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pull my jeans were down around my knees and his mouth was on my belly, tongue licking a little trail to a place most guys around here would plow but not, well –
    My fingers ran through his wavy, blond hair and it felt like I could do this forever, just rest on a cheap rescue blanket under a layer of pine tree branches that blocked out the moon, the clouds, and the rest of the world. My needs were small. A rest area on an Ohio interstate was like the penthouse suite of the Times Square Marriott right now. As long as I had Trevor with me, preferably naked and aroused, the world was all mine.
    Mine.
    And then the searchlight gone and ruined everything, a blinding, harsh, artificial ray of all-consuming white light that made us both pull back and fling our arms in front of our eyes, like a still picture from any standard alien encounter movie.
    To my everlasting, supernatural horror, I would have preferred aliens over what came next: the voice of the last man I fucked shouting, “Get your naked ass off Darla right this fucking second, or I’ll shoot!”
    Trevor
    The first time I stared down a searchlight, it was the Wayland cops catching me and some friends on the baseball field at the high school, chugging cheap beer someone’s older brother had gotten for us. We thought we were so badass, a bunch of ninth-graders breaking all the official rules, getting chewed out not by our parents, but by the cop, about how our permanent records would be ruined and we’d never get into a top-10 school. The fucking cop was worried about our chances at Harvard because we drank a few cans of beer.
    Can you blame me for sucking down every drug I could get my hands on for the next four years, to find some sort of escape from being so tightly controlled that law enforcement officers were like school counselors?
    Call it a hunch, but I had a feeling this cop didn’t give a shit about whether I’d be able to get into Harvard or not. Holy shit, was that a shotgun he was pointing at us?
    It was.
    Being naked, with my face against Darla’s bare belly, was about the most vulnerable situation I could be in. Add in a shotgun, which made my raging boner become a sack of tiny potatoes, and the first deep rumblings of fear coursed through me. I really could die right here, right now, without ever seeing my family again. Never perform on stage again.
    Never make love to Darla. Ever.
    Because some yokel cop pointed a gun at us.
    “Jesus H. Christ, Davey, get that damn gun off us,” Darla shouted, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows as I backed off her, slowly, my skin cold now from the night air. “Way to kill the mood.”
    The light and gun lowered slowly, the man peering out at us. He was wearing a uniform and a badge, and had a beer belly that made standing up defy the laws of physics. “You OK, Darla Jo? What’s this guy doin’ to you?”
    “You know him?” I whispered.
    She struggled to pull her pants up, face flushed and loose, with a touch of anger and embarrassment I began to resent – not that she didn’t have every right to feel all that, but the intrusion made my fists clench and my temper rise, protective and defensive of her. I wanted to be the one she was thinking about right now. More than that, I wanted to be in her right now. Darla was so responsive, so eager, and so willing – man, if we had an entire night together, and, preferably, an actual bed …the places we could go.
    My needs were very basic these days. Pants. A bed. I might as well have been galaxies away from Sudborough, where camping meant no mints on the pillow and denying a kid his cell phone for an hour was akin to waterboarding.
    “I do, indeed, know him,” she hissed furiously, fingers clumsy as she struggled to button her pants. “What the hell are you doing here, Davey?” she called out to the cop.
    “I got off my shift and was driving by and saw your car. Figured it broke down again and you needed some help.” Davey frowned at me, his