Downstairs in the lobby, Trey waits by the large-screen TV that’s constantly tuned to the Golf Channel. His back is to Greg, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his pants, pulling the khakis taut across his ass. He’s wearing the same pants he wore earlier, but the polo shirt has been replaced with a flimsy, dark red shirt tucked into his khakis. As Greg approaches, Trey turns, a winning smile already sliding across his face. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, through which the hint of a tan tank top can be seen. A braided hemp choker around his neck blends in with his tan. His baseball cap is gone; his hair falls to his collar, the front of it tucked behind his ears. He looks as refreshing as summer and impossibly young, and Greg’s heart leaps to think a guy this hot just
