Chapter 12

Grudgingly, Scott got to his feet, the sated look replaced by something more petulant. “Did that pathetic old queer try to get in your pants?”

“What?”

“That fag you’re working for. Everyone knows he’s gay.”

“In the first place, he’s not old.” Hunter was maybe in his mid-forties. “And in the second—so what?”

“What do you mean, ‘so what’? He was probably just waiting to nail you in the stockroom.”

“Is that a euphemism for ass?” I found a couple of plastic grocery bags and stuffed both pairs of my jogging shoes into them before packing them in the duffel.

“Huh?”

“Hunter never made a pass at me.” I took a handful of underwear from the top drawer of the dresser I’d used all year. “I think my feelings are hurt.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’m a nice-looking guy, wouldn’t you say? Why didn’t he come on to me?”

“Are you crazy? Did you want him to…to…to touch you?”

“No, but that’s only because I’m sort of involved with someone else. Hunter is a nice guy.”