Trev Harding is a truck driver in his forties who loves having sex with a different twink every night. The only exception to this is one-time trick Grant Hess, a mid-thirties forklift operator on his daily route who could pass for twenty-three. Trev’s life takes a startling turn when he’s told by his latest conquest that the guys at his usual pickup spot see him as a shallow, dirty old man, and pathetic.
Tail tucked between his legs, Trev is forced to do some soul-searching and asks the one man who might be willing to give him some advice -- Grant. Their frank conversation leads to an unexpected development, and Trev might be willing to try something new, if he can get over his insecurities.
When I went inside the office trailer, Adrian was on a phone call and focused on his computer screen. Sounded like he was about to get a new client. I hung up the keys myself, threw the delivery receipts and carbon copies of my log book for the week on his desk, and headed out to my pickup truck. I was happy that the day was over, and I wouldn’t have to drive a big rig for the next two days.
Before I could leave, however, someone knocked on the roof of my truck. It was Adrian.
“Something you need, boss man?” I asked, with an emphasis on the need since I was ready to call it a day. Plus, I really didn’t want to talk to him ‘cause I was still raw from the last twenty-four hours.
“You got a minute?”
“What for?”
“Come inside for a sec?”
“Why?”
“Look, just humor me, okay? Please?”
“Fine.” I opened the door without waiting for him to back away. Good thing Adrian was pretty nimble.
“Jesus, Trev. Warn a guy, would you?”
“Let’s get this done, okay? I’m hungry and tired. It’s been a fucked-up day.” I followed him back to the trailer. Adrian sat behind his desk and I stood in front of it, arms crossed.
“Okay, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Would you sit down, at least?”
“Is this gonna take long?”
“No.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Fuck, you’re stubborn.”
“That all you wanted to say to me? It’s not news.”
“No, just ...” Adrian ran his hands through his hair, which was usually a sign of stress, or an unpleasant task he was about to perform.
“I’m sorry.” Okay, that, I didn’t expect.
“Sorry for what?” I let my hands fall to the side.
“I’m sorry for being a condescending prick.” That’s a first.
I couldn’t help needling him, just a little. “It’s part of your charm.”
“Cut me some slack, would you? Last night, as I was lying in bed with Brandon, it occurred to me that I shouldn’t have said all that shit to you yesterday. It’s no business of mine how you lead your life, and I should just butt out.” Of course, he had to mention Brandon. I let him sweat a little and said nothing.
“Will you accept my apology?” he pushed, after ten seconds of silence.
“That all you got?”
“What more do you want?”
“Maybe a little bit more honesty, like you mean it.”
“Of course, I mean it.”
“Whatever. We done?”
“Guess so.”
I went over to the trailer door and opened it. I heard Adrian say, “Why can’t you just --” but I slammed the door closed behind me, cutting off the rest of whatever he said. My life was in an upheaval, and he wasn’t helping.
As I drove home, I realized that I needed to talk to someone. Not Adrian, who, frankly, I could do without seeing for a few days. I didn’t have anyone close, because I deliberately kept things casual. The only family I had still living was my dad, and he was in prison. I wanted nothing to do with him, no matter how many letters he wrote begging for forgiveness for deserting me and my mom when I was five. I would never, ever forgive him.
I wondered if it was too soon to call Grant. Shit.
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