much.”
“Guess there are worse ways fate could have gotten your attention.”
“No kidding. My mom is convinced it was divine intervention,” he said. “I think anything capable of divine intervention could have found a less painful way of conveying a message, but what do I know?”
“Better than a head injury or something, right?”
He laughed. “Okay, good point.”
“You said you were already in college when it happened, right?”
Michael nodded.
“What were you studying?”
“Besides basketball and beer drinking?”
“Dude, we all studied beer drinking.”
“True. I was flailing around in college to—oh, motherfucker.” He groaned as game over flashed up on the screen. Then he held up the controller. “Want to give it a go?”
“Hell yeah.” I took the controller. “Im always good for stealing and destroying a few things to relax.”
“Be my guest.” He picked up his tea and sat back while I started a new game. “Anyway, as I was saying, was kind of flailing around in college, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. Thought about pre-med, thought about nursing. Even looked into an osteopathic college. Then…the ankle incident. What about you?” His mug made a dull, heavy sound when he set it on the end table. “What made you decide to open a club?”
“Delusions of grandeur and the insane idea I could get rich by thirty.”
“Ah, the American dream. Open a business, sit on an ever- growing pile of cash.”
“More like an ever-growing pile of stress and bullshit,” I grumbled.
“Dont forget the ever-deepening pit of debt.”
“Oh, I havent, believe me.”
“Well,” he said, “heres to finding a way to hopefully get ourselves out of that pit.”
I paused my game, picked up my beer bottle and clinked it against his tea mug. As I took a drink, I decided maybe his habit of being hot and shirtless was bearable if it meant getting us both back on track financially. There were worse things than having an attractive straight man around the house, and being up to my ass in debt was one of them.
Yes, I decided, this was going to work out quite nicely.
CHAPTER 8
It was bad that night. Real bad. It hadnt been this bad since Michael moved in three weeks ago, but tonight? Holy shit. One stressful shift at the club, and now my shoulder was one glowing ember of pure, unrelenting pain. By the time I couldnt take any more and got out of bed, it had spread into my neck and down the center of my back.
Fuck the shower, I was going straight for the drugs. Moving as slowly as I could, as much for stealth as to keep from jarring my back and shoulder, I got up and went downstairs.
I threw the hot pack in the microwave, and while that warmed up, pulled a couple slices of bread from the half-gone loaf on top of the refrigerator. I didnt bother with butter or anything for flavoring, just ate it dry.
After Id thrown back a pain pill, I rested one hand on the counter and breathed while my other hand held the hot pack in place. The pill would kick in sooner or later, so for now, I focused on relaxing my shoulders, my neck, my back.
Tensing up will only make it worse, I reminded myself. Slowly, gingerly, balancing the hot pack on my shoulder, I clasped my hands together and stretched my arms out in front of me. I breathed deeply, reminding myself again and again to relax, but the spasms just bit in harder and spread from one muscle to the next.
Minute after minute, the spasms spread out like a growing spiderweb. I couldnt lift my left arm at all, and even raising my right generated its own set of eye-watering twinges.
My gaze slid toward the pill bottle. The only thing that made me hesitate to take two was the threat of more nausea. They wouldnt do me any good if I couldnt keep them down, and as it was, I couldnt tell the pain-induced nausea from the drug-induced. One pill wasnt helping, two might finish me off in the sick to my stomach department.
My eyes flicked from the pill bottle to the corner of the wall
“Guess there are worse ways fate could have gotten your attention.”
“No kidding. My mom is convinced it was divine intervention,” he said. “I think anything capable of divine intervention could have found a less painful way of conveying a message, but what do I know?”
“Better than a head injury or something, right?”
He laughed. “Okay, good point.”
“You said you were already in college when it happened, right?”
Michael nodded.
“What were you studying?”
“Besides basketball and beer drinking?”
“Dude, we all studied beer drinking.”
“True. I was flailing around in college to—oh, motherfucker.” He groaned as game over flashed up on the screen. Then he held up the controller. “Want to give it a go?”
“Hell yeah.” I took the controller. “Im always good for stealing and destroying a few things to relax.”
“Be my guest.” He picked up his tea and sat back while I started a new game. “Anyway, as I was saying, was kind of flailing around in college, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. Thought about pre-med, thought about nursing. Even looked into an osteopathic college. Then…the ankle incident. What about you?” His mug made a dull, heavy sound when he set it on the end table. “What made you decide to open a club?”
“Delusions of grandeur and the insane idea I could get rich by thirty.”
“Ah, the American dream. Open a business, sit on an ever- growing pile of cash.”
“More like an ever-growing pile of stress and bullshit,” I grumbled.
“Dont forget the ever-deepening pit of debt.”
“Oh, I havent, believe me.”
“Well,” he said, “heres to finding a way to hopefully get ourselves out of that pit.”
I paused my game, picked up my beer bottle and clinked it against his tea mug. As I took a drink, I decided maybe his habit of being hot and shirtless was bearable if it meant getting us both back on track financially. There were worse things than having an attractive straight man around the house, and being up to my ass in debt was one of them.
Yes, I decided, this was going to work out quite nicely.
CHAPTER 8
It was bad that night. Real bad. It hadnt been this bad since Michael moved in three weeks ago, but tonight? Holy shit. One stressful shift at the club, and now my shoulder was one glowing ember of pure, unrelenting pain. By the time I couldnt take any more and got out of bed, it had spread into my neck and down the center of my back.
Fuck the shower, I was going straight for the drugs. Moving as slowly as I could, as much for stealth as to keep from jarring my back and shoulder, I got up and went downstairs.
I threw the hot pack in the microwave, and while that warmed up, pulled a couple slices of bread from the half-gone loaf on top of the refrigerator. I didnt bother with butter or anything for flavoring, just ate it dry.
After Id thrown back a pain pill, I rested one hand on the counter and breathed while my other hand held the hot pack in place. The pill would kick in sooner or later, so for now, I focused on relaxing my shoulders, my neck, my back.
Tensing up will only make it worse, I reminded myself. Slowly, gingerly, balancing the hot pack on my shoulder, I clasped my hands together and stretched my arms out in front of me. I breathed deeply, reminding myself again and again to relax, but the spasms just bit in harder and spread from one muscle to the next.
Minute after minute, the spasms spread out like a growing spiderweb. I couldnt lift my left arm at all, and even raising my right generated its own set of eye-watering twinges.
My gaze slid toward the pill bottle. The only thing that made me hesitate to take two was the threat of more nausea. They wouldnt do me any good if I couldnt keep them down, and as it was, I couldnt tell the pain-induced nausea from the drug-induced. One pill wasnt helping, two might finish me off in the sick to my stomach department.
My eyes flicked from the pill bottle to the corner of the wall
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