Date: Sun, 06 Jan 2002 17:03:19 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 41

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.

Let's get back to Season 3 now, shall we?

***

After group ended, Lance drove around the city for a while, riding up and
down the main streets in a kind of endless loop that he knew was bad for
Los Angeles's already smog filled air. He didn't really have anywhere to
go, and he didn't want to go back to the apartments yet. He knew that Josh
and Jack were still at the studio, but he didn't want to go there,
either. He didn't want to be around any of his friends right now, not
because he was mad at them, but because he just couldn't face their
concern. He hadn't expressed that thought to anyone, because he knew they
meant well, but sometimes over the past couple of days he'd just felt
unable to deal with everyone's overwhelming attention to his welfare, and
their constant glances and silent questioning of whether or not he was ok.

It wasn't that they weren't right to be concerned. Lance had no problem
admitting that they were. If Jack hadn't found him when he did, and forced
him to come to his senses, anything might have happened. Lance realized
that he'd been sliding down a slippery slope, one that led to a dark place
that he didn't really want to consider, a place that seemed unreal out here
in his car in the bright light of day. His friends had every right to
wonder if he was in pain, or in need, because he'd almost put them in a
tremendous amount of pain, even if he did only recognize that in
hindsight. What really bothered Lance about the whole thing wasn't that his
friends were concerned for him, or even that their concern was ever-present
and pervasive, hanging in the air like smoke around them.

What bothered him was that he didn't deserve that concern.

What had happened to him, what he had allowed Justin to do to him, was his
own fault. It was what he had wanted, what he had always wanted, and never
admitted. And the way that Justin did it, the way he degraded and
humiliated him, and made him beg, well, he deserved that, too. It was his
punishment, for wanting something so unnatural, for wanting something that
everyone knew was wrong. And it was his punishment for lashing out at
others, at his friends, because they were doing what he wanted to do, for
not being afraid to do it, like he was. It was his punishment for being a
hypocrite, and a liar.

It didn't matter to Lance that Jack had told him it wasn't his fault, or
that Dr. Centano had, or even that Justin had apologized, and said it was
wrong of him to do that to Lance.  Lance knew the truth, in his heart, in a
dark place he would never admit. At the same time, though, he also knew
that they were right. He knew that he had been a victim, that Justin had
used his own feelings in a horrible way to hurt him, and that his feelings
were not wrong, or immoral, or unnatural, despite what he had been told. He
knew both things to be true, and there was his conflict.

That was why Lance never spoke at group, or at least hadn't yet. He went to
two different groups. One was for people who had been victims of sexual
abuse. In that group, there were a lot of people who seemed to feel the
same way he did, a lot of people who felt like they had somehow invited
what had happened to them, that they asked for it or in some other way
deserved it. Sometimes Lance wanted to agree with them, the people who said
that. He wanted to open his mouth, and tell his story, explain what had
happened to him and why, explain how he had wanted it and asked for it and
even begged for it, down on his knees. Only someone flawed, someone who was
defective inside, would have done that, and allowed that to happen to them,
and that was how Lance knew that he deserved it. But at other times he
wanted to speak up and agree with the other people, the people who said
that no one deserved to be treated that way, that no one ever asked to have
a bad thing happen to them.

The other group he went to was for people who thought they might be gay, or
bisexual. It was supposed to help you sort out your feelings, or come to
terms with them, and let other people support you either way, but all it
seemed to do, like the other group, was make Lance more confused. Some of
the people in the group, who had been coming for a long time, seemed very
at peace with who they were. They told their stories, and talked about the
feelings they had inside, and how they had come to terms with them. More
than anything, Lance wanted to be one of these people. He wanted to
understand his feelings.  He wanted men, thought of touching men, and
looking at their bodies, the way he had with Justin, but he also still
thought about meeting the right girl someday, and getting married, and
having children. Was that something he really still wanted, or just
something he'd made himself think he wanted for so long that he couldn't
let go of the idea? Some of the people in the group were bitterly, almost
violently opposed to the feelings they had inside, and told stories that
horrified Lance, stories about punishing themselves, cutting themselves or
worse, to drive those feelings away, or about finally giving in to them and
going on wild sexual binges with hordes of strangers that left them feeling
even more dirty and ashamed. Lance was terrified that he might end up like
one of these men, who sat slumped in their chairs at group, thin, haggard,
dark circles standing out under their eyes.

Lance never spoke because, in both groups, he felt conflicted. Both groups
just left him feeling confused about what was inside him, and what he
should do about it.  He knew, though, that someday he was going to have to
make a decision. Dr. Centano had mentioned that he had not shared at group,
and had asked if he felt uncomfortable, or if there were some other groups
that he might feel more at home in, but Lance agreed that these were the
groups he should work with. These were the issues he needed to work
through. He was just unsure, and a little afraid. Sometimes he found
himself more afraid of actually making a decision than he did of what that
decision might actually be.

Lance knew that whatever decision he made, his friends would still be there
for him.  They'd support him, and help him however they could, but
sometimes, like this morning, he just couldn't take being around them,
couldn't stand the way they looked at him so protectively. He'd felt it
when Justin walked in this morning, and he wondered how Britney could
possibly not have seen it. As soon as they saw Justin, the others stopped
what they were doing, muffins halfway to their mouths, coffee cups paused
in mid- swallow. Lance had seen Joey's eyes squint a little, even as Jack's
widened anxiously.  Josh froze, turning to stone, his face sliding shut,
cutting off all feeling within, and Chris's jaw set firmly, his teeth
grinding. The tone in the room had immediately shifted from good-natured,
light-hearted humor to tension and barely suppressed anger, just because
Justin had walked through the door.

Justin.

Now, there was an issue Lance was unsure of. If he felt confused during
group, he couldn't even begin to describe how he felt when Justin walked
into the room, any room, near him. So many emotions were layered on top of
each other, swirled together like paint, that the whole picture was
completely obscured. When Lance saw Justin he felt shame, revulsion,
betrayal, and fear, but he was even more disturbed because of the other
things he felt, things like longing, and even a little flutter of lust.
Every time he saw Justin he felt like the entire world was turning beneath
him. Staring into Justin's wide blue eyes, his tanned skin, the way his
chest pushed out his shirt, Lance felt like he was spinning out of control,
and so he did what he had done this morning. He spoke to Justin as little
as possible, and practically ran away from him. The other guys thought he
was cutting Justin off, and, really, he was, but it wasn't out of hurt or
spite.  It was because he had no idea what he might say, and that scared
him, too.

He found himself at a mall, walking around aimlessly. He didn't need to buy
anything, really, but he almost never did. When he did want a book, or a
CD, or a movie, he usually just ordered it online, or asked one of the band
assistants to pick it up for him. He didn't have Justin or JC's passion for
buying clothes, or Chris's video game addiction, or Joey's comic book
hobby. He had no idea what Jack spent money on. Coffee, maybe?  Lance
usually didn't even go shopping, unless he was with one of the other guys,
or a holiday of some sort was coming up. Strolling through the mall, he was
thankful that no one recognized him, and that he could just have some quiet
time to take a breather. Dr.  Centano kept telling him that it was
important that he have places of his own, places where he felt safe, to
retreat to, so that he could collect himself, and right now the mall would
do as well as anywhere else.

He had wandered into a pet store, and was staring at some rather unhappy
looking fish, when his cell phone rang.

"This is Lance," he answered quietly, looking around. Nope, no one was
paying any attention but the fish.

"Lance, hey, it's Howie!"

Howie's voice was warm, and seemed to roll out of the phone and wash over
Lance. He wasn't sure why, but just hearing Howie he suddenly felt calmer,
less tense somehow.  Jack had asked earlier who Lance was going out with,
and Lance had told him it was just a friend. Technically, Howie was barely
that, more of a friendly acquaintance, but Lance felt something when they
had talked the other night, some sort of bond, and maybe something
else. Something he wasn't ready to admit he felt yet.

"Hi," Lance said shyly, feeling self-conscious, as if the fish were
watching him.

"You said to call this afternoon," Howie reminded him. Lance could hear
Howie smiling over the phone. "Are we still on for dinner?"

"Sure," Lance said, smiling goofily at no one. "Where do you want to go?"

Howie thought it over for a moment. Lance tried to picture him, but nothing
came to mind except his face. Howie's face was kind of rugged, with firm
lines, the way Lance had always wanted his own, rounder face to
look. Lance's own face still had a young, boyish look to it, but Howie had
the face of a man, a good looking man. He had brown eyes, and a full mouth
that seemed easily given to smiling, flashing his perfectly straight,
blindingly white teeth. It was his eyes that Lance saw in his mind more
than anything.  They just seemed so open, and warm, like the eyes of a
puppy.

Not like Justin's eyes at all.

The thought of Justin was like icewater poured down Lance's back, and all
of the good feelings he was just experiencing drained into the floor as he
realized that Howie was speaking and he hadn't caught a word.

"Howie, I'm sorry, I didn't catch any of that," Lance said, shaking his
head.

"You ok?" Howie asked, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah," Lance said quickly, wishing he didn't feel so stupid and
tongue tied. "It's just been a long day. You must think I'm a huge moron."

Howie laughed, a strong, full laugh, and Lance started to feel good again.
Howie was laughing with him, not at him.

"I know what that's like," Howie said. "Some days I'm so tired I can't even
remember my own name. You sure you still want to go out?"

"Absolutely," Lance said, suddenly worried that Howie might cancel on him.
"I mean, if you still want to."

"Of course I do," Howie said. "What I was saying before was that maybe we
could head out to Santa Monica, down to the pier. It's a little early for
dinner, but maybe we could walk around first, hit the park, maybe ride the
coaster, and then grab some seafood."

"That sounds great," Lance said. "I'm out at the mall right now, but do you
maybe want me to pick you up? There's no point in taking two cars."

"Actually, that would be great," Howie said enthusiastically. "I've been
using drivers, since I'm at the hotel."

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes," Lance said, checking his watch.
"Should I wait for you in the lobby?"

"Why don't you just come up?" Howie said. "I'll leave word at the desk."

"OK, I'll be right there," Lance said, walking out of the pet store. The
fish watched him go.

"Can't wait," Howie said.

Lance hung up, and then tried to figure out what that meant. Why was he so
excited to spend a night hanging out with Howie? He barely knew him. They
had spoken maybe a few dozen times, and the other night in the garden was
the longest one.  Lance sighed.  Maybe it was just that Howie was nice to
him, and didn't seem to want anything from him other than an evening of
fun. Maybe he was just excited to have a friend who didn't know about
everything that was going on. A friend who just took him at face value, and
liked him for who he was, and wouldn't spend the evening worrying about
him.

He sped over to the hotel, barely aware of the traffic around him. Stopping
at the desk in the lobby, he was directed to go right upstairs, where
Mr. Dorough was waiting for him.  Lance fidgeted the entire way up in the
elevator. Checking himself in the reflection of the doors, he made sure
that his shirt was straightened, and his hair was ok, and then he stopped
himself. What was he doing? He was just going out with a friend.  This
wasn't a date or anything.

Was it?

Was that why he felt like this when he thought about Howie? Was that why he
felt all fluttery and light headed, so tongue tied and clumsy? He didn't
want to have these feelings, not about a guy, but suddenly he was. That
didn't tell him how Howie felt, though. Howie didn't feel like this,
couldn't possibly. It would be too much to hope for.  Right after he
thought that, Lance paused, realizing that, just for a second, he had hoped
for it. Just for a second.

He knocked on Howie's door, and his breath caught when Howie pulled it
open.  Howie was wearing a green silk shirt, with the top couple of buttons
undone. There was a flash of collarbone, and the smallest glimpse of his
chest, smooth and tanned, his skin a light caramel, almost like honey. What
couldn't be seen through the opening of the shirt collar could be easily
imagined, as the shirt clung to Howie's chest, the sweeping curves of his
pecs pushing it out. It clung to his arms, as well, loose at the forearms
as it gathered at the cuffs, but tight on Howie's upper arms, bulging as
his biceps shifted.  Lance's eyes swept up guiltily from Howie's chest,
sliding up his strong neck to his face, and then they met Howie's eyes,
which sparkled. Lance felt almost like he was falling into them.

"Hey," Howie said, smiling broadly, reaching out to shake Lance's hand.
"That was fast.  Do you want to come in, or just head out?"

"Well, um, if you're ready, we could just go," Lance said, suddenly
uncomfortably anxious at the idea of being alone with Howie behind a closed
door.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Howie said. "Let's head out, then."

They rode the elevator in silence. Lance glanced over at Howie, but when
Howie glanced at him, Lance looked away, to the floor. When Lance glanced
at Howie again, he saw Howie's eyes go sliding quickly away to check the
numbers of the floors they were passing by. Howie danced back and forth on
his feet, not lifting them, just kind of rocking, while Lance fidgeted,
picking imaginary lint off of his clothing.

"So, um, didn't you used to have long hair?" Lance blurted. He wanted to
fill the silence somehow, and that was the first thing that came into his
mind. He mentally smacked himself. That's how he chose to start a
conversation? With that?

"I got it cut," Howie said, mentally smacking himself as well. Yeah, better
tell Lance he got it cut, because, you know, it wasn't obvious or
anything. Lance probably thought he was an idiot, and what he said next
certainly wouldn't help. "Didn't you used to be a blond?"

"I let it go back to my natural color, for my movie," Lance said, wondering
if Howie had been calling him stupid by making an off-handed blond joke.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Howie said, smiling. "You worked on that
with Joey, right?"

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," Lance answered, smiling. His movie was safe
territory. He'd done so many interviews about it that he almost felt like
he could discuss it on autopilot.  He discovered, though, that he didn't
want to. He wanted whatever he talked to Howie about to be important, not
just trivial stuff. He realized he didn't even know anything about him,
really. "Tell me about your movie, though. You said you were doing a
cameo?"

"Yeah, it's just a little thing," Howie said, shrugging as they stepped off
the elevator and crossed the lobby. "Practically a walk on, but it's been
kind of fun. I have some lines, and I'm working with some good people."

"Do you want to act?" Lance asked, curious. He wasn't sure about his own
acting. It was a fun side project, but he already had a lot on his plate
with the group, and the other groups he managed.

"I'm not sure," Howie answered. "I mean, it's been fun, but I haven't done
as much as you."

"Me?" Lance asked. "I have the movie, and I've done a couple cameos, but
that's it."

"No, you did television, too," Howie reminded him. "I remember seeing you
on '7th Heaven'. That's more than I've done."

Lance smiled, while wondering at the same time that Howie seemed so
informed about his career, and blushed a little.

"I'm sure you're good, too," Lance said, piloting the car out of the hotel
lot. "So, um, how is your hand?"

"Oh, that," Howie said, holding it out. "It scabbed up a little, but, you
know, at least it isn't broken."

The two of them laughed, Lance glancing over to verify that Howie's hand
actually was ok.

"I still can't believe I did that," Howie said. "It was really, really
stupid."

"Well, you seemed kind of upset," Lance said, not sure if it was his place
to say anything else. He felt a little of his own darkness closing over him
suddenly.  "Sometimes when people are upset they do dumb things, things
they wouldn't normally do."

"Yeah, I guess," Howie said, noticing that Lance suddenly looked dimmer, as
if a shadow had passed over his face. Howie wondered if it was something he
had said.  "It was just a band argument. You know how those go, I'm sure."

"Yeah," Lance said, feeling worse, thinking about the kinds of things his
own group had been arguing about.

"You know, I have this idea," Howie began, smiling at Lance. "Why don't we
not talk about our bands for tonight, huh? Just for now, why don't you be
Lance, and I'll be Howie, and Nsync and the Backstreet Boys can just take
care of themselves for a night."

"I think that's a great idea," Lance said, smiling. Howie had somehow known
exactly the right thing to say.

Before long they were cruising through the neon archway over the entrance
to the pier, nosing their car through the traffic with everyone else. They
drove past the famous carousel, with its forty-four horses, and a few of
the stores and restaurants, before parking the car along with everyone
else's in the main lot, determined to pretend, just for tonight, that they
were two normal guys, just hanging out and having a good time.  After Lance
paid the parking fee, they went straight to Pacific Park, the amusement
park. The sky was darkening to a dusky twilight, the lights on the rides
gleaming, and it gave everything a dreamlike, unreal feeling.

They smiled as they walked by the glowing octopus on the sign, paying for
their wristbands. It wasn't a large park by any means, only a dozen rides,
but they went on all of them, even the little kid rides. They rode the
roller coaster three times, so that they could experience the front,
middle, and the back. Lance found himself, for the first time in weeks,
laughing openly and really meaning it. Watching Howie try to win something,
anything, at the games, he found himself almost doubled over, and wondered
if anyone could really possibly be that bad, or if Howie was throwing the
games on purpose, just to see him laugh.

Howie, for his part, was, more or less. When he had talked to Lance in the
garden the other night, and again on the way here, he had noticed that
Lance seemed troubled, and he wanted to do what he could to lift that. If
he had to throw a couple games, and make a fool of himself for the barkers,
just to see Lance smile, well, maybe it was worth it. When it came time for
the ferris wheel, though, he wasn't acting.

"Lance, we don't really have to ride that," Howie said, shaking his head as
they looked up at it, watching the spinning lights.

"Howie, we've done every ride," Lance said. "Come on, it'll be fun. You
can't go to a park and not go on the ferris wheel. Besides, we'll be able
to see the whole pier, and the city, and we'll be able to see the ocean,
too. It'll be fun!"

"No, no it won't," Howie said, shaking his head again.

"Howie, are you scared of the ferris wheel?" Lance asked, suddenly
realizing it. "We don't have to go on if you don't want to."

"No, no, of course I'm not scared," Howie said, forcing himself to grin. He
walked quickly toward the line. "Come on, Lance."

Lance followed him.

"Howie, we really don't have to do this if you don't want to," he began,
but Howie held up a hand, stopping him.

"Come on, Lance, it'll be fun, like you said," Howie said, grinning again.

Lance shrugged, not sure why Howie was suddenly determined to get on the
ferris wheel when he obviously didn't want to, but he wasn't going to keep
arguing it.  Maybe Howie didn't want to look weak, or scared. Maybe he
wanted to get on the ferris wheel to prove something to himself. Or maybe,
maybe, he wanted to because he knew it was something Lance wanted to
do. Lance shook his head, realizing that it couldn't possibly be that. As
they climbed into the gondola, sitting across from each other with the pole
in between them, Howie leaned forward, and wrapped both hands around
it. The wheel began to move, and Lance saw that Howie was gritting his
teeth, and had paled, as much as it was possible for him to beneath his
natural skin tone and his deep tan.

"You're not ok, are you?" Lance asked quietly.

"Um, no?" Howie said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the falling
scenery. He sucked in a quick breath, and it hissed through his teeth. He
turned back to Lance, and his eyes were wide. "I'm a little scared of
heights."

"Really, I hadn't noticed," Lance said, smiling. He started to shift toward
Howie, and Howie's eyes bulged.

"Don't get up!" Howie blurted, practically hyperventilating. "It shakes the
gondola!"

"I'm not getting up," Lance said, smiling. "I just thought I'd slide over a
little closer to you. The ferris wheel is completely safe, you know. People
ride it all the time."

"Yeah, sure they do, crazy people," Howie muttered.

"Howie, at least open your eyes," Lance said. Just as he said that, and
Howie started to open them, the wheel stopped. They were the highest
gondola.

"Oh, Jesus," Howie whimpered, gripping the center pole so hard his fingers
were turning white. Lance was getting a little concerned, and he reached
out to fold his hand over the top of Howie's.

"Howie, it's ok, they're just letting some people out, or some more people
in, or something," Lance said. His hand shaking, Howie let go of the pole,
and gripped Lance's hand tightly. Lance found that he didn't mind this at
all, and he carefully took Howie's hand between both of his, squeezing it
gently. "Howie, it'll be over in a minute. Why did you get on here if you
didn't want to?"

"Because you wanted to," Howie answered, finally opening his eyes. Lance
glanced away, quickly, feeling as if he might cry suddenly. Howie
continued. "You were having such a good time, I didn't want you to miss out
on something."

Lance glanced up, and felt himself falling into Howie's eyes. They seemed
to lock onto his own, to bore into him and hold his gaze, as if he was
stuck. Lance could still feel Howie's hand shaking a little between both of
his, and Howie's other hand still had the center pole in a white knuckled
grip, but Howie's eyes were filled with nothing but concern for
Lance. Neither of them noticed that the wheel had started moving again.

"Howie, I, um, I appreciate you thinking of me," Lance began, swallowing as
he felt a strange lump rising in his throat. "But you didn't have to do
this for me."

"I know I didn't have to," Howie said, swallowing as well. He leaned in a
little closer, and Lance discovered that he was leaning in as well. "I
wanted to."

"But why?" Lance asked. "Why would you do that just for me?"

Howie swallowed again, and his pink tongue flicked out to wet his bottom
lip.

Before he could answer, though, the wheel bumped to a stop, and they
realized they were now the lowest bucket.

"That's it, guys, everybody out," the operator said, grinning at them.

Just like that, the spell was broken. Lance dropped Howie's hand and jumped
up, leading the way out of the gondola. Howie, unsure of what had just
happened, jumped up quickly to follow. As much as he hated the ferris
wheel, he wouldn't have minded a bit if it had gone around just one more
time. He hurried to catch up with Lance, who was practically running down
the exit walkway.

"Lance, wait up," he called, and Lance jerked to a stop.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was walking so fast," Lance said quickly.
What had happened on the ferris wheel? What had Howie been about to say?
Lance wondered why he was wishing that the wheel had gone around just one
more time. He was sure he had felt something between he and Howie, but was
it what he thought?

"It's ok," Howie said, smiling. "I, um, thank you for helping me through
that. I'm not really good with heights."

"You mentioned that," Lance said, smiling. He pointed upward. "You
mentioned it right about there, as a matter of fact. Now, do you want to go
grab some dinner?"

"I'd love to," Howie said.

They had a nice, quite dinner in the back of one of the seafood
restaurants, laughing and sharing a bottle of wine over some tuna steaks
and salads. During dinner, they both opened up a little, and talked about
themselves, their families, and how they had come to be where they were. In
keeping with their earlier agreement, they didn't really discuss either
band, but by the end of dinner, Lance felt very close to Howie, and Howie
felt the same way. After dinner, they walked around the pier, peeking into
the shops, and stopping at the arcade, where Howie found a photo booth.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Howie said, pulling Lance inside.

"No, I hate getting pictures taken," Lance protested, allowing himself to
be pulled into the booth.

"I don't see why," Howie said, pulling the curtain closed. "Now smile!"

Just before the camera flashed, Howie jabbed a tickling hand into Lance's
side, and Lance squirmed, screaming with laughter, as he tried to bat it
away. When the pictures came out, both of them were grinning in them, and
looked like the happiest people in the world. Howie ripped the little strip
of four pictures neatly in half, and tucked half into his pants pocket as
he handed the other half to Lance. Lance tucked it immediately into his
shirt pocket, and the two of them began walking to the car.

On the way back to the hotel, they didn't really speak, both a little tired
from their long days, but feeling good about the evening. When they pulled
in, Howie got out, and was surprised to see Lance following him, handing
his keys to the valet.

"I thought I'd, you know, see you to your door, if that's ok," Lance said,
looking at his feet quickly before looking back up at Howie.

"Is that the fabled Southern charm they teach you in Mississippi?" Howie
asked, laughing.

"Something like that," Lance said, following him inside.

They were inside the elevator before either spoke again.

"I had a really good time tonight," Howie began.

"Me, too," Lance said. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Thanks for coming," Howie said, smiling. "I'm still in town for a couple
of days. Do you want to catch a movie tomorrow?"

"I'd love to," Lance said, his whole face lighting up.

They arrived at Howie's floor, and Lance walked Howie to his room. Howie
paused in the open doorway.

"Well, um, goodnight, Lance," he began, staring into Lance's eyes. "Unless,
maybe, do you want to come in for a second?"

Lance stared at Howie, and felt that lump in his throat again. He did want
to go in, suddenly, he did more than anything, but then he felt something
else rise up in his throat as well.

"It's really late," Lance blurted, grabbing Howie's hand and shaking it.
"Goodnight, Howie. I'll call you tomorrow."

Lance turned and ran back toward the elevators, his hand tingling with the
memory of Howie's touch.

Howie watched him go, a little disappointed, and then wondered aloud, "What
the hell was that?"

***

More to come soon.