Afterlife Read Free Page A

He’d been invited tonight only because Steven needed a man as ripe and simple as Sonny. Mark Inman was something else entirely—Steven’s polar opposite, tough, superior, predatory. From the very first meeting years ago, the two of them had bristled and backed off for good.
    The door swung open, and Dell slipped into the kitchen, vacant-eyed with boredom. Steven opened the fridge and tried to look focused on dinner. Dell laid a mild hand on his host’s arm. “So who’s the beauty?” he asked, squeezing Steven’s biceps. Dell was the resident masseur, patting his friends like Labradors.
    â€œFriend of Vic’s. Used to be a model.”
    Dell nodded. “Creep. And the big shot?”
    â€œMark’s in television. Major heartthrob. Eats gorgeous men for breakfast.”
    â€œAnother creep. How come he’s still alive?”
    â€œDell, don’t wish it on people.”
    The other man shrugged in his mottled shirt, a smile playing in his hawk’s eyes. He ran a hand through the stiff brush of his black hair and sauntered across to the sink. He didn’t seem bored at all anymore. As he reached for the phone, he said, “Gee, Steven, you’ll have to give me this recipe.” Steven turned to see him staring at the mess of raw vegetables in the sink, blotched here and there with the crimson of Steven’s blood. “HIV salad. Looks scrumptious.”
    Dell punched in a number. Steven had a sudden vision of the women walking in, all their hard-won reasonableness collapsing in the face of a viral bloodbath. He walked over and turned on the tap, using the spray attachment to rinse the blood from the greens. Beside him Dell spoke into the phone in a surly voice: “Yeah, is Mother Evangeline there? Well, tell her there’s a bomb in her church.” Steven stared at Dell. “It’s set to go off in the morning. During the sermon.”
    Steven reached over and slammed the cradle. “What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.
    â€œI can’t help it, I’m a phone addict. When do we eat?”
    â€œIt’s not funny. Go be a sociopath in your own house. I’m not going down the drain with you.”
    Dell was bored again. He bent to the oven and pulled open the door, peering into the raft of lasagna. Steven shoved the flat of his hand against Dell’s shoulder, not even managing to rock him off-balance. Then he cuffed the younger man on the side of the head, so that Dell turned with a grin and hunkered into a crouch. They faced each other like stupid warriors, Steven having the weight advantage by thirty pounds. The oven was still open, pouring waves of Italian heat into the room.
    â€œThat’s it, Steven,” taunted Dell. “Let’s have a little rage.”
    He started to bob in place, darting a hand for a quick slap to Steven’s cheek. Then ducked and landed a soft punch to his belly, which set Steven to roaring like a grizzly. He caught Dell’s head under his arm and wheeled them both in a circle, crashing against the counter. A crock of wooden spoons spilled over onto the floor. Dell yelped playfully, goading Steven on. They swung like a single beast, Dell grappling to yank Steven’s hair. When Margaret glided in, Steven was trying to butt Dell’s head against the refrigerator. Steven blinked at Margaret, panting now with exhaustion, and Dell slipped out of the armlock and stood up. He kissed Steven on the cheek and grinned at Margaret: “This is what we call safe sex.”
    â€œI guess Victor did all the cooking,” she observed distractedly, pushing up her harlequin sleeves and making for the stove to rescue her casserole. “Why don’t you both go out and … beat someone else up. I’ll take care of this.”
    â€œSteven says I should be nice to you,” declared Dell cheerfully. “Everyone’s not the enemy, right?”
    â€œOh, so you’ve decided to