PG, m/m
Crazy Eddie's Private Journals: The Harvest
By Tiriel
It's official. Somebody up there hates me. Why am I so certain? Because once again I wound up in the middle of trying to shut down an alien plot that centered on sex. Oh, goody. Especially seeing as I've been pondering for days how to make a move on the object of my own lust. So far, I've come up empty. With the exception, of course, of Lame Plan Number One.
What was that? Oh, nothing much. Just a little babbling about Renee Ashford and her books, hoping to get another jealous reaction out of him that I could confront him on. It failed, but, hey, what the hell.
So I kept reading those trashy novels, which are as addictive as movie theater popcorn, by the way, looking at all the ways in which her heroes and heroines put the moves on each other. Thought I might get some ideas. Even though in this case it's two heroes, okay, fine, a hero and a sidekick, I thought I might get an inspiration about how to get into Foster's pants. And his shirt. And...well, you get the idea.
Freaking out and talking about giving up and running off to Bora Bora was probably a bad idea, too. But what can I say, I panicked. And Foster, for just a minute there he was so intense, sad, lonely, determined, that it wasn't until later on, when he'd left, that I even got around to picturing him on a beach in a very small and very tight swimsuit. Yum. Now there's an image I could eat with a spoon.
He saved the girl, killed the alien, and we headed out of town. Another day, another dollar. Or in our case, another foiled Gua experiment. I was too busy kicking myself to talk much on the drive. You see, not long before I'd missed the best opportunity I may ever have to make a move.
The phone rang as I was just finishing up another one of Renee Ashford's books.
"Hey, man. Is that you?"
"Yeah, Eddie, it's me."
"Tell that lady she's one hell of a writer, will ya?"
"Too late. You'll just have to write her a fan letter. We found her sister and I'm on my way to meet you. We'd better beat it fast. The cops know I'm in town."
"Again? Hurry up, then. I'll have the Caddy gassed up and ready to roll."
"Hey, Eddie." He paused.
"Yeah, Foster?"
"You ever have something you wanted to say to someone but you just didn't know how?"
I felt a lump the size of the hardback book I was holding form in my throat. I choked out an answer. "Yeah, man. Of course."
But instead of asking why he asked or what was on his mind or even telling him right then what was on mine, I panicked again and changed the subject.
"So, uh, you killed the Gua gigolo?"
"Yeah. I'll fill you in once we're on the road."
"No Bora Bora for us, then, I guess. See you when you get here. Be careful."
"I'll be there soon."
And then the click of the phone hanging up cut off any thoughts I might've had of backtracking, reopening the topic, finding out if what he wants to say is the same thing I want to say. I hope.
-More later, Eddie