Thereâs something about Garbles that is just⊠right. Itâs a feeling he canât quite put into words, that same nameless something that had jolted up Shaneâs spine the first time he held a hockey stick. An innate something that is calling to Shane from deep within himself, the same way that birds are drawn to fly south.
Shane studies Garblesâ rounded shoulders, his protective posture and suddenly fits a puzzle piece in his mind.
âThis is what you meant⊠back in Tampa. When you said I didnât like you. Itâs because you thought I wouldnât like this part of you.â
His boyfriend lowers his gaze to his oversized shoes. When he reaches up and rips off his big red nose, Shane notices that his hands are shaking.
âPut it back!â Shane demands, voice coming out harsh.
Garbles freezes. Slowly, ever so slowly, he puts the nose back on. His face might be covered in white paint but it cannot disguise the longing in his eyes.
The only sound Shane can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. Shane feels himself cross the room before the thought has fully developed. He seizes Garbles by the novelty polka dot bow tie.
âShane!â Garbles gasps.
âCan you do something for me?â
Theyâre so close now Shane can feel Garblesâ breath in hot puffs against his lips.
âKeep the bowtie on during.â
He reaches down, palm skimming the smooth texture of Garblesâ polyester overalls, landing decisively in between his legs. Shane squeezes the bulge he finds there. A bike horn loudly honks.
âIs that a bike horn or are you happy to see me?â Shane asks.
âItâs both,â Garbles rasps, voice hoarse, pupils blown wide. He reaches down and covers Shaneâs hand with his own, and lovingly honks the horn a second time. âShane. Itâs not too late. If you donât want this, you could just tell me. I would understand.â
âHavenât you realized by now? Iâm into Big Tops.â