“I don’t think he was. He knew what he wanted, he just didn’t want to take responsibility for his desires.” As Desmond looked across the room to where Brian was sitting, he saw clearly that the afternoon was at a crossroads. Brian looked vulnerable and a little lost, sitting on the edge of the bed tucked under the eave, his shirt tightly buttoned and his pants carefully zipped. If Desmond didn’t take decisive action immediately, he’d be presiding over a therapy session that would last until dusk, listening to Brian’s marital problems and wayward desires and possibly, a more horrifying thought, confessing some of his own. “Tell me, Brian,” he said. “Do you play gin?”

This question seemed to catch Brian off guard. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been known to, from time to time. Depending on who I’m with.”

“Let’s say you’re with me.”

Brian looked off in the direction of the window, apparently contemplating an honest answer. The last thing Desmond needed at this point was another rejection. He crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Brian. He gripped the back of his neck, pulled him toward him, and gave him a blunt, hard kiss on the lips, partly hoping it would make him uncomfortable. It didn’t. Brian wrapped his arms around Desmond’s shoulders so tightly, their lips were mashed together. Desmond hadn’t done this with anyone other than Russell in five years, and he was struck, as if this were the first time he’d kissed someone, by the shocking intimacy of the act: the shared saliva, the exchange of breath, the brush of skin against skin. Brian’s body had a strong soapy smell with a trace of nervous sweat under it and his mouth tasted like stale mint. Strange smells, reminding Desmond that he was doing this with a stranger, which wouldn’t be bad if he didn’t know the stranger’s name, along with the names of his sister, wife, and assorted relatives. He worked his hands against Brian’s chest, pried himself away from him, and stood up. Brian misunderstood the gesture. He slipped off his jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt as if it were about to burst into flames.