Greek (Palm South University)

“I blame you.”

I smile, but can’t help but lean into him a little more as we walk, into this man who I always knew I loved, but never thought I’d actually ever be with. Thinking about all we’ve been through, the obstacles we’ve had to overcome… it’s enough to make me want to cry and rejoice all at once.

Clinton picks a spot under a tree, spreading out a large blanket and unpacking the contents of the cooler and bag while I settle in. He pours me a plastic tumbler full of wine, and then one for him, and after we cheers and take a sip, he leans in to kiss me, long and sweet.

The sun is already setting, just ten minutes or so left before it will dip behind us and dusk will move in. We sip our wine and munch on the different cheeses and meats and fruits Bear packed for us as we watch the colors change in the sky over the beach and the water.

“Have you ever seen a sunset on the west coast?” I ask him.

“Of Florida? Or like California?”

“Both. Either.”

He frowns, thinking. “You know… actually? I don’t believe I have. I mean, we went to Tampa a couple times for Gasparilla, but that was mostly drinking — never really cared to watch the sunset.”

“We should go.”

He smiles. “We should. Where else?”

“Hmm…” I nibble on a piece of sharp cheddar, thinking. “I’ve always wanted to see the Red Woods.”

“Sounds like we’ll be seeing the sunset in California, too, then.”

“Oh! What about Greece?”

He chuckles. “That’s a big leap from California, but yes. Add Greece to the bucket list.”

I instantly pull out my phone and start a new note, titling it Erin and Bear’s Epic List of Adventures.

“Okay,” I say after writing down what we’ve discussed so far. “Your turn. What do you want to add?”

He sighs, eyeing the cotton candy clouds that are now turning a deep shade of purple. “Well, first… I want to take you home.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, perv. Focus.”

“No, I mean home home,” he says, and when I look at him, his eyes are sincere. “To Pittsburgh.”

Butterflies zip through my stomach so fiercely, I place a hand over my navel to soothe them. “You do?”

He nods. “I want to take you to all the spots I went to as a kid, show you where I grew up. You’ve already met my family and hung out with them, so I know you can survive the crazy.”

I laugh at that. “I love their crazy.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

I smile, typing on my phone. “It’s at the top of the list. And you know what? I want to take you home, too.”

Bear frowns. “To Kansas?”

I laugh. “That’s where my grandparents live,” I correct him. “My parents live here in Florida. Jupiter Beach.”

“Oh,” he says, relieved. “Alright, then. Add it to the list.”

We spend the evening drinking wine, snacking, and laughing while we add places to our list. We daydream about what we’ll do, the things we’ll see, the people we’ll meet. And before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I haven’t thought about wanting to go back home once.

Except now, with the night heavy around us, and Clinton holding my back to his chest as he leans up against the tree, I can feel a certain part of him at the small of my back, and the urge to go back to his place is strong again.

I nuzzle into him, wrapping his arms even more around me. “So, I’m thinking it might be sweatpants time again,” I say.

“Oh? Done with being out?”

I bite my lip, reaching behind me and down between us to rub him over his basketball shorts. He stiffens at the touch, and then stifles a groan as I rub the length of him, which grows hard instantly as if I’ve commanded him to do so.

“Very much so,” I whisper.

I turn in his arms, finding his heated gaze just as yearning as mine. He pulls me into him, framing my face for a deep kiss before he stands, yanks me up, and smacks my ass. “Help me pack this shit.”

I laugh at his haste, even more so when I see him adjust himself in his shorts with a shake of his head at me. With lightning speed, he tosses everything back in the cooler and the duffle bag, not the least bit concerned with whether things were packaged correctly or standing upright.

And then, we’re back in the truck and speeding across town.

I can’t help but watch him as he drives, his grip tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and that bulge ever present under his shorts. When we hit a stoplight downtown, I tug on my seatbelt enough to loosen it so I can lean over the console, and I hesitantly smooth my hand over his abdomen, the band of his shorts, until my hand folds over his hard-on and squeezes.