damned.
    Rearranging the table to accommodate our guest, Neil made sure everything was within easy reach of Pierce, including the folded newspaper, which he