Bonds of Love

she gave him would’ve droppeda weaker man to his knees. As if noticing him for the first time,she dismissed the other man and asked Matt, “Can I help you withsomething?”
Confused, Matt glanced from her to the man and backagain. “Wait. Roxie, you…?”
The man extended a hand, which Matt shook withoutbeing asked. “Rick Forrester, with the Times. I’m lookingfor a swim instructor here, named diLorenza? You know him?”
Too late, Matt noticed the pen tucked behind one ear,the open notepad in the hand not offered, and a dark strap acrossthe man’s chest that led to a large camera resting on his hip. Areporter, damn. Trying to buy some time, Matt stalled. “Um,I don’t…”
“I told you already,” Roxie interrupted, runningred-tipped fingers across the top of her head as if making sure hersevere ponytail was still in place. “We don’t have anyone herenamed diLorenza. Try the Y.”
The reporter turned his attention back to her. “Theyhad a diLorenzo,” he said, “a while back. Do you have anyone herenamed that? Matthew diLorenzo. The girl at the Y said she thoughthe worked here.”
With a flick of her ponytail, Roxie sighed. “You arewasting my time. Our instructors are here to work. Theydon’t have time to come out and play with you.”
Matt grinned. Roxie was a rabid one, to be sure.Fresh from college, with hair dyed a shade of red that should’vebeen illegal and eyeliner like Cleopatra, Roxie guarded the gym asif it were a prison. The reporter’s beguiling smile was lost onher, but Matt had to give him props for trying. “Maybe if I couldjust sneak back to the pool for a minute…” The guy tried, alreadymoving for the glass door as if he just knew she’d buzz himthrough. “Take a look myself, what do you say?”
“You need a pool pass,” Roxie told him. Before heasked, she added, “That’s twenty bucks a month in addition to theregular membership fee.”
The reporter’s smile slipped away “But I don’t—”
“You’re in luck.” Roxie reached for a nearbyclipboard, talking over the reporter’s protest. “We’re running asign-up special. Buy two years at once and save half off yourmembership fee for one of those years. So instead of three hundredyou just pay two twenty-five. We take all major credit cards andcan bill you in installments.”
Trying again, the reporter sputtered, “I don’tneed—”
But Roxie just shook her head. “You don’t get pastthis desk without a membership card, dude. And if you’re not buyingone, you’re loitering, and I’m calling the police.”
“Wait!” The reporter lunged for the desk, his smileback. “Let’s start again, all right? What do you say?”
Roxie rolled her eyes. As the reporter handed her abusiness card, she gave Matt a long-suffering look over hershoulder. “Did you need me for something?” she asked. “Or did youjust come for the show?”
With a laugh, Matt backed away from her desk and thereporter looking for him. “I’ll bother you later,” he promised. Tothe reporter, he added, “Nice to meet you. Hope you find the guyyou’re looking for. DiLorenza, did you say?”
The reporter nodded. “Or diLorenzo, one of the two.Anyone back there answer to that, you send him out here to me, youhear?”
“Sure,” Matt promised as he ducked through theswinging door that led to the gym. He balled up the message hestill held in one hand and chucked it into the first trashcan hefound. Damn, that had been close.
* * * *

Chapter 8
With Roxie at the reception desk, Matt’s day wasuneventful and quiet, to say the least. No phone calls camethrough, no reporters hovered around the edges of the pool, no oneharassed him in the locker room. The only excitement of the day wasa young boy who climbed the high dive trying to impress hisfriends, but chickened out at the last second and refused to jump.Matt spent twenty hairy minutes talking him down off the divingboard. When five o’clock rolled around, Matt was more than ready tolock up the pool and head home.
No one waited for him in the parking lot behind thegym, but Matt was careful not to head straight to the apartment,just in case he was being followed. Being paranoid, youmean, he chided himself. But if it kept his private life out ofthe papers, and kept Vic’s super powers a secret from the press, acouple extra miles didn’t hurt. He stopped at the grocery store fora few items, then swung through a fast food restaurant to grab abite to eat, then circled his block twice before he feltcomfortable enough to park. He lingered behind the wheel, studyingthe other cars, but no one waited in any of them. Not for the firsttime, Matt wished he had just an inkling of Vic’s telepathicability—he’d scan every mind in the immediate vicinity to ensurenone of them were thinking of him.
Yeah, you’re paranoid. He climbed out of thecar and nodded at his reflection in the window, agreeing withhimself. He didn’t need telepathy—a glance around the empty streettold him no one followed his every move. Vic was old news. Thatreporter at the gym was just looking for a follow-up, a humaninterest piece he could put in the Sunday paper as filler betweenthe comics and the coupons. He’d be disappointed anyway, once herealized Matt and Vic were lovers. The Times was chumpchange, a small-town paper in a close-minded city. Any hint of asexual relationship between two men that didn’t involve a criminalact of some sort would never get into print here.
Retrieving his groceries from the back seat, Matthurried up the steps to his apartment building. A fine sheen ofsweat already coated his back beneath his T-shirt; Richmond inAugust could be unbearable. He’d showered at the gym and alreadyfelt the need to rinse off again. After dinner, though. The greasysmell of fried chicken wafted up at him from the take-out bag hejuggled amid the groceries, and his stomach grumbled inanticipation.
Once inside their apartment, Matt dumped thegroceries in the kitchen and took his dinner into the living room.Stretching out along the length of the couch, he fiddled with theremote, shaking and knocking it against the coffee table until thedying batteries decided to work. The television flared to life,catching