Chapter 11: Maxim
We climbed inside the Caddy. I rode shotgun. Sander drove us away from the Rankin Motel and jumped on Interstate 79. The Caddy headed north, and we rode in silence for two exits.
He looked over at me a couple times and eventually asked, “Handsome guy in room three. Wasn’t he?”
“His name was Dusty.”
“I always liked that name.”
“He was a nice guy.”
“He f**k you?”
“A couple times. You should have joined us. He liked it rough. You would have enjoyed yourself.”
He shook his head. “You need your space sometimes. I respect that. Besides, if I wanted him, I would have had him, with or without you. I’m not into gingers, though. You know that.”
I said again, “Dusty liked it rough. My ass is killing me today. It feels like I rode a telephone pole.”
“The proud work of a fag
