By the way, thanks for the hat. Smells like your shampoo. Which means I’m hard.
* * *
Grant: So, pretty much how it always is with you when it comes to me?
* * *
Declan: Yup.
* * *
Grant: I’d ask for a dick pic, but you’re at an airport. You can send me one tonight.
* * *
Grant: Wait. Pretend I didn’t ask that.
* * *
Grant: I’m ignoring you for three months.
* * *
Grant: I’m ignoring you so fucking hard.
* * *
Declan: Watch it, rookie. You’re not ignoring me. No way. Also, you act like you can stop me from sending you a pic. But I will. I definitely will.
* * *
Grant: Score!
* * *
Declan: Hey . . .
* * *
Grant: Hey to you . . .
* * *
Declan: Thank you—for giving me another chance.
* * *
I smile as I hit four miles at a ten percent incline, running hard and fast. This feels amazing, like anything is possible.
* * *
Grant: Remember last night when you said therapy was like spilling your guts and hoping people still want to hang out with you?
* * *
Declan: I do.
* * *
Grant: I want to hang out with you more than ever.
Declan keeps his promise to send me a selfie that night. I make excellent use of it.
Since I’m generous that way, I send him one too.
He also makes use of it.
A few days later, I land in Arizona, step off the plane, and snap a shot of Camelback Mountain to post on my social media feeds. Four greatest words in the English language to a baseball fan: Pitchers and Catchers Report.
Declan Steele is the first person to like my post.
The next day, I go for a run around the golf course, stopping to take a picture of two herons. I don’t post that on social. I send it to him.
* * *
Grant: It’s Apollo and . . . wait . . . let’s give him a new name since that story has the “November Rain” problem too.
* * *
Seconds later, he replies.
* * *
Declan: Apollo and T.S. Eliot?
* * *
Grant: Done. I’ve renamed them.
* * *
Declan: I always suspected you were a revisionist heron historian.
* * *
Grant: Speaking of Eliot, I read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. You told me it was your favorite.
* * *
Declan: And do you hate it like “November Rain”? It’s got some mixed messages in it too, I admit.
* * *
Grant: I don’t hate “November Rain.” I like the song, but not the sentiment. I like Prufrock. But I DID think this line could use some improvement. Do I dare to eat a peach?
* * *
Declan: I’ll bite. What would you change it to?
* * *
Grant: Do I dare to suck a cock?
* * *
Declan: Has anyone ever told you that you have the dirty mind of a twelve-year-old?
* * *
Grant: Dear God, I hope no twelve-year-old has my mind. It’s an X-rated carnival in my head sometimes.
* * *
Declan: What sort of games and rides are open at the Grant Blackwood Wonderland?
* * *
Grant: The Steel Rod Rub-Off Intimidator. The Down-and-Dirty-Rim-Job Merry-Go-Round. The Suck-Me-Off-In-the-Sky Ferris Wheel. The Great Double-Banger. The Flip-Fuck Fiesta. The Hot, Hidden Hand Job Tilt-A-Whirl. Oh, and the Sixty-Nine Simultaneous Jizzer.
* * *
Declan: You. Win. The. Text. Messages. Forever.
* * *
Grant: Thank you very much. Step right up and get your tickets. Don’t be shy.
* * *
Declan: I’ll take an all-access pass, please. Every ride. All day long.
* * *
Grant: I had a feeling you’d be buying a party pack.
* * *
Declan: I’m going to ride all your rides.
* * *
Grant: First choice?
* * *
Declan: That’s cruel. How can I pick? But if I have to, I’ve got a reel playing in my head of you and me sixty-nining.
* * *
Grant: It’s like we share a dirty brain sometimes.
* * *
Declan: Why not? We share plenty of other organs.
* * *
Grant: By the way, do you see how I’m running solo? I’d suggest you do the same. As in, you better not find a new workout partner when you go to Tampa.
* * *
He sends me back a gif of Robert Downey Jr. rolling his eyes.
* * *
Grant: I definitely deserved that.
* * *
Declan: You did.
* * *
I return to my audio book as I run, a smile sneaking across my face at the realization that not once have I wanted to throw my phone at the wall. I definitely don’t want to chuck it a few mornings later when I wake up to