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be able to disobey. “Okay, so it’s like this. My dad died, like, five years ago, but before he went, he was dating this really awesome woman. Bridget O’Shaughnessy, sweetest woman in the world. But, well, Dad died. Sucked. Now, Bridget has other kids and folks and shit, but, like, the month after the funeral, it’s my birthday, and she calls me up and they all take me out for my birthday. And then I go over there for Thanksgiving. And Christmas. So, I guess on my birth certificate and my bank account, the name is Carson Saunders, but on my driver’s license and when I’m on the stage, I go by Carson O’Shaughnessy, because, seriously. Awesome only comes in so many flavors, right? You’ve got to savor them when they’re presented to you.”
    He risked a look at Florida’s face, unsure of his reception. He didn’t tell a lot of people that story, mostly because it didn’t come up. Or, it did, because he did look Irish mostly with the five foot six inches and the fair skin, but, well, Florida invited confidences, didn’t he.
    Speaking of….
    Carson stopped before they rounded the corner to the side of the hotel that faced the beach. “What?”
    Florida blinked and tilted his head, and Carson noticed that hidden under the stubble on his chin was a cleft as deep as a baby’s asscrack. He wondered if Florida ever shaved that thing. Was there a special class for shaving a baby’s ass cleft? Special blades? When Florida smiled, the divots on either side of his mouth deepened, and that couldn’t be easy to shave, either. Did that explain the stubble? Was it more about self-preservation than vanity or lack thereof?
    They watched each other under the hazy sunshine, in the whooshing silence of the ocean, and Carson realized that, yes, he had asked the last question and it was Florida’s turn to speak. He opened his mouth to ask “what” again, and Florida’s slow smile stopped him.
    “You got some depth there, Chicago. Nice to know.”
    Carson narrowed his eyes. “Way to get cryptic there, Florida. Consider me your diving pool, then.”
    Florida snorted, and quirked that smile again. “Thinking small, Chicago? Why can’t you be my ocean? Or at least my Great Lake.”
    Carson swallowed against a sudden punch of unwanted attraction. This—the banter, the innuendo—this wasn’t what he did with guys. Usually, if it was a guy, it was a quick bang, a hand job as handshake sort of thing. But this?
    Carson turned abruptly and tried not to scrape his shoulder against the wall. “Here,” he said, trying to get rid of the awkwardness. “We, uhm, when we come out here, we can cross the courtyard, and Stassy’s room is on the other side of the L.”
    “Seems like the long way around.”
    “Yeah, well.” Carson grunted and decided to ’fess up. “I thought I saw him, when I was eating. It was across the street, so I can’t be sure, and maybe I just wanted him to be okay, but I thought I saw him.”
    “Mm.” Florida was quiet for a moment. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found?”
    “Yeah, well, if Ivan O’Leary was my uncle, I would have run away in middle school, but that’s not usually Stassy’s style. He’s a sweet kid, likes to make people happy.”
    “Did he make you happy?”
    “Jesus! Nosy much?”
    “I’m just wondering. That’s not a crime.”
    “Yeah, well, he suddenly thought it was. We were… you know, making out, getting ready to get down, and suddenly he just panicked the fuck out. I mean, it couldn’t have come as that much of a surprise, you feel me?” He paused for a second and heard Florida’s reply without him even saying it. “And don’t say you’d like to. It would be insincere and demean us both.”
    Florida’s low laugh danced in his belly and Carson had a sudden vision, himself face forward against the building, Florida behind him, inside him, pumping slowly away while those strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and those big tanned hands splayed on his chest.