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184 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 15, 2017
"Wings?"
"Only if they don't make you poot. Buffalo sauce poots make the baby Jesus cry."
"Well sure, nothing rules out ass-fucking like buffalo poots. 'Cept maybe Taco Bell."
They sat together, arm to arm, not looking at each other. Then B reached out, twining their fingers together, holding on like they'd done this a thousand times.
"Is this the way it normally happens with two guys, Hoss?"
"I'm usually the handjob in the barn type of guy, B. I've never been the type to be on love,so I don't know."
"I've been in love with you since high school. I don't know how the handjob in the barn even works."
"Pardon me?" Oh shit. "You are my son and a Christian man, and do you think for a second that Jesus Christ would approve of you deserting that innocent babe in her time of need?"
There was no arguing with Momma when she invoked Jesus. None. He knew this from years of trying.
"You wanna come with?"
Hoss nodded. "Cain't think of nothing better. You, me, cold beer, a boat."
A blowjob. A blowjob would be better. He was grateful, though, that Hoss thought of Bradley when he thought of a good day.
Bradley bounced his mini basketball off the door to his bedroom at the trailer, waiting for Hoss to call. Hoss had to call, right? They was lovers, and lovers fought, but he was ready to make up if Hoss would just call.
He looked at his momma, stunned into stupidity. “Momma, real life don’t work that way.”
“That’s what you said about when that man shot Lucy Lee in the head and she lived to go slit his throat.”
“And about the ball of fireworks that blowed the Richards boy’s head off last year,” Daddy added.
“And about the fact that all four of the Dennis boys broke their legs on the same day in three different counties.”
“Momma….”
“And about the catfish the size of Volkswagens in Lake Ray Hubbard.”
Oh, now. “Daddy, that last one ain’t real!”



