Chapter 2: JasonJason’s agent called at two in the afternoon on a glorious early-autumn Sunday, Los Angeles bathed in gold and orange and intimations of copper and bronze and leaves in the air, alongside sea-spray and waving palms. Jason, lying stretched out amid sailing-ship patterned sheets with Colby draped across him, chose not to answer.
“Is that Susan,” Colby murmured into his collarbone, not moving. Jason had thoroughly worn him out, though to be fair Colby had been an active participant.
All of Jason’s muscles, recalling recent exertions, hummed with satisfaction. Colby atop him, riding him, a slim shape of huge blue eyes and tumbled hair and gasping babbling ecstasy, awash with pure pleasure: yes. So much yes.
He had an arm plopped across Colby’s back, and his face tipped to re
