lightheaded. God, it was like he was having sex right here and now – and not with that fucker Dan – everyone watching him, waiting for the feel of the leather to bring him to the heights of absolute ecstasy. For a moment he closed his eyes and let the fantasy wash over him. To hell with what others thought. This was Los Angeles, where weird was normal and passion was craved.
Just then his eyes blinked wide. A current of fear hit him as he wondered what if they were the wrong size. They were the last pair in the store. What if they were a medium or…horrors, a large? He hated to think of the body needed to fill a large pair of these shorts. Kind of defeated their purpose. They had to be small, but who put small in the window? In a town like this, everyone was borderline anorexic and small always went fast. He was almost afraid to look.
But then there it was, on the white label attached to the back of the shorts.
S.
Erik breathed easily, almost a sexual release. "Can I try them on?" he asked.
The clerk gave him a dubious look. "Does it look like we have a dressing room?"
"Yeah, I didn't think so," he said, his mind racing with thoughts, possibilities, scenarios. Revenge fantasies. Finally, he said, "I'll take them."
Tim, buttoned-up, preppy, and growing visibly frustrated, said, "Erik, you're going to spend two hundred and fifty dollars on a scrap of clothing the size of a handkerchief? Come on, I know why you're doing this. But they're just shorts…nothing more."
Erik set the shorts down, briefly, turning to his friend and holding him at the shoulders. "See, Tim, that's where you and I differ. These shorts represent something new, fresh, a way to awaken me and let me know I'm sexy. I'm a man of impulse and desire, I can go with the flow. You need everything planned down to the last second."
"I'm not arguing spontaneity here, Erik—I'm talking next month's rent."
"That why we have credit cards," Erik said, and as if to prove his point he whipped his out and slapped it down on the counter. The clerk quickly slid the card through his machine, waiting for an approval from Visa. Authorization came through, Erik signed the slip, the clerk put the shorts in the bag, and at last the transaction was finalized.
Once back out on Santa Monica, Tim grabbed hold of Erik's hand and said it was time for them to hustle, that there was probably a line already outside the bar and he hated waiting, it looked so needy
"And trust me, if you need something to further deflate your ego, you stand on line while hot guys are swirling inside like they've been pre-approved."
"You go ahead, I'm going home."
"Erik!"
"What, you don't expect me to walk around WeHo all night with these shorts! What if I misplace the bag or someone steals them or…a spaceship lands in the center of the Abbey and they need leather as fuel to get back to their home planet?"
Despite himself, Tim laughed. "Okay, Mr. Wild Imagination, what do you propose?"
"Just meet up with Brad and Simon. I'll be along in about an hour."
"And where are you going?"
"Home."
"No, no, it's taken me three weeks to convince you go out again, and finally you've agreed. He won't be out…and even if he is, you've got us at your side."
"I know. But I've got to try these on."
Tim knew his friend. Knew there was no changing his mind. "Fine. Call me later. But don't fall asleep."
"I won't. I'll text you."
"Of course you will. LOL."
Erik gave his best friend a quick peck on the cheek, said, "Thanks," then went dashing between the crowded sidewalks of Santa Monica in search of his car. He had a date tonight, a hotter one than even he could have imagined. God, these effing shorts were going to look so hot on him. Hot, hot, hot. Fuck Dan.
* * * *
There was a reason he'd bought a floor-length mirror. As loyal a friend as Erik was, vanity had its place in his heart as well and as bad as he felt about ditching Tim, he knew there would be no quieting the