They rode home on the “L” in silence. Because of the late hour, they had the car almost to themselves, save for what looked like a few frat boys from Loyola University, heading back after a night of partying on fake IDs at the bars surrounding Wrigley Field. They were loud and boisterous, obviously drunk and steps away from puking, and Arliss had to admit, if only to himself, he was grateful for the distraction.
Sean was keeping his own counsel, staring out the window. He had responded to Arliss’s earlier attempts to engage him in conversation with monosyllables. And after two or three tries, Arliss decided he should just let him stew. Whatever bothered him could be sorted out once they got back to their apartment.
Arliss had a good idea what was eating at his boyfriend. He was jealous.
