Not sleeping too much was not too much of a problem for the most part, but it sure as shit meant that Dillon was clear headed--or at least what passed for lucid for him at any given time--and awake too often to talk to manic-depressive diva's like Jay Kramer when he should have been sleeping. Or something. Evie was good for that. Having her in his bed helped him sleep nicely; fucking her was even more effective. He was constantly, mostly constantly, sometimes, wondering how much he should be doing with her, but everything so far had been pretty successful, considering, and Evie was certainly not shy with sharing details and taking about her sexuality. He understood, sorta, how she was feeling, and how she was a little bit, maybe way more than a little bit, confused, confounded, whatever, and also feeling a little bit betrayed. And alone, probably, far from home. Dillon knew that Evie was a bit let down by her friend Lily--or was feeling that way, anyway--because Lily had apparently been acting out with men, boys, and having lots and lots of normal, straight, sex. This was the Lily who had brought Evie out here more than anyone else, the Lily who had been a fuck bunny in high school and then a purported queer warrior fucking other chicks, blah, blah, blah, who was now getting the dick regularly. After Evie's last two years, it was probably really weird; Dillon would cop to that. Evie wasn't a fuck bunny in high school; Tom was still not sure how much she'd ever been with a guy, and she was fucking 24 now. She was celibate gay in high school, more or less. She was involved with another student back at home in California, but Dillon wasn't sure how much sex they really had. Then there was the big two years off, working with the band her sister's girlfriend was in, with a serious relationship. Still, it was odd for Dillon because Evie was still talking about how many people she had kissed in her life. That was fucked up for a 24 year old woman in college. And was that serious relationship with a woman who had a boyfriend who was not out on the road with them? Some shit like that. As usual, he should have been paying more attention. But whatever. She was just a shy person, with shit like that, he guessed, because she was fucking hot and got wet as fuck from his slightest touch. He'd found her soaking, dripping, no matter how quickly he got between her legs. She loved to kiss, and even if she seemed unfamiliar with dicks, she was more than accommodating, more than...he didn't know what. She seemed pretty fucking horny. She just hadn't fooled around much, he guessed.
And sometimes, in flashes of lucid decency, Dillon was disgusted with himself. It didn't matter if he looked 20 and felt 200; he was 37 fucking years old. He needed to get the fuck out of this town. He needed to decide whether to hide in plain sight or run to some shitty backwater hideout and play out the string. Yes, he had been lucky to make it through the last four years and had done well wasting this much time. Sure he had been lusting after that curvy blonde for a couple of years, but Dillon was much more comfortable with Eva when she appeared to be treating him as an object. He wasn't sure he was able to commit even the effort needed to get to know her, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to. Not Providence. Not Santa Fe. Boulder. Boulder was the key. It was not good to stay here, get a job with the state or one of the clowns practicing small law in town. Really, Dillon suspected he should in fact take Joe Fallon up on his offer and plan to waste some time in New York or Washington. No fucking way he was going to take a position in California--working in the same office where Justine had been a partner?--fucking Los Angeles again?--but if he played that out, he could easily spend a half dozen years arousing no suspicion of anything and then just bolt to Boulder or Perth or wherever.
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