Michael dreamed of his homecoming for months, envisioning all that he wanted to do and see once he was back on American soil. A meal at one of Atlanta's premier restaurants figured largely in his dreams. When he woke and noticed their direction, it was obvious that it wasn't on the agenda. How he would love to once more eat a steak at The Riverboat and be able, at last, to legally order a drink named after a famous southern hero. The day he had graduated high school he, Angie, and their mother (sans her loser-of-the-moment) had gone there for a private celebration before the ceremony. He could still remember every detail of that memorable evening, just weeks before his departure for boot camp; he'd replayed that memory often in his mind while a home-sick recruit far from home.

But of all the wonderful restaurants that Michael remembered Angie had to take him to one that, though familiar, hadn't entered his mind at all.

"The Sausage Shack, Ang?"

She shrugged apologetically. "As much as I'd love to spend the afternoon with you I have to get to work. Besides, it's cheap," she said as she killed the engine and hopped out of the truck without bothering to wait for him, once more wrapping her arms around herself to ward of the cold.

He'd fully intended on paying, having racked up a nice little bank account of paychecks that he hadn't had the opportunity to spend yet, but if she wanted to treat he'd see to it that he made it up to her. As he climbed out of the truck he indulged in a good stretch before following his sister across the parking lot. Attempting to hold the door for her earned him a glare. Apparently, her 'I am woman, hear me roar' philosophy to 'out-dated chauvinistic gestures' was still alive and kicking.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask that the menu changed while I was away," he muttered as they claimed a booth and perused that grease-splattered plastic laminates on the table. Nope, no changes here.

Still, he found his prospects looking up when a harried-looking, middle-aged waitress approached and asked a question that was music to his ears, "What can I get you folks to drink?"

Like she had to ask? He was a tried and true southern boy who'd been away far too long. Though his doctor had told him to limit caffeine, the devil on his shoulder effectively bound and gagged anything wearing white and looked out for his best interests. Without hesitation he replied, "Sweet tea." Angie nodded agreement.

As far as he was concerned the glass of amber liquid placed before him was the nectar of the gods and he quickly forgave Angie for her restaurant choice.

"Good, huh," his sister commented, grinning, as he raised the glass and nearly drained it before setting it down and gesturing to the waitress for a refill.

Smiling and nodding, he explained, "Some of the guys in my unit thought I was crazy when I'd talk about sweet tea-they'd never even heard of such. Hell, some of them only drink tea hot." They shared a grimace.

"One of my roommates does that," Angie replied. "She never could grasp that a good glass of sweet tea is a thing of beauty." She sighed dreamily. "Grandma's can even be used as pancake syrup in a pinch."

Yes, there was sweet tea and then there was Grandma's sweet tea, the epitome of sweet tea, in Michael's book. "Ya know what else I missed? I missed grits, and biscuits and gravy."

"Oh, you poor thing," his sister sympathized. Fanning herself theatrically with her hand she asked, in her best southern belle voice, "I do declare! However did you survive?"

With a dramatic sigh, in keeping with his sister's performance, he replied, "It wasn't easy, I can tell you that."

"Well, they serve breakfast here 24/7 so you no longer have to be deprived. What were they thinking," she exclaimed, the twinkle in her eyes belying the outrage in her voice, "to deprive a poor southern boy of the basic necessities of life?"

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding his agreement. "Whatever were they thinking?"

The waitress returned and Michael gave in to his cravings, ordering grits, eggs, bacon, and biscuits and gravy. Then they sat in companionable silence for a while, Angie sipping and Michael guzzling tea. He was on his third glass when his meal arrived.

Still tired and hung over, he chewed mechanically, barely tasting anything but his beverage, which he took the time to savor. With eyes full of sand he hoped to sleep a bit on the drive down to Cookesville, caffeine high notwithstanding. He now saw the wisdom of his sister's restaurant choice; he wouldn't have been able to appreciate fine cuisine in this state.

"Michael? Mikey?" Angie's concerned voice broke through his weary haze.

"Huh?" he responded automatically, only to realize that she'd woken him up.

She smiled and shook her head. "I guess we need to get you home and let you get some sleep. I take it you got a decent going away party?"

Smiling sheepishly, he mentally revisited the sendoff from the night before-both the official and unofficial ones. He fervently hoped she didn't notice his reaction as his mind turned to the events that transpired later in the evening, the memory of which resulted in a beet-red face. Those thoughts were best put away for awhile. It wasn't a good idea to be hashing over those details with his brain so fuzzy. Later, he'd pull them out and examine them at length; now was neither the time nor the place.

"Yeah, it was all right," he replied after a too-long hesitation. He put excessive energy into an accompanying grin, hoping she wouldn't pry.

Thankfully she didn't, appearing more intent on getting back to Cookesville than in tormenting her brother. She summoned the check, paid the bill, and herded him out to the truck, good natured fussing once more reminding him of their mother.

Having missed a good deal of sleep the past few nights and, with his belly contentedly full, Michael slept most of the way to Cookesville, too tired for the caffeine to have much affect. He was awakened by his sister explaining that construction had slowed their time and she would have to drop by her place and get ready for work. One of her numerous roommates would see to it that he got over to the store after their mother closed her shop for the day. The apartment located above it was where he was going to be staying until he figured out what to do with the rest of his life, or until Cookesville drove him stark raving mad and he fled screaming.

Angie pulled her truck into the driveway of a huge older home, one of many vehicles strewn haphazardly around the large, tree-shaded yard. Most of the old houses on the street had been divided into apartments or torn down, but this one was still intact. Michael had always loved the aging three-story building, from its rusting tin roof to its constantly damp basement. Unlike the other surviving houses on the street it hadn't been updated to siding and the peeling white paint today would be the brittle flakes that covered the porches like snow tomorrow.

When he was younger he daydreamed about buying the place and restoring it to its former glory, but that was before. Now all he could think of was figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life and getting the hell outta Dodge.

Angie lived in the old, drafty house with an ever-changing roster of college student roommates, she herself taking classes while working at Mercy General over in Hanley as a Licensed Practical Nurse. It was hard for him to believe that in a few short weeks she'd be graduating and sporting a shiny new Registered Nurse pin. She'd also be making the kind of money that would enable her to get the place of her own she'd always wanted.

Michael retrieved his bags from behind the seat and hurried to catch up as Angie sprinted up the uneven concrete steps and across the sprawling front porch, flinging open the squeaky front door and yelling, "Honey, I'm home!" He caught up as she purposefully marched into the living room, her boot heels clicking a sharp staccato on the scuffed hardwood floor. Storming through the door with her brother in tow, Angie screamed into the emptiness, "House meeting, living room, now!"

The quiet, aging wooden structure suddenly burst into a flurry of activity. It sounded to Michael as though a herd of elephants was descending the stairs as the deserted-seeming house sprang to life. Bodies converged from everywhere in a blur of colors and sounds, streaming into the living room where Michael was standing just inside the door.

"Ok, pay attention; there will be a test later," Angie warned as she dragged Michael further into the crowded room. The house was old and the rooms were large, but the gathered assembly still seemed like too many people to fit in the one building comfortably for any length of time, let alone one room. The furniture was a hodge-podge of mismatched couches, loveseats, and assorted chairs, all clashing loudly with the violet, cracking plaster walls. Currently, the seating was filled to capacity.

"Everyone, this is my li'l bro, Michael," Angie gushed to the room in general, displaying a brilliant smile full of gleaming white teeth.

A chorus of "Hi, Michael's" erupted around the room. A mumbled, "He's hot," followed a moment later, then "oof!" as the offender was elbowed in the ribs by her seatmate.

Ignoring the responses Angie continued, "Michael, this is Vickie, Wayne, Drew, Bennie, Charlene, Danny, Jay, Terry, Victor, Emily, Annie, Curtis, and Shasta. Welcome to the Zoo, little brother!"

Michael was stunned, not only by the sheer number of people but the fact that his sister recited the entire list without taking a breath. "Um, do they all live here?" he stage-whispered.

She turned back to where she had begun the introductions, pointing them off as she had a moment before. "Lives here, doesn't, does sometimes, might as well, her mom thinks she does, does, does, doesn't, I'm not sure, doesn't, here so much she should start paying rent, does, does-but we tell the landlady we're just dog sitting.

It was then that Michael noticed that Shasta was, in fact, not sitting on a couch or chair but under one. This suited the Golden Retriever just fine, intent as she was on wreaking havoc on an acid green tennis ball with her teeth. Michael perused the people in the room, attempting to put faces to names. Angie wasn't kidding; she would test him later. Some he knew personally, some from his sister's letters, and some from his mom's. One or two were even in residence during his last visit two years ago. They were all young, though some were older than he, and all were probably enrolled in the local university or community college.

On the first couch was Vickie, a poster child for Goth chic; that is, if you overlooked the inch or so of blond roots peeking through her stringy, dyed hair. She was new to Michael. He wasn't sure but he thought that he and the brown-haired, freckled Wayne had attended the same grammar school. Drew had once dated his sister, he knew from a disapproving letter from Mom, and he and Bennie had worked together on his grandfather's farm during the summers hauling hay and doing odd jobs. There was a hippy chick sitting in a ratty, plaid chair, eyes owlishly peering from behind large, round glasses who he remembered as Charlene, a childhood friend of Angie's. Perched on the arm of her chair was a young man dressed in stereotypical Emo garb, peeking out from behind an artfully arranged fall of dark hair. Michael thought his sister had called him Danny.

On the other side of the room was guy a bit older than the others. Victor, if Michael wasn't mistaken. Next to him sat a grinning pony-tailed blonde with a bright shining face, who he wouldn't have been a bit surprised to see suddenly launch herself out of her seat to scream, "Go team!!" He thought a moment, was this Emily or Annie? Curtis he remembered from high school and the other girl on the couch, either Emily or Annie, had beautiful, light brown skin and rows of tightly braided hair-she probably caught hell from the local rednecks. So Curtis must be the jock-looking guy currently talking mushy baby talk to Shasta while leaning over to rub the happy dog's belly. She wagged her tail enthusiastically but didn't surrender her grip on the saliva-soaked ball.

A dark blue loveseat, under a huge bay window that wreathed its occupants in bright sunlight, caught his eye. Michael dismissed the blond, whose name he thought was Terry, as being blessed with good looks and cursed to be fully aware of it. He recalled his sister making references to an 'arrogant, self-righteous, egotistical asshole' in her letters. But the man also had a sweet and caring side, she had said, or the other housemates wouldn't tolerate him. No matter what other people thought Michael preferred to make up his own mind, but the looks Terry was casting his way made him feel as though he had just been added to the Sausage Shack's menu and was about to be ordered just for the variety. While he liked to be admired as much as the next person, those assessing green eyes were starting to creep him out.

From the chill of ice to the warmth of the sun, Michael's eyes slid away from the model- handsome blond to the dark-haired, dark-eyed man sitting next to him. A startling contrast to Terry's assured good looks, this man wasn't as pretty but was more conventionally handsome. Also unlike Terry, he seemed oblivious to the effect his appearance had on others, or in particular, on Michael.

His nose was long and straight, cheekbones high and prominent, lips dark and full, pushing the size limit for what could be considered masculine. Thick, glossy black hair was close cropped to his head, but even from across the room Michael could tell it would be curly if allowed to grow. A well-trimmed moustache and goatee were worn in a style Angie referred to as 'muzzle hair.' Overall, the look was very flattering and added to the whole manly image. Long legs stretched out in front of the loveseat and, though not as naturally stocky as Michael, he appeared to be sturdily built, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. Honey-colored skin, several shades darker than Michael's own, along with his dark eyes and hair, spoke strongly of Hispanic ancestors. The only imperfect feature Michael could see were his ears, which some might consider overly large. Rather than detract from his appearance, however, they merely served to add interest. It seemed he had once heard some vague high school locker room reference to 'men with big ears,' but he couldn't quite remember it now.

While the other occupants of the room were assessing him with curious, indifferent, or even lust-filled eyes, this man's thoughts were neutral and undecipherable, except when an easy grin broke free. It was when he smiled that Michael felt a strange sizzling deep in his belly, the beginnings of an erection threatening. The surprising and slightly embarrassing thing was, the moment his eyes focused on the darkly handsome man, they didn't want to leave. Michael blushed and forcibly averted his eyes, hoping that anyone noticing his reaction would chalk it up to fatigue and being overwhelmed by meeting to so many new people.

Almost against his will his eyes returned to their favored target. The attractive stranger continued to watch him intently and, when those bright teeth flashed against that dark skin, Michael sensed it was just for him. That smile fanned the spark that had been lit earlier into full flame and he discretely shifted his weight, hoping the tenting in his blue jeans wouldn't be noticeable. Was it his imagination or did the wattage of that brilliant smile just increase?

Rationally, he knew it wasn't possible, but that didn't prevent him from thinking that the man had somehow read his mind, knew of his predicament, and fully intended to exploit it for personal gain. The momentary flash of fear gave way to something equally intense-and just as terrifying-as his arousal increased.

A tacky wall hanging provided a temporary distraction but his mind soon wandered back to where it had been, proudly proclaiming to Michael's unwitting body, "Lookee here what we found!" What was his name? Michael ran through the list in his mind trying to find a name he hadn't yet matched to a person. His dilemma was solved when Angie whined, "Hey, Jay, move over and let us sit!"

"Anything for you, Your Highness," he heard, watching those chocolate brown eyes roll heavenward. Damn, what a voice-deep and southern, with a bit of a Texas twang.

"You gotta watch out for this one," Angie teased as she pushed her way between Jay and the blond sitting next to him.

His erection quickly deflated as Michael realized who he'd been lusting over. This was the famous 'Jay from Brownsville' that he'd heard so much about from Angie and the folks! Oh God! He was attracted to his sister's boyfriend!

Jay's assessing look induced feelings that could only be described as 'deer in the headlights.' Those dark, hypnotic eyes rendered Michael paralyzed; he couldn't have moved if someone had yelled, "Grenade!" Warm tingling feelings slithered down into his belly once more, but he was just too darned tired to deal with this bizarre attraction at the moment; especially since his body was, apparently, stubbornly unwilling to acknowledge Angie's prior claim.

With a lazy smile Jay from Brownsville drawled, "If you're used to putting up with her then I think you can take care of yourself just fine. I'll bet growing up with Angie for a sister made basic training look like a walk in the park." Those eyes finally released him from their hypnotic hold as Jay yelled, "Ow!" and turned to defend himself from the indignant redhead who'd just punched him in the arm.

Their antics quickly escalated into a tickling fight, causing the others to roll their eyes and drift away from the living room while moaning things like, "They're at it again," "It was nice meeting you," "See ya around," and "You poor thing, putting up with a sister like that."

The intense fluttery feelings died a slow, horrible death as Michael turned his eyes back to the two tussling on the love seat amidst screams of laugher. Jay was Angie's boyfriend. Shit. Michael didn't understand it but he'd definitely felt something unnerving when he'd first laid eyes on the man. Then again, his tired mind could have been playing tricks on him, making him see things in those dark eyes that weren't there. Just a moment, a scant second in time, he'd allowed himself to hope-he was so very tired of being alone.

There was no mistaking the hunger he saw in Terry's eyes, however. Warning bells sounded whenever the handsome blond looked his way and, he wasn't sure, but it might not have been an accident when a hand brushed his ass and lingered a moment when Terry passed him on his way out of the room. Michael also thought he felt a breeze flutter against his bad ear, but decided to ignore it for now, turning his attention back to the loveseat.

As quickly as the fight started, it ended, amid more squeals of laughter. "Well," Angie announced, pushing Jay away and hopping out of reach of his long arms, "I have to get ready for work. Michael, Jay here agreed to take you over to Mom's for me. Is that all right with you?"

"I did?" Jay responded, with a horrified expression that lasted only a moment before it gave way to another toothy grin.

"Yeah, you did-loser!"

The dark-haired Texan turned those paralyzing eyes on Michael with devastating effect, effectively gluing him to the spot. "Well, the queen has spoken so I guess I'm taking you home."

Michael's body screamed, "Yes!" while his mind screamed, "No!" Aloud he answered, "Sure, sis; have fun at work." And that was that.

After being subjected to a bone crushing hug and a whispered, "So glad to have you home," Michael found himself left alone in a room with a man that, for some reason, made him unbelievably nervous and, apparently, belonged to his sister.