Electricity

Aubrey sat back and stared at the white screen of his computer while nervously chewing on a fountain pen. This wasn't a Paper Mate or another cheap and easily replaceable writing utensil, this was a Montblanc, a pricy gift from Tom who was usually careful with his money but would splurge on unconventional gifts for Aubrey's birthday--Tom didn't celebrate Christmas, not because he was Jewish, but mostly because if there was anything Tom detested more than Starbucks coffee it was was religious traditions. Last year Aubrey received an expensive blazer from Brioni, a year prior it was traditional Ethiopian cuisine cooking classes, and most recently it was the Montblanc. It's not that Aubrey wasn't grateful, he was. It's also not that he didn't appreciate a well made jacket, cooking classes or a good pen. It was that the gifts didn't feel like they were picked out with him in mind, but more like an image of who Tom wanted him to be. Sure, Aubrey liked the sophistication of the jacket, but it didn't even make it to the top ten of jackets he would have picked for himself. The wool and the quilt padding inside made him feel sweaty and itchy just looking at it. And the brown wasn't his color at all, it aged him and made him look frumpy. He would have picked a light weight navy blue, something that would have been good at events but that he could also wear with his white Air Nike's and pull off with ease. Not something that made him seem like he was ready to go skiing in Les Trois Vallées. And while Aubrey would have loved to take cooking classes, he had no interest in Ethiopian cuisine, that was Tom's favorite food. The Montblanc was a symbolic touch, but even as a writer Aubrey barely ever used pens. When he wasn't at his computer, he wrote everything down on the Notes app on his phone. So the expensive pen sat and collected dust for the most part.

The writer was working from his home office (which also served as a spare bedroom, a second closet, and a storage room) located inside of the two bedroom apartment he shared with his boyfriend. His work space setup was fairly simple: a medium sized wooden desk that faced a blank white wall (away from the general mess and disorder of the room) and a MacBook plugged into a larger monitor. There was nothing else on the desk, otherwise he would get distracted and his writing would suffer, a concept his partner Tom still had a tough time grasping judging by the amount of random crap Aubrey was forced to clear off the desk every time he entered this particular room. This was also why he usually preferred writing at "Pride's" office, which was a fifteen minute drive from their home. But lately, everyone had been getting sick, and in order to avoid catching a cold he decided to work from home.

At least that was his official excuse. His unofficial reason was that he didn't want people at the office to look and see what he was doing right at this moment, and for the past two hours-- absolutely nothing. It wasn't laziness, because Aubrey loved his work, it just so happened that for a while now, or to be exact for the past three months, he was having a peculiar problem that he couldn't resolve. The cursor line on the blank Word document blinked back at him, almost mockingly. He knew his dentist would be less than thrilled if he saw the way he was mindlessly gnawing on the hard pen, degrading his enamel inch by inch, but maybe he'd cut him some slack if he knew just what Aubrey was up against. He was facing something that was close to the plague in the writing community, a whispered horror story, not to be said out loud like Lord Voldemort's name: writer's block.

His dog, Prince, was laying at his feet, throwing disgruntled glances at Aubrey every few minutes or so, trying to guilt-trip him into giving up the useless quest of staring at the computer screen, and take him to the local dog park instead.

"If you don't like it, you can leave," Aubrey finally said to Prince, who sighed and looked away from his owner in silent disapproval.

With a groan Aubrey moved the mouse and opened his email. Maybe something in there would inspire him for a new article. Instead, he saw a notice that his credit-card payment was due; an email from Nordstrom about a 25% sale on men's clothing; and a message from his mom about a recent positive comment from user "maryjane45789" that she read on the online version of his Andrew Thompson article, that went into detail about what an amazing job he did exposing the football player's shortcomings, with his mom chiming in about how proud of him she was. The compliment made him uncomfortable. He clicked out of his email and went back to staring at the blank Word page while chewing on the Montblanc. Thankfully, before he was able to chip a tooth, his phone lit up.

"Yo, yo, Aubrey Miller, Best Bayside Wordsmith Killer," Katelynn rapped on the other end of the phone in that chipper tone of voice he was slowly getting used to. He chuckled.

"Hey kid," he replied.

"How's the Thompson assassination part deux going?" she asked. He could hear crunching on her end, like she was eating an apple. He had to hand it to her, she was a frighteningly fast learner. She had joined "Pride" not that long ago, but was already making incredible strides at the magazine, and surpassing writers that had been working there for years. Not only was she a star at networking--something he himself hadn't quite mastered, as his bluntness and surliness didn't mingle well with networking events--but she also possessed that very special skill of having a natural knack for picking out stories that would go viral. He had it too, he could predict which stories would break the Internet, but many times he passed them onto other writers so that he could focus on a passion project that wouldn't attract as many readers, but that would hopefully change some lives for the better, or illuminate people on an important issue. Like his article about the Animal Liberation group, for which he was still receiving emails and handwritten letters from people thanking him and telling him that he inspired them to go vegan. His seniority at the magazine gave him a certain amount of freedom to pick and choose what he wanted to write on, even if the numbers wouldn't be promising on it, but from time to time he had to go through with a crowd pleaser, if only to keep ensuring his position as one of the indispensable writers at "Pride." The Thompson piece was a crowd pleaser because it included everything people in the modern era of instant gratifications craved: money, sex and celebrity. It wasn't a career making article, but it was an offering to his boss, a reminder that Aubrey still knew how to keep the people interested in his work, and keep the traffic going on the website. An article like the Thompson article would have the whole country referencing Pride in the news and in future aggregate write-ups. In terms of numbers and journalistic statistics, the story was a touchdown.

The problem was, the Andrew Thompson article belonged to Katelynn. As did all the articles he "wrote" in the past three months. It was an unspoken truce between them. On her first day on the job, Aubrey talked Katelynn through all the office politics of "Pride's" staff, revealing who she should talk to for editing, who she could chat to about collaborating, who had the most sources in what field, and who shouldn't be approached before they've had their first cup of coffee. It had made her acclimatization much smoother than it would have been had she had to learn all of that on her own. So when a few months later she noticed that he has been staring at a blank word document for three days, she approached with him with different article ideas. She framed it as time sensitive articles she loved but didn't have the time to write. But he knew what it was, it was an offering. A helping hand. And he latched onto it like a desperate man drowning. Once he had the idea, his fingers could mechanically drum up the bare bones of the article. The "who, what, where and why" that didn't require much skill or creativity. She would then "edit" it, rewrite it so that it had some life to it and didn't read like a grocery list.

Her writing was good. It wasn't as good as Aubrey's when he was in tip-top shape, but it was good enough. It definitely saved his ass in the past three months so he didn't want to be ungrateful by picking on her childish hyperboles or overuse of adjectives. But even with a solid level of experience under his belt, and the certainty of his position at the magazine, he had to admit that a part of him was slightly threatened by Katelynn's natural talent and uncanny ability to blaze through the ranks at "Pride" like a seasoned pro. And now she was saving his ass. He was grateful she came up with the Thompson article. But recently, he wasn't so sure he wanted to do a follow-up, even though it would have been another smash hit for him, and would have given him another great cover-up for the issue he was secretly battling with.

The writer's block had started the day after Tom began discussing marriage. Aubrey didn't think the two were related, but...maybe they were. He told himself that it was normal to worry about losing some of your independence and all the other things that went along with being married. Plus, it's not like they were even engaged or set any types of dates. Tom had simply started a discussion, stating that it was starting to feel like the right time, that if they wanted to have a family it was probably wise to start planning it now, that they needed to look at houses and that Aubrey needed to work on his credit score. It was a normal adult conversation that many partners had at some point in their relationship. But the next day, it started. A complete blank. He would scour the Internet for ideas, and come up with nothing. He would look at his old articles, and see nothing. He would force himself to start something, but it all came out disjointed and not making any sense and he would give it up after the first few sentences. It was a writer's nightmare. Like a surgeon with a sudden hand tremor. Aubrey figured it would pass after a few days, but it didn't. Now three months deep into it, he wondered if he would ever write another original word. If it wasn't for Katelynn, he'd be out of a job already.

"It's not. I shelved it for now," he replied, deciding to go with the truth. The crunching on the other end had stopped abruptly. It was followed by a long silence. He hadn't told anyone, not even Tom, that famous quarterback and gossip blog golden child Andrew Thompson was now his texting penpal. He wasn't sure why he was keeping it a secret, it's not like they were texting anything inappropriate. In fact, they had only exchanged a handful of mild texts since Aubrey gave the quarterback his number. But for some reason, he decided to keep the positive changes in their `professional relationship' to himself.

"No way, why?" she finally asked.

"I don't have enough material for a second article," Aubrey replied, "And frankly, I just don't think it's necessary."

"Not necessary? Aubs, the Thompson article has been the top trending article on the website since its publication. You need to strike while the iron is hot. I'll get started on it for you, just tell me what angle you're going with." Aubrey winced at her use of the unfortunate nickname his boyfriend Tom gave him. Katelynn and Tom hit it off like old pals from the second that they met, and while Aubrey was happy about their friendship, he wasn't thrilled that Katelynn ran with the childish nickname. And he wasn't thrilled that she was now taking it upon herself to write an article he didn't want to write.

"I said all I wanted to say in the first one, anything more would just be beating a dead horse and being an opportunist." Technically, it was Katelynn that said it. As a gay man of course Aubrey knew who Andrew Thompson was, but the quarterback had never been on his radar. He knew Andrew was a good looking athlete who slept around a lot. Katelynn had been the one to dig up every smidge of information she could find on the man. She had been the one who found the inside source. She had been the one to write out an incredibly detailed outline of every single publicly known hookup, and every single misstep the quarterback ever made. They had verbally talked about the angle of the article, and Aubrey agreed with the message of it, but it was her baby. However, in his desperation, he accepted it from her. She said it would work better published under his name anyway, since her readership wasn't anywhere near his, and since people respected his opinion.

"You went to the enemy's lair! Tell me that wasn't for nothing. You must have gotten some good intel. Come on Miller, don't puss out on me now." Katelynn was a stunning tomboy. She was a bisexual former runway model (the coveted by many yet achieved by few women dream size zero) who quit the fashion world in order to pursue her passion of writing and chasing all the important stories in the LGBT community. She was still a wild-child but a more subdued version now that her life no longer consisted of airplanes, shows, cocaine binges and glamorous champagne filled parties.

"I actually think he might be trying to turn his life around."

"Buuuuuulllshit! Don't fall for his fake story. This is his PR working overtime. Entitled men like Thompson don't change. He'll be up to his old tricks in no time, watch and see." Aubrey sighed internally, she was probably right. "Oh shit, Professore is here early, gotta run!" She said in the Italian accent everyone used when referring to Earl Warren, the editor-in-chief of Pride, also known as pain-in-everyone's-ass. With as little hair as he had on his head, he probably should have been less egotistical, but it seemed like nothing could deter Warren's love for himself and for harshly mutilating everyone's articles, which he deemed all to be unworthy of being published in his magazine. Thankfully, having worked with him for numerous years, Aubrey understood all of his idiosyncrasies and knew how to navigate them without an issue. Katelynn, on the other hand, was still learning.

After pressing the end call button Aubrey was back to dealing with his misfortunate situation once again. He had a deadline coming up, he needed to turn in something, anything for the Professore to rip apart. But his head continued to be a blank slate.

No, that wasn't true. His head was swirling with thoughts, but none of them had anything to do with new article ideas. All of his recent thoughts were focused on the two strange encounters he'd had with Andrew. Aubrey was usually very good at figuring out situations for exactly what they were, but for the life of him, he couldn't untangle his own thoughts and feelings on the quarterback. He could tell there was more to Andrew than what he presented to the outside world. There was something brewing beneath his surface. And then there was also that peculiar feeling whenever they were around each other and especially when they touched...

"What did the great J.K. Rowling say? `The wonderful thing about writing is that there is always a blank page waiting. The terrifying think about writing is that there is always a blank page waiting.' But I've never witnessed the world-renowned journalist Aubrey Miller stare at a blank page for this amount of time," Tom said, rubbing Aubrey's shoulders. The dark haired man had snuck up behind Aubrey so quietly, that it made the writer jump up in his seat.

"I didn't hear you come in," he said, unable to hide the prickliness in his voice. They had discussed this many times before, Tom was not supposed to come in to the study room while Aubrey was writing, unless it was urgent. It was highly distracting to the writing process. And lately it was more important than ever to Aubrey that Tom follow that rule, as he hadn't told his boyfriend about his recent problem. He didn't want to worry him, and he also didn't want to answer the questions that would surely follow, such as, "What brought this on?" For now, he decided it best not to mention it, and hope it would pass on its own, without Tom ever knowing a thing.

"I didn't mean to disrupt you, but you've been in here for a while. Why don't I make you something to eat?" Aubrey looked at the blank screen one more time, then at Prince's disgruntled face. It was no use trying today, he'd give writing another go tomorrow.

"Alright, you guys win," he replied, getting up. He followed Tom to the kitchen where they made a scrumptious looking salad together while Prince lurked around their feet begging for scraps. This was the part Aubrey really enjoyed about Tom and relationships in general. The sense of working together towards something, even something as simple as a salad.

"I'm gonna head over to Ways for a bit, see what they need," Aubrey said after they finished eating. "Ways" was the at-risk LGBT youth center he volunteered at. The center, privately owned by Earl Warren, was a building that helped gay youth in times of trouble. It housed teens who were kicked out of their homes by their parents, or abused for being gay, or whose only other option would be the streets. "Ways" provided them with counseling, college prep programs, job finding programs, as well as rehab referrals if necessary.

Aubrey had been a volunteer for some time now. Volunteering at "Ways" always helped him put his own issues into perspective. It cleared his head from the mindless clutter and allowed him to focus on the bigger picture: helping others and being of service. He would help out in any capacity they needed him in. Sometimes he would be the one taking a new kid on a tour of the place, and just talking to them. Other times he'd host a writing class with some of the youth, and get them to voice some of their personal frustrations on paper by way of poetry, essays, song lyrics or even haikus. And sometimes he'd just help with the laundry. No job was beneath him.

"You're not thinking of taking him, are you? He really needs a bath," Tom said, glancing at Prince with a slight hint of revulsion. The dog shot Tom a dirty look.

"I'll give him one later. Let's go," Aubrey said to Prince, who happily followed him out of the building, leash free. Prince was somewhat of a mascot at "Ways", the kids adored him. So whenever Aubrey had time, he'd bring him by. Whatever he could do to make the lives of the kids there easier, he would.

Prince plopped his butt on the passenger side (he refused to ride in the back if the front seat was open) and Aubrey drove his old Toyota to the "Ways" center. The car started making that same funky rattling noise that it had been making for months now, but Aubrey continued to stubbornly pretend that he didn't hear it. Tom urged him to take it to the mechanic, but Aubrey had ignored him. After a particularly loud rattle, Prince shot him a look that conveyed his doubt about whether they would even be able to make it to their destination in this vehicle.

"Oh don't be a princess, you've been in worse cars before," he said to the dog, whose ears perked up. Taking the car to a mechanic would mean finding out that something was in need of fixing, and that was the last thing he had money to spend on at the moment. As a writer, he wasn't exactly starving, but he wasn't thriving either. In fact Tom had recently given him a speech on how he would need to contribute to the household bills more equally and be more responsible with his financials before they could buy a house together and consider joining their finances. Tom didn't get it, it's not like Aubrey was out there buying the latest pair of Nike's, it was that sometimes in the pursuit of a good story he forgot his budget. Some people were much more open to talking if he put some money in their hand. And he didn't tell Tom, but some of the kids at Ways needed personal things that the center didn't really have a budget for. Just the other day Aubrey gave Jasmine--a trans girl from the center who broke down in front of him crying about how masculine she still looked, and how ugly she felt, and how she had no money for makeup--a $100 gift card to Sephora so that she could buy herself some makeup and feel good. Tom would be completely against it if he knew, but Aubrey saw how tough those kids had it. They deserved whatever little happiness they could have in their teenage years.

Aubrey turned the key and took it out of the ignition, and the car exhaled, like someone fighting a bad case of pneumonia and taking their last breath. Prince gave him another dirty look, then turned and waited for the door to be opened so he could hop out and run towards the girl that was sitting at one of the park benches next to the parking lot.

"Hi!" Jasmine squealed when she saw Prince and Aubrey. She was glowing, and Aubrey detected a new foundation, eyebrow tint, mascara and lipgloss. His gift had clearly paid off.

"Hi yourself beautiful," he replied and she lit up like a Christmas tree. It was a wonderful sight.

"You're not going to believe this," she said while giving Prince a rubdown.

"What?"

"Guess who's here?"

"Who?" he asked, curious.

"Take a wild guess!"

"Uhm, Justin Bieber?" he replied. One of the kids had written to the Biebs, hoping he might come by and hang out with them.

"Nope. Someone better, keep guessing."

"Girl, you better tell me who it is, you know I'm not good at guessing," he said and she giggled. She loved when he called her `girl.'

"Andrew-freaking-Thompson! That's why I'm out here, I'm so freaking starstruck and nervous. I know you're not his biggest fan and what not, with your article and all, but...oh...my...god he's SOOOOOO gorgeous in person. You literally have no idea," she said with the speed of light and in the most hilariously squeaky voice. Actually, he had a pretty good idea. Aubrey didn't know whether he should laugh or cry. He couldn't believe the quarterback was here.

"Come on," he finally said to Jasmine, "let's go see what the heck is going on." As they entered through the glass doors leading to the building Aubrey felt his heart pace pick up. Was Andrew Thompson really here, and if so, why? Was he trying to make good on his promises and start doing more for the community?

They walked towards the main room, where Aubrey sometimes held his writing seminars, and sure enough smack in the middle of the room was Andrew Thompson surrounded by a gaggle of awestruck teens, retelling a glorious football story as they listened on in complete silence. Aubrey had never seen them this quiet and focused.

He saw Earl Warren standing at the door, watching the scene like a hawk. Aubrey silently joined him.

"Finally, you've proved yourself useful for something," the Professore quipped, briefly glancing at Aubrey. The writer smiled, he was used to Warren's dry and sarcastic way of speaking.

"You're giving me the credit for this? I didn't invite him here, he came on his own accord." Now the Professore gave Aubrey a long look, the kind that made him question his own IQ.

"You don't actually believe that Andrew Thompson, arguably one of the hottest quarterbacks out there at the moment, and arguably one of the biggest gay names right now, is here by chance and of no thanks to you, right?" Aubrey shrugged.

"I mentioned the place, but I'm not taking credit for him actually coming over here. He could have found it on Google or it might have been mentioned to him by someone else." Now Warren let out a dry chuckle.

"You do entertain me, Miller. I have to give you that. The sheer mental gymnastics it must have taken you to come up with that conclusion. Creative, very creative. Listen, whatever you're doing to this man that's made him this gaga about you, just keep doing it. This is exactly the type of exposure we need." Aubrey stared confused.

"Gaga about me? What do you mean?" Warren sighed in contempt and said more to himself than to anyone else, "Why do they always make the pretty ones so stupid?"

Before Aubrey could answer Prince made a sudden beeline for the quarterback. The dog jumped on his leg and Aubrey swore he saw his little tail wag a little, which was unusual because there were very few things that made old Prince excited anymore. Obviously, he must have been a secret football fan.

"Hey buddy," Andrew said surprised, rubbing Prince's head. Aubrey momentarily remembered the stinky state Prince was in, and hoped Andrew wouldn't be completely grossed out. Suddenly Andrew spotted him and smiled.

"Alright guys, that's all I got for today," he said and the little traitors actually groaned. They had never groaned when Aubrey was leaving. He shook his head, amused. Andrew signed a few autographs and said bye to the kids, then walked over to Aubrey, Earl and Jasmine, who was half-hiding behind Aubrey, with Prince following him.

"Mr. Thompson, what a true honor to have you here. I'm Earl Warren, the founder," he said shaking Andrew's hand and smiling.

"My pleasure Mr. Warren. Your name...it rings a bell. You don't also happen to be the owner of a magazine that very recently ran a brutal hit piece on me, do you?" Andrew asked and Earl's smile evaporated.

"Freedom of the press, Mr. Thompson, you understand. I give my writers a lot of leeway. I hope you don't take it personally." Aubrey snickered to himself, it was so typical of Warren to shed blame for any situation.

"Listen, I can't say that I loved being publicly called out like that, but it did bring me here in the end, so I am grateful. This is a really important thing you're doing here, and I hope to have a more involved part in it in the future." Warren shot Aubrey a pleased look.

"We would absolutely love for you to be involved. Now that you and my Aubrey here are on good terms, I am sure he will keep you updated on all our events and fundraising that we do for this place."

"Great, I'm looking forward to it," Andrew said and the two men shook hands again. Then Warren, as if he knew his time was finished, patted Aubrey on the shoulder and left.

"Andrew, what a surprise," Aubrey began. He wanted to be his usual sarcastic self, but he decided to reign it in a little in front of Jasmine.

"A good one, I hope," Andrew replied, flashing that all American smile that Aubrey assumed worked on melting most gay men's hearts. It was clearly also having that effect on Jasmine, as she nearly swooned behind Aubrey.

"I'd like to introduce you to my good friend Jasmine, she's an insanely talented makeup artist," Aubrey said, making Jasmine blush. He was slightly worried about Andrew's reaction. Yes the man way gay, but what if he wasn't sensitive enough when it came to transgender people. What if he used the wrong pronouns, or hurt her feelings in any way.

"Well hello gorgeous," Andrew said holding out his hand, washing away any of Aubrey's worries right away, "it's a pleasure to meet you." Jasmine took his hand in hers and giggled as if she was in a trance. Aubrey could swear he saw cartoon hearts light up in her eyes. It was annoying, the crazy effect Andrew had on people.

However, his charisma was undeniable. Here he was, in a plain tee and sweatpants, but looking like a Greek God. Meanwhile Aubrey felt underdressed in his white cotton long sleeve and black jeans.

"Can I get a picture with you for my Instagram?" Jasmine asked shyly.

"Sure thing, Aubrey would you do the honors?" Andrew replied, and Jasmine handed him her cell phone. The quarterback put his strong arm around her, and she very visibly melted away in bliss. Aubrey wanted to roll his eyes, but he enjoyed seeing her this happy. She deserved it. He snapped a few pictures so she'd have a variety to choose from. He noted that Andrew looked perfect in all of them. How did he do it, how did he look so damn good at all times?

"What's your username on Instagram? Let's keep in touch," Andrew said, taking out his phone and Jasmine nearly passed out.

"Oh my God, it's JazzieGirl underscore hearts," she replied.

"Got it, I'm following you now. Can't wait to see these awesome makeup looks you create," he said and gave her a hug, and she burst into tears, then ran off saying it was the best day of her life. Aubrey had never seen anything like it, but Andrew simply laughed it off, this was just another regular day for him.

Before Aubrey had a chance to say anything, another visitor made an appearance seemingly out of nowhere. Nelson stood behind Andrew awkwardly, tugging at the sleeve of his dark blue hoodie, looking like he was working himself up to speaking. He was the kid Aubrey had told Andrew about when they met at his place. The one who already tried to take his life twice because his parents wouldn't accept him.

"Hey Nels," Aubrey said gently, and Andrew turned his head back. Nelson almost jumped back, his whole face flushing red.

"Hey, Aubrey," he said but his eyes were on Andrew. "I, uh...thank you so much for coming, Mr. Thompson. It was really, really awesome having you here," he managed to get out.

"It's my pleasure. What's your name?"

"Nelson."

"Nelson, you a football fan?"

"Yes sir, my dad's a big fan of you, and so am I. I was uh wondering, if you wouldn't mind of course, if you could maybe autograph this shirt so if I see him again, I can give it to him," he asked timidly, holding out a plain white tee in one hand, and a black sharpie in the other.

"Of course," Andrew took the shirt and signed it, meanwhile Aubrey had to stop himself from getting emotional. It was thanks to Nelson's dad that he was in this place right now. It was thanks to his misplaced religious fervor and non-acceptance of his son that Nelson had already tried committing suicide twice. Yet here was the kid, still hoping, still trying to please his old man. It broke Aubrey's heart.

"Thank you sir, and good luck on Sunday, I'll be rooting for you," Nelson said politely, making Andrew smile.

"I appreciate that. Say hi to your pop for me. I'll see you around yeah?"

"Yes," Nelson replied smiling. "See ya Aubrey," he said and Aubrey nodded at him, glad to see the kid so happy.

"I'd never seen that," he said, as Nelson walked away.

"Seen what?"

"I'd never seen Nelson smile before," Aubrey replied and Andrew stared in surprise. "That was the kid I told you about last time."

"Oh," Andrew replied, realization spreading over his face. "Is he doing alright?" "As best as can be, given the circumstances. Why did you come here," Aubrey asked.

"I wanted to see this place for myself. See the kids and what they need. Talk to the volunteers," Aubrey nodded, these were noble reasons, "And I was secretly hoping to see you." There it was, the typical game Thompson ran on every gay man.

"Well I'm glad you're here, there's a lot that needs to be done," Aubrey replied, completely ignoring the last part of Andrew's answer. If the man came all the way here, he might as well use him for some good. "If you ever feel like making any donations, the computers in the library are pretty ancient. The kids use them for college applications as well as job applications, so it's vital that they get upgraded. The laundry machines are also on their last leg, and as you can imagine, a lot of laundry gets done here every single day. And if you feel like volunteering your time, they are always looking for people to help out with different seminars, laundry, and cooking."

"I will...keep all of that in mind for the future. I was sort of hoping we could grab dinner together tonight," Andrew stated.

"I just got here, and it's looking awfully understaffed. I'm going to help out with the laundry," Aubrey replied, and Andrew looked pretty dejected, so he added, "If you want to stick around for an hour or two, we can grab dinner after."

"Perfect," the quarterback replied enthusiastically. He followed Aubrey into the laundry room, where a giant pile of clothes was waiting to be folded. Aubrey sighed, folding was his least favorite.

"It all gets divided into pants, shirts, and all the other categories. Just do what you're best at," he directed Andrew, who looked mighty confused, but started folding away regardless. It was intriguing to see him in this role. Not as the NFL Playboy, but as a regular guy, folding laundry. "Sometimes being here helps me clear my head," Aubrey confessed.

"And what's been on your mind?" Andrew asked, folding a shirt.

"Nothing, that's the problem. I'm having a bit of a creativity stunt," Aubrey replied.

"Like writer's block?" Andrew asked, making Aubrey wince. Superstitious or not, writer's didn't say the words `writer's block' out loud. They preferred to believe such a thing didn't exist.

"No, not like that at all. Nothing like that. Just...a small...stunt," Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"Uh ah. So how are you going to get the creative juices flowing again?" he asked.

"Well, this is my first step. Laundry. Helps me refocus. Except now you're here." Andrew smiled.

"And I'm...distracting?" Aubrey didn't appreciate the playful hint in Andrew's voice.

"Somewhat, yes," he replied.

"How so?" he asked, pushing.

"Well, for one, you're very talkative." Andrew laughed.

"Are you an introvert?"

"Not in the typical sense of the word, no. I need my time alone, and I need silence to focus, but I also like socializing."

"Makes sense," the quarterback replied. "I'm like that as well."

"Really? I see you out and about all the time." Aubrey said skeptically. "You don't strike me as a homebody."

"If I have the right person waiting at home, I'm more than happy to stay there," Andrew replied, and right in that moment Prince sat next to him and rested his chunky body against Andrew's leg. Aubrey watched in amazement, he couldn't believe the little sellout. "Looks like Prince doesn't share your harsh views in regards to me," Andrew chuckled.

"How do you know his name?" Aubrey asked, making the other man flush slightly.

"Saw it on your Instagram."

"Stalker," Aubrey quipped, almost done with his pile now while Andrew wasn't even halfway finished with his yet.

"I prefer the word `fan', and I started following you by the way, which has all the gossip blogs talking. Not sure if you saw." Aubrey did notice, but in his effort to be cool he had not followed Andrew back.

"Great, just what I need, my name dragged in with yours on the trash blogs," he replied just as he finished folding his last pair of pants, and moved next to Andrew to help him with his pile.

"You should thank me, your writing probably never had this much exposure. Now you're on everyone's radar," Andrew stated.

"Sure, but not in a way I want. More in like `guilty by association' way."

"Any exposure is good exposure, right?" Andrew replied looking over at Aubrey, and as they both reached for the same shirt their hands bumped against each other.

"Ouch!" Aubrey jumped back, the spark taking him by surprise.

"Did you feel that too?" Andrew asked.

"Yeah, static from the laundry," Aubrey replied, and Andrew looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. Aubrey didn't understand the strange sensation he felt every time he touched Andrew, and right now was certainly not the right time to try and analyze it or make sense of it. "Alright, I think we made a good dent here today. Let's get some dinner," he said, wanting to get out of this enclosed space that put him far too close to the quarterback.

They walked outside to the parking lot and Aubrey started heading towards his car.

"Let's take my car, and I'll drop you off here after," Andrew suggested. Aubrey looked over at Prince.

"He hasn't had a bath in a while...I don't want him to mess up your car," he said sheepishly.

"It's fine," Andrew replied and Prince jogged towards the ostentatious Lamborghini with far too much enthusiasm for Aubrey's liking. Andrew ran ahead and opened the door for Aubrey, a gesture the other man wasn't used to.

"I feel like we're about to go racing," he commented getting inside and sitting Prince on his lap.

"We can..." Andrew replied seriously, and Aubrey shook his head in shock. This was ridiculous.

"No, I think I'd rather get some food and live today." Andrew laughed.

"Chinese?"

"I'm a health nut remember?"

"True, how about Mediterranean?"

"That sounds better."

"Great, I know the perfect spot," Andrew replied and sped off so fast Aubrey's head started spinning. This was far removed from driving his rattling Corolla or from being in Tom's Prius. Prince looked completely exhilarated as Andrew opened the windows for him. Driving inside of the Lambo right next to Andrew Thompson was an experience like no other. People would stare, take pictures of the car, point, while some guys would start up random conversations in traffic about the car or simply give him a thumbs up. It was all foreign to Aubrey, who moved through traffic completely unnoticed, apart from some dirty looks by those who heard the loud rattling of his car during a stop at a red light.

Andrew pulled up in front of the Valet of a fancy looking restaurant, making Aubrey realize that his version of a Mediterranean restaurant (small, cheap, hole in the wall) had nothing to do with Andrew's version of a Mediterranean restaurant.

"Uhh, I don't think this place allows dogs inside," Aubrey commented, gazing at the luxurious exterior.

"Don't worry, they'll make an exception," Andrew replied smiling and getting out of the car.

"Evening Mr. Thompson," the Valet said.

"What's good Julio," Andrew replied handing his keys over. "Remember, no joy rides," he said and Julio laughed and their inside joke.

"You won't even notice Mr. Thompson, just don't look at the mileage," he replied. Andrew held the front door open for Aubrey, who felt pretty self conscious all of a sudden. Not only was he dressed like a bum, but now he was walking into a fine dining establishment with a stinky dog who had no leash.

"Are you sure about this," he whispered at Andrew.

"Trust me," Andrew replied and ushered him forward. His hand on Aubrey's back sent sparks down his spine.

"Hello Mr. Thompson," the gorgeous hostess greeted Andrew.

"Hi Eva, table for two please," Andrew stated as Aubrey looked around, the placed looked absolutely packed, there was no way they could get a table. "We also have a small visitor with us," Andrew continued, glancing over at Prince, "So if we could get that one table outside, that'd be perfect." Eva smiled.

"Of course, please follow me," she said, and Andrew let Aubrey walk ahead. The outside of the restaurant was even more glorious than the inside. Beautiful glittering lights adorned the walls giving the place a very romantic vibe. Eva stopped at a fairly secluded outdoor table.

"Your waiter will be right with you," she said.

"Thank you," Andrew replied, flashing her that famous smile. He pulled out Aubrey's chair, another gesture the writer wasn't used to, then sat across from him while Prince laid at his feet. Aubrey couldn't believe how much of a sellout Prince was.

The candle in the middle of the table cast a beautiful glow and illuminated Andrew's strong features.

"So why did you really invite me here?" Aubrey asked, trying not to get distracted by Andrew's handsome face.

"What do you mean?"

"You came to the center to volunteer today, you brought me to dinner to this fancy place...I'm not trying to be cynical, but I am assuming there's an ulterior motive here. Do you want me to write another article that puts you in a better light, is that it?" Andrew looked insulted. He took a deep breath.

"You know, you really are not an easy person to get along with Miller. Here we are at this nice restaurant, and you have to come at me guns blazing right away. I came to the center because it seemed like a cool thing to do, and partly because I wanted to see you." Andrew replied, frustrated.

"You keep saying that, `I wanted to see you' and it's starting to get old, Thompson. I don't know if this is a joke to you or if you're trying to prove something to yourself, but I'm not someone that wants to be played with. I have a partner, I don't want you to make me your conquest."

"You really need to get that chip off your shoulder."

"I don't have a chip."

"Oh you have a chip. You have a big chip, probably weighing at least fifty pounds, sitting right on your shoulder." Aubrey rolled his eyes. "Look, I get it Aubrey, we met under kind of unusual circumstances. I've said a few dumb things. I've flirted and made passes at you. And I'm sorry if that was inappropriate. I just...like you and I want us to be friends. I think I can learn some things from you and I would like to know a member of the press that I can trust. I will be respectful of the fact that you're in a relationship from now on, if you give me a chance." Aubrey was unsure. Could he really be friends with Andrew Thompson? He never even considered the possibility before. But now that it was on the table, it was hard to say no. First of all, although he hated to admit it, he strangely enjoyed the time he spent with the quarterback. Second of all, it could prove to be useful for his career to have him as a contact. "What do you say?" Andrew asked, hopeful.

"Okay, friends," Aubrey replied.

"Friends," Andrew repeated, looking into his eyes. Aubrey felt a weight shifting from his shoulders. Maybe Andrew was right, maybe he needed to take it down a few hundred notches. What was the point of constantly attacking him, when the guy had been nothing but nice.

The waiter came by and Andrew ordered what sounded like way too much food for two people. He also ordered a glass of wine for Aubrey. "Just trust me," he said to the writer, "I have a feeling you're going to like this one." Aubrey doubted it, he didn't care for wine. But when he took a sip and the taste of it was delightful and refreshing, he realized that maybe it was time to start giving Andrew Thompson some credit.

"I'm sorry for being harsh on you. You've been pretty alright so far, and I think being friends could benefit both of us," he said diplomatically. Andrew smiled, and Aubrey had to catch himself from staring too long. He was so good looking that it was almost painful.

"So what's going to happen to Nelson?" the quarterback asked suddenly and Aubrey was touched by the fact that he seemed to genuinely care. Nelson was special, and it seemed like Andrew noticed that as well.

"Well, he's in therapy right now, we're trying to get him all the resources possible to make sure he's emotionally alright. Physically, he has a roof over his head at Ways and he's hopefully going to finish up high school and go off to college. But it's all very difficult. He has no help from him family at the moment. Despite everyone's efforts, he feels alone. It's hard on a kid this young." Andrew listened intently.

"He seems like a good kid."

"He is. We're just working on his own acceptance of himself right now. His dad has drilled all this religious dogma into his head, so he has a hard time not hating himself for being gay. We're just trying to show him that most of us are just normal, boring people."

"I really like hearing you talk about this stuff. You're so passionate. It's...rare," Andrew commented and Aubrey felt his face heat up.

"It's easy to be passionate when you care."

"True. Okay, so now that we're friends, and I trust you, I've got some news."

"What is it?"

"It's not going to be for a little while, but I've been thinking about it and I want you to do the write up on the Thompson Foundation. I've spoken to my brother about it. I've talk to my donors. It's all a go. And I want you to be the one that helps me introduce it to the world." Aubrey stared in amazement. This was big, this was really big. As much as he liked to think of himself as special, Aubrey knew for a fact that Andrew had a lot of media contacts. He could have picked someone far more mainstream to break this news into the press, but he was giving him the exclusive. It was a meaty offering, but Aubrey was hesitant to jump on it.

"I...I don't know," he faltered and Andrew seemed surprised.

"Really? I thought you'd love this."

"No, it's amazing, but I'm just not sure that I'm the right person for it," he replied. With his writer's block he really didn't want to screw up something this big for Andrew.

"Of course you are, you're the perfect person for this." The waiter arrived with plates of mouth watering food.

"Try the chicken," Andrew instructed. Both men were silent for a minute while they tasted the chef's specialties. Finally Aubrey relented.

"And there's...no strings attached, right? You're not expecting a blow job in the restroom because you're giving me this exclusive?" Andrew laughed.

"You always think the worst of me. No strings attached. I just want you to be the one to write it. I like the way you write. It's hard to explain but there's a certain magic to it." Aubrey sincerely hoped that Andrew was referring to the articles from three months prior.

"There's a certain magic to the way you play football," he replied.

"I thought you said I sucked."

"I lied," Aubrey admitted. Andrew smiled. Now they were making a genuine connection. Afterwards they chatted some more about the key points Andrew wanted to convey about his Foundation and about Ways and the kids. Aubrey declined dessert--he had weighed himself that morning and his weight had crept up in the past three months from stress eating. The stress of the writer's block along with his weight gain was now also preventing him from getting a full night's sleep. If one more thing was going to go wrong in his life, he would probably fall apart.

Andrew insisted on paying the bill, and Aubrey was secretly grateful because this place was certainly above his budget. While the quarterback was signing the check Aubrey checked his phone. A text from Kat that read, "I have a Thompson 2 draft ready for you to look over. Another smash hit. Xoxo." Aubrey put his phone in his pocket in frustration. He really needed her to drop this idea.

Andrew drove Aubrey and Prince back to the Ways parking lot and walked them to Aubrey's car.

"Thank you again for dinner, that was amazing. And I'm really excited about doing the Foundation write up. This is going to be big."

"You're very welcome. And thank you for agreeing to do it. I'm excited as well," Andrew replied, then added, "Hug level yet?" Aubrey chuckled.

"Sure, friends hug."

"Indeed, friends do hug," Andrew replied and pulled Aubrey in for a hug. He smelled like a wonderful expensive cologne mixed in with a citrusy body wash. Aubrey had to let go fast, the sensation he always felt when they touched was almost overwhelming.

He got into his car, put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. Prince looked away, embarrassed. Of course his piece of junk car had to give up right in front of Andrew Thompson.

"Need some help there," Andrew asked, his voice muffled by the window. Aubrey got out of the car. This was the last thing he needed on his plate. He breathed in and out in frustration. If Andrew wasn't looking at him, he'd probably start crying right about now.

"I've been having some issues with it. Guess it's had enough," he said, reaching for his wallet and searching for his triple A card. He requested a tow.

"Why don't you let me handle it," Andrew said fifteen minutes later as the tow truck appeared, "I know a really good place, and my guy will give you a deal."

"Oh no, it's fine, I don't want to bother you with this, I can deal with it," Aubrey replied, embarrassed.

"No, trust me, I want to do it. It means a lot to me that you accepted the write up on the Foundation. This will be my small way of saying thanks." Aubrey still wasn't convinced, but between the writer's block, his weight gain and his lack of sleep he felt like trying to deal with this car situation might just send him over the edge and into a mental breakdown.

"Are you sure?"

"Totally, go wait in my car, I'll be right there," Andrew said handing him the keys. Aubrey thanked him and took Prince back into the comfortable interior of the Lamborghini. After a few minutes Andrew showed up.

"Okay, they're gonna tow it to my guy and he'll know what's up with it by tomorrow. Don't worry, it'll be like brand new."

"Thank you, you have no idea how much I appreciate that," Aubrey said, feeling immensely grateful.

"It's no problem," Andrew said smiling at him, his blue eyes making Aubrey forget what he was thinking. "I need your address."

"Right, of course," Aubrey replied and told him the address for the apartment he shared with Tom. When the quarterback dropped him off at home, Aubrey gave him another hug, and then rushed inside, energized by the physical contact. There was something different in Andrew's touch, something that charged up the atoms in his body. A chemical reaction that took place whenever their bodies were near each other. Aubrey rushed past Tom who was saying something to him, and threw open the door to his office, then smacked it shut behind him. He sat at his desk, flipped opened his laptop, and his fingers started to furiously type away on the keyboard. Minutes later he felt hot tears of relief stream down his face as he reread the first full paragraph he had written in the past three months. The title read, "Quarterback Andrew Thompson Sets Out To Change Lives With The Thompson Foundation."