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He could picture himself on the porch on a summer day. He’d have a bottle of beer near at hand, droplets condensing on the glass and rolling down, the Dandy Warhols or maybe even Pink Martini playing softly on his iPod, a set of brilliant architectural plans on his laptop. And he’d know that, even if he was due to change that night, he didn’t have to worry about hurrying to his self-made prison. When the sun set he could simply shed his clothes and his human form and finally give in to the urges that had been gnawing at him for so long.
    The Realtor must have been pretty practiced at his art, because he knew enough to keep his mouth shut while Dylan daydreamed. When Dylan finally opened the car door and folded into the passenger seat, Steve climbed behind the wheel. “So?” Steve asked.
    “You think they’ll go for three eighty-five?”

Chapter 3

    “S O YOU ’ RE really serious about this thing,” Matty said, stealing a french fry off Dylan’s plate.
    “I better be. We close next week, and I’ve already got a buyer lined up for my place in town.”
    She sat back in her seat with a frown. “I don’t get it. I thought we made good roomies.”
    “I liked sharing an office with you, Matt. It’s not you, it’s me.”
    “Oh God. That’s exactly what my last three boyfriends said when they dumped me. Is it in the Y-Chromosome User’s Manual or something?”
    He grinned. “On page five. But, you know, don’t tell anyone I told you.”
    She rolled her eyes, and then they were both distracted as a hunk in an expensive suit brushed past their table. The guy turned and eyed Dylan briefly before moving on to the restaurant’s exit, and Matty huffed melodramatically. “Jeez, Dylan. They practically throw themselves at your feet.”
    He pushed down his sudden longing and, focusing, took a bite of his cheesesteak sandwich.
    “So come on,” she said. “Why the change of scenery? I never really pictured you as the back-to-nature type.” Dylan had to muffle a snort with another mouthful of food and hoped she’d drop the subject, but she speared a cherry tomato and then pointed her fork at him. “Spill.”
    “I just… I need something different. Some where different.” Which wasn’t a lie, and if she assumed he needed peace and quiet to court his muse or to get his head on straight, well, that wasn’t his fault. “It’s not like I’m going to Mars or anything—I’ll still be in the office once a week.”
    “Won’t be the same. They’re probably gonna make me share with Brian now.”
    Dylan smiled cruelly. “Then I hope you’re ready to cultivate an avid interest in the Trailblazers.”
    She made a momentary sour face but then pointed her fork again, this time at a pair of forty-something men a few tables over. “And how are you gonna meet anyone if you’re spending all your time in Podunk? They don’t have gay bars in the wilderness.”
    “First off, meeting someone isn’t my first priority. Second, get with the times—they’ve been allowing queers in Podunk since 1994. As long as we don’t scare the livestock. And third, those two gentlemen are straight.”
    “So you have perfectly honed gaydar.”
    “I do.” He’d always had a pretty good idea of which men were into men, even though until a couple of years ago very few of them had been into him. Not until he met Andy. But that wasn’t a line of thought he wanted to pursue just then, so he finished off his sandwich and snagged the last fry before Matty could get it.
    “You know,” Matty said, smiling slyly, “Steve thinks you’re pretty cute.”
    “Are we back in junior high now?”
    She kicked at his shin. “He does.”
    “He’s a nice guy. But he’s not really my type, and anyway, I’m not in the market. So please don’t encourage him. Really, Matty. Life’s not all about people lined up in happy little pairs like… like Noah’s ark. I’m good, okay?”
    “Fine. Just don’t be a stranger.”
    He grinned at her.