Risk Assessment

by Parker St John

  The kid muttered and scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the carpet. Eventually, he nodded.

  “Good.” Elliot closed his file decisively. “We should hear in a couple weeks if the appeals court will hear your case. I’ll call you in a few days. I expect a list of places you’ve applied, got it? You can’t live off your gram’s social security forever.”

  “We barely living off it now,” Julio mumbled.

  “All the more reason to get on with it, then.”

  By the time Elliot escorted his client out the door, his Venti Americano was ice cold. He stowed his tablet back in his office and went to reheat his coffee in their ancient microwave.

  “Sounds like things went well,” an amused voice rumbled.

  “My usual charm,” Elliot muttered as he shoved his cup in the microwave and punched buttons.

  They hadn’t been that loud, but the building had walls as thin as tissue paper. As a result, everyone in the office was intimately familiar with everyone else’s business.

  “I didn’t hire you for your charm.” Alexander Cabrini leaned against the wall beside him. He had the golden curls of an angel, but his unusually dark eyes were pure devil. “That’s what Kovalenko is for. Miguel is my bulldog.”

  “Don’t front, Alex!” Miguel yelled out his open office door. “I’m your goddamn pack mule and you know it!”

  “Back to work, slave!” Alex bellowed.

  Elliot burned his tongue on his first sip, but he couldn’t help smiling. At Harris & Goldwater, they’d have all been reported to HR, if not summarily fired, for the way they spoke to each other. Everything at his old partnership had been very pleasant and polite, but Elliot had never realized how lifeless it was until he was exposed to a different way of doing things.

  “Like I was saying,” Alex continued, “Miguel is my bulldog, and you—”

  “I’m the sucker.”

  Alex tsked. “You’re the compassionate one. You’re the one I give to the clients who need someone to believe in them. Regardless of whether you win their cases, you give them back their self-respect. Don’t forget that.”

  He winked and then he was gone.

  4

  Lucas

  “Hey, Boss!” There was a loud rap on the open door, and Lucas’s lead mechanic stuck his shaggy head in the office. “You wanted me to tell you when the owner of that Prius showed up.”

  Lucas grunted. “Thanks, Tracy.”

  He continued to stare at the invoice in his hand, but the numbers still didn’t make sense, no matter how hard he squinted.

  “You want me to take care of it?”

  “Huh?” He finally looked up, blinking to clear his vision of the little black digits burned onto his retinas. “No. No, I’ve got it. Hey, do you know why I’ve got a bill for fifty distributor caps?”

  Tracy scrubbed a hand over the sandy whiskers on his chin and said philosophically, “They’re probably trying to see what they can get away with now that A.J. is retired. You’ll call ‘em on it, they’ll say oopsie and blame it on a new guy, and they’ll know you actually read your bills. Lots of folks don’t, I figure.”

  “Jesus,” Lucas shook his head in disgust and shoved away from his desk, “and they call me a con.”

  “No one actually calls you that, you know.”

  Lucas waved him off, irritated by his chuckle as it followed him out into the reception area.

  He felt like a chump. He knew cars and people, but he didn’t know much about business. He was beginning to realize that, no matter how it had appeared, A.J. had done a lot more for the garage than shuffle around and bullshit with customers. He’d gotten old, though. The inventory receipts were a mess. Lucas had been his manager for two years and even he hadn’t realized how much the old man had been shoving to the back of the office and forgetting about.

  His first full day as owner of A.J.’s Auto Repair had brought him low, and he’d descended into a bit of a panic before Tracy reeled him back. Now, it was just a matter of gritting his teeth and slogging through a mountain of back orders and overdue bills. One mess at a time. One day at a time. It was a mantra he just had to keep repeating to himself.

  His day got a whole lot brighter when he laid eyes on the man perusing the tire displays in the reception area. Elliot Smith was every bit as hot as Lucas remembered, in a rumpled librarian kind of way. He looked even better than he had the day before, less haggard and significantly less stressed. His dark hair was artfully combed and only slightly disheveled, like he couldn’t help but run his hands through it. His suit outlined the trim hardness of his body, and when Lucas got close enough, he smelled amazing.

  He cleared his throat. “Looks like the patient is going to live.”

  It tickled him, the way Elliot tensed up all over before whirling to face him. A wide, surprisingly beautiful smile broke out across his face before he could pull it back.

  “Don’t tell me you work here, you asshole,” he said with a laugh. “You could have mentioned that last night.”

  He held out his hand for what was undoubtedly intended to be a quick shake, but Lucas had other plans. He gripped his palm and pulled him close, just enough so he could lean into his ear and murmur, “Were you worried you wouldn’t see me again?”

  He could have sworn he heard Elliot’s breath catch, but rather than force a play right there, Lucas backed off and offered his slowest choirboy smile. He tipped his head toward the registration desk. “Come on. I’ve got some paperwork for you to sign.”

  Elliot trailed behind him, looking dazed. “How much did it run me?”

  “No charge.”

  It said a lot about the guy when his eyes flashed with instant fire.

  “Oh, no.” He was already pulling his wallet from the breast pocket of his suit. “I can’t pay you for coming to my assistance in the middle of a downpour, but I can and will pay you for parts and labor. How much?”

  Lucas contemplated for a moment. “Three hundred and ten dollars.”

  “Fine.” Elliot began to slide a gold card free, but Lucas grabbed him gently by the wrist. There was strength in those whipcord tendons, and Lucas was briefly entertained by imagining pinning those wrists to a mattress and capturing all that strength beneath him. Elliot’s pulse hammered beneath his fingers.

  “Take me to dinner instead,” he was surprised to hear himself suggesting. Dinner had never been a requirement of fucking.

  He caught a flash of surprise in the man’s dark eyes, but it was swallowed by instant heat. Lucas wanted to see those eyes smoldering up at him while Elliot’s lips were wrapped around his dick.

  “A dinner with me is hardly worth that much,” Elliot protested.

  “I beg to differ.” Lucas flashed his most angelic smile. It hadn’t gotten him out of many whippings as a child, but it had done its job on plenty of hookups as an adult. “I plan to order the best steak on the menu.”

  Elliot opened his mouth, shut it again, and then tried once more. It was adorable, and Lucas recognized the precise moment he gave up.

  “And I’m supposed to argue for a living,” Elliot said with a chuckle.

  “What do you do?” Lucas was only half paying attention as he printed off the receipt with a zero balance.

  “I’m an attorney.”

  Lucas’s smile dropped right off his face. He took a step back before he realized he’d done it. But he couldn’t do a thing about the shock and disgust that coursed through him.

  He didn’t know why he was surprised. The suits and fancy words matched a college education and a nice cushy job somewhere, but Elliot didn’t have the superior attitude or condescending expression that Lucas remembered all too well from his own lawyers.

  They hadn’t looked at him as a person, or even as a problem to solve. That would have been helpful, at least. They had looked at him as an irritation, another case to get through before lunch, and they hadn’t given a damn how they screwed him over in the process. He still felt sick when he remembered how his
lawyers had laughed and shaken hands as he was led away in cuffs. He remembered exactly what his lawyer had said as he slapped the prosecutor on the back: another one bites the dust.

  Elliot had sensed his reaction. His expression tightened and his smile turned plastic. “I promise we don’t actually sell our souls once we pass the bar. We just rent them out on alternate Sundays.”

  He was so earnest, and his body responded so delightfully to even the slightest touch. The impulse to smile back was difficult to resist. For a moment, Lucas wondered if he could just ignore what he did for a living. He didn’t need to approve of the man’s profession to fuck him. Hell, he’d screwed his fair share of hookups that he’d barely tolerated. They were easy enough to shut up once he got his cock inside them.

  But the idea of touching a lawyer made his stomach cramp.

  “Just sign here for the car,” he muttered, sliding the receipt across the desk. Their fingers brushed as he passed Elliot the pen, and he shuddered with a confused mix of lust and revulsion.

  “Okay, thanks.” Elliot looked puzzled. He signed with a lavish swirl of cursive that Lucas decided was pretentious.

  He stuck his head into the work bay and shouted for Tracy. “Hey! Where’d you put the keys for the Prius?”

  “Antonio had them!”

  “Tonio! Where are the Prius keys?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” came the angry response. “I’ve been under this Saturn all fucking afternoon! I haven’t even taken lunch! You need to hire more fucking help, Kelly, or I swear to God—”

  Lucas rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and counted to ten, like they’d taught him in that ridiculous emotion management class in Snake River. “Somebody better get me those keys or you’re all going to be replaced!” he hollered.

  He hadn’t even gotten another full ten count in before a greasy, sweaty Antonio slapped the keys into his waiting hand with a growl. Lucas watched, brows drawn together with concern, as he dropped down on the dolly and slid back beneath the undercarriage of the Saturn. He’d been working a lot of overtime lately — they all had — trying to get the garage up to snuff now that he’d taken over. It was making them all grumpy. Hiring another body would be helpful, but it was way down Lucas’s list of priorities. He needed to straighten out their finances before the garage went bankrupt.

  “Everything okay?” Elliot asked.

  “Fine.” Lucas slammed the keys onto the desk.

  “Sounds like your boss needs to hire more help.”

  “I am the boss,” he growled.

  Elliot’s eyes flared with surprise, and Lucas found his hands fisting on the desk. So Elliot was surprised he wasn’t just some blue collar schlub? He might not look like much, but he’d worked hard and saved enough capital to buy the business, and he was going to make it more successful than A.J. ever had.

  “Wow, that’s fantastic.” Elliot’s smile was strained. “Is A.J. a nickname?”

  “Sure,” Lucas said sarcastically. He held the keys out, and when Elliot reflexively opened his palm, he dropped them into it. He made certain their skin didn’t brush this time.

  “So, uh, where did you want to grab dinner?” Elliot asked hesitantly.

  Lucas felt a pang of guilt, but he solved it by avoiding looking at him. “Look, I was just kidding around with you. You heard how much work we’ve got around here. There’s no way I’m going to get away for dinner any time soon.”

  “I see.” Elliot’s face was pale. His mouth hardened into a thin, resolved line. He reached into his breast pocket. “Then I need to pay you for your services—”

  “No.” Lucas held up a hand. He didn’t want his money. He just wanted him gone. He was too much of a reminder of everything Lucas wanted but couldn’t have. “It’s on the house.”

  “I can’t—”

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” he interrupted. “Tracy can help you if you have anymore questions. Tracy! Desk!”

  He nearly ripped the door to the bay off its hinges. Tracy dodged him as he stormed past, and he heard him speaking to Elliot, but he didn’t catch what he said. It didn’t matter. He’d get rid of him, and then Lucas could go back to pretending there wasn’t an entire subset of the population who would always look at him as if he were a criminal.

  He kicked Antonio out from beneath the Saturn and sent him to lunch. There was some satisfaction in taking his place. Working with his hands had always cleared his head, and the scent of grease and the feel of cold metal in his hands soothed him.

  It reminded him of his father. He’d barely been old enough to tie his own shoes when his father had taught him how to change a tire. They had spent months out in the driveway together, taking apart junkers and studying the engines and electrical systems. Like Lucas himself, his father had never been book smart. But he’d done what he could to pass on his knowledge to his son, to make sure he had the skills to be self-sufficient when he became an adult. That was back when he’d still been strong, when he’d still believed he’d live to see his son become a man. Before the cancer had stolen first his health, and then his will to live.

  Lucas sent his guys home on time for once, but he worked well into the night. When his eyes grew blurry and his fingers became clumsy with fatigue, he knew he’d end up injuring himself if he continued, so he switched from working on the cars to cleaning up the garage. He changed drip pans, straightened inventory, he even grabbed the push broom and swept like A.J. had him doing back when he’d first wandered in, fresh out of prison and looking for work.

  It was dark and cold by the time he locked up for the night, but he wasn’t ready to go home. Not yet. Not with his mind in turmoil and his blood simmering in his veins. A hot stranger shouldn’t have gotten so deep under his skin. It was ridiculous, and he suspected it had little to do with the man himself. No, he blamed Arnold and all the bullshit he’d spouted the other day about finding someone to settle down with. It had gotten Lucas all stirred up, wanting things he wasn’t ready for, things he might never be ready for. Elliot had just happened to be there when those old desires got their teeth in him.

  The wind was sharp enough to cut right through his leather jacket, and his fingers were half numb in their gloves by the time he walked through the doors of the seedy downtown club he frequented when the need arose. The beer wasn’t much good, and the floors were so sticky that he couldn’t believe so many men were willing to drop to their knees in the back, but it was a great place for a quick, easy hookup.

  He hadn’t been at the bar for more than five minutes before a hand slid across his ass, and he was forced to check his immediate response to break the offending wrist. He’d had to start carrying his wallet and keys in his zipped jacket pocket, just so he could control the impulse to protect his property every time a stranger felt him up.

  A young, soft looking blond propped himself up on the bar beside Lucas, close enough that he could smell the overpowering sweetness of his cologne. A light dusting of purple glitter sparkled on his eyelids.

  “Hey, stranger.” The blond flashed a bright grin. “You thirsty?”

  Lucas glanced at the beer in his hand and cocked a brow. The blond laughed. “Not that kind of thirsty, love.”

  “Not as thirsty as you, I guess.” It was a simple thing to wrap his fingers around the delicate bones of the man’s wrist and pull him closer. The blond went willingly, molding his body to Lucas’s side.

  “You can help me with that,” the twink murmured seductively. He was already so pliant, possibly the result of alcohol, but his eyes were clear and Lucas smelled nothing more than the faintest trace of booze on his breath. It was more likely that he’d just trained himself to be a perfect subservient little twink.

  Lucas was willing to bet he had no gag reflex whatsoever, and that he’d fucking coo when Lucas shoved him up against the wall and tore open a condom. He was exactly what Lucas needed: quick, easy, and available. But his dick remained unmoved.

  There was no thrill in getting someone like
him to submit, and the thrill of the conquest was half the fun. That — and a hefty dose of internalized self-destructive tendencies — was the reason he enjoyed chasing men out of his league. Wealthy men, intelligent men, straight men, it didn’t matter. It was addicting, the satisfaction he got teaching a reluctant man how good it could feel to just let go and trust him, even if only for a few minutes.

  Elliot had been perfect. No man had caught his attention like that since… well, Lucas couldn’t remember when he’d ever been so intrigued by someone. Maybe not since he was a kid, getting crushes on anything with a dick. If only Elliot weren’t a fucking lawyer.

  Lucas gently released the twink and turned back to the counter. “Thanks, sweetheart. But you’re not my type.”

  “I could be.” He trailed his fingers teasingly over Lucas’s forearm, but stopped when Lucas frowned at him. “What are you looking for?”

  Unbidden, Arnold’s words came back to him: you’re making a place for yourself, a home. Except he wasn’t, not really. A home was full of people who cared about you, and as much as the guys at the garage liked him, he knew they’d get along without him just fine.

  He thought of Elliot’s sweet, hesitant smile and the regret and self-disgust nearly choked him.

  “Something I won’t find here,” he answered, knocking back the rest of his drink and fishing his keys from his pocket. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

  As he left the club, he cursed Arnold for making him think like this.

  But he cursed himself even more for caring in the first place.

  5

  Elliot

  Elliot cracked open a beer and eased himself down onto the back step. The concrete was ice cold and uncomfortably hard against his bony ass, but he needed the fresh air after an afternoon of recirculated toner and stale coffee fumes.

  It was too dark to see the changing autumn foliage, and clouds hid the stars, but he looked around his little yard with interest all the same.

  He didn’t come out here much. He kept meaning to fix it up, make it somewhere he could relax after a long day. When he’d first bought the house, he’d planned to add a cedar deck off the back slider. He knew some carpentry thanks to his father and older brother, and he’d planned to spend that entire first summer working on it in the evenings. He’d imagined hosting weekend barbeques for his new friends and colleagues.