“Yes.”
“HTML is the language used to build that basic foundation. It’s used to convey the content that will be available on the site. Let me show you.” I asked him to open the Notepad on his computer and flipped through his textbook until I found what I was looking for. “See this here”—I pointed at a diagram—“this is essentially what you’re going to type to get started.”
“I see that, but I don’t understand what it means. Why are there so many brackets?” he whined.
“Think of what you see as letters that form the alphabet. Letters on their own don’t mean anything, yet they form endless combinations of words, and once we have words, we have rules, or grammar, which we use to govern how we construct our language. The angle brackets”—I pointed to the greater and less than symbols—“are kind of like the rules. They enclose text and also dictate where it’s going to end up. We’re going to start by following the basic rules of the language.”
“Can you show me before I try it?”
“Of course.” I pulled my chair closer to his until our knees bumped. I typed up a very basic barebones file, explaining as I went, then again at the end to make sure he understood. “It’s all about simplicity,” I continued. “H1 is your first header. Subsequent ones will be numbered in sequence. Then below your first heading—”
“P. For paragraph?”
“Exactly. These can be numbered as well, though it isn’t necessary for what you’re doing. And these last two lines of text are to close out the work we’re doing, just like we did with the heading and paragraph. The forward slash signals the end of whatever segment you’re working on.”
“I see. How do you make it look like a real website? It’s merely black and white right now.”
“Slow your roll. Once you’re comfortable with the basics—which we haven’t finished yet—we can move on to the next step. You need to learn how to build the house before you start painting the walls and decorating, if you know what I’m saying.” I winked at him and finished my beer. “We can cover more tomorrow. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
Dubhlainn rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “This is what you’re doing on your computer all the time?”
“More or less. Okay, no, more. Always more. This is the basis of some of what I do.”
“So, you just have all of it memorized? You type so fast when you’re working.”
“Mm-hmm. I’ve been doing this for nine years, outside of the four it took for my degree. I have a shit-ton of data in my head. It comes with time and repetition. I’ll get you to where you need to be for this assignment—try to relax.”
I went to stand, stopping when Dubhlainn grabbed my forearm. “Can you please show me more? I’m following along just fine.”
Well, I couldn’t really say no to that.
I spent my evenings over the rest of the week teaching Dubhlainn the workings of HTML and CSS—what he’d need to make it pretty. He had a fully functioning site made up when he left for class on Friday morning, and an understanding of how to replicate it if his professor asked him to prove his work.
Working with the kid was mildly exhausting at times, but he was eager to learn and didn’t give me sass. He was even kind of sweet when he wasn’t being obstinate and defensive. Despite having seen him every night of the week, I was kind of looking forward to taking it easy and just hanging out on Friday night. On his way out the door—with a fuller bag than usual—he said he’d be back late.
So, there I was: sitting on the couch upside down, bored out of my fucking mind at quarter to nine on a Friday night. I was too lazy to drive out to my parents’ place, and it was too late to visit Grams—though I felt insanely guilty about missing my Sunday visit with her. I tried to go every Sunday for a couple of hours, but I got caught up helping the kid this week.
I scrolled through my phone in hopes of finding something that caught my interest. Bryan and Eli were having a date night, and I wasn’t in the mood for anyone else’s moodiness or shenanigans. I was about to toss my phone aside and go play Call of Duty when I got a call from someone named Amanda. Curious, I answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mac-Daddy.” Her voice was inviting and sultry, instantly triggering my memory of who she was.
“Amanda,” I said, recalling how her auburn hair looked spilling over her back while she rode my cock a couple of weeks ago. “How are you tonight?”
“Lonely.”
I shifted the phone to my other ear and grinned. “Oh, yeah? Anything I can do to help with that?”
“I can think of a thing or two.”
After three rounds with Amanda, I made up an excuse about an early family obligation and left her place in Logan Square. I avoided driving in the city whenever possible and took an Uber home, just as I had to get to her place. Feeling sated and suddenly exhausted, I dozed off in the back of the car.
What could have easily turned into a scene from The Bone Collector ended up being a normal ride home. I tipped my driver and hauled my ass inside my building and into the elevator. It was just before three in the morning when I got my door unlocked and stepped into the dark entryway. I closed and locked the door behind me then flicked on a light. Dubhlainn’s shoes were nowhere in sight, though he sometimes kept them in his room.
As much as I wanted a shower, I was too damn tired to stand up for any longer than absolutely necessary. I kicked off my shoes and headed down the hall. When I got to my door I kept going, quietly creeping toward Dubhlainn’s door. The light from the plug-in light in the middle of the hall cast my shadow against the door and wall. If he was home and awake, he’d be able to see my shadow under the door. I angled my ear toward he door but didn’t hear anything.
I jerked my head back when I realized what I was doing and made my way to my room. I left the door ajar and stripped out of my clothes before climbing in bed. It didn’t matter whether he was home or not, especially not at 3 a.m. I knew that to be true, yet I found myself staring at the lights from the city on my ceiling, disappointed that he wasn’t.
The sound of the front door closing woke me up sometime later. I sat up in bed and listened—for what, I didn’t know. What I didn’t expect to hear was the clicking of stilettos against the hardwood flooring. My curiosity got the best of me and I carefully got out of bed and crept over to my open door. I waited with my back against the wall until the footsteps passed by my door, then I poked my head out into the hall. A tall, platinum-blonde with a cute ass and some wild pants walked right into Dubhlainn’s room—like she’d been here before. I didn’t hear a second set of footsteps, but I could have missed them while I was asleep. That sly dog. I thought he was gay.
I closed my door and got back in bed. No sounds came from Dubhlainn’s room—other than the obvious thuds of those shoes coming off—which I found strange. I was also creeped out by my actions; our rooms shared a wall, but that didn’t mean I needed to try to listen to my roommate score. I turned my back away from the shared wall and willed myself to go back to sleep.
I’d have my fun with Dubhlainn in the morning.
Four
Dubhlainn
I woke with a brutal pounding in my head that had nothing to do with the music I heard and the smell of bacon filling my nose. Last night got a bit too wild, and I was sure I’d be paying for it for the entirety of the day. The shite-taste in my mouth was what ultimately got me out of bed and inside my en-suite bathroom. I brushed my teeth twice before I was rid of the awful taste only whiskey could leave behind.
I didn’t need the mirror to tell me I looked like hammered shite, but there it was to remind me regardless. My hair was tangled and in need of a good wash and my skin was paler than usual. I wasn’t trying to win any fuckin’ pageants, so I grabbed a shirt off the floor and headed out to the kitchen for some breakfast.
I saw Mac at the table as soon as I left my room. He was nibbling on a piece of bacon, reading a book, and tapping his foot along to the bass. I hardly ev
en noticed that he wasn’t wearing decent clothing until he shifted on the chair toward me and widened his stance. I was then privy to an eyeful of the bulge in his boxers. I coughed to keep from making any embarrassing noises then nodded at him on my way past the table and into the kitchen.
There was a plate with bacon and eggs sitting on the counter and an empty one next to it. I turned back toward Mac and pointed at the full plate. “Is this for me?”
He took a bite of toast and set his book down, splayed out on the table. “Sure is. I can’t cook much, but bacon and eggs are my specialty. The bread is in the fridge if you want toast.”
“This is great, thanks.” I picked up the still warm plate and brought it over to the table to sit adjacent to Mac—where I’d sat throughout the week when he was teaching me. After stabbing my fork through some delightfully fluffy-looking scrambled eggs and popping them in my mouth, I noticed some red and purple marks on Mac’s collarbone. I swallowed down the eggs and flashed a half smile at Mac. “It looks like you had a good night,” I said, motioning to my neck.
Mac tried to look down, though I doubt he could see the marks. He gave up then tore off another piece of bacon. “Yeah, it was a fun time. You had some fun last night too.”
“Not quite the same as yours.”
He shrugged and grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I saw your company last night. Gotta say, I was surprised.”
I furrowed my brows, not quite sure what he was talking about. “I can assure you that I didn’t have any company last night. I wasn’t even around until well after three.”
He picked up his mug of coffee and hummed while he took a sip. “That’s when I saw. Tall blonde, cute ass.”
Oh, no. He couldn’t have seen me last night, though there he was, clearly telling me he did. I pushed my plate away from me, no longer hungry. I figured Mac didn’t have a problem with homosexuality considering who his last flatmate was. I hadn’t told him I’m gay, but it hadn’t exactly come up in conversation. I had to wonder if he’d take my explanation for last night as well as I hoped he would.
The smug look on his face clearly told me he wasn’t going to let this go until I confessed. I licked my lips and pushed my hair back, out of my face, then looked him in the eye with my head held high. “I’m gay.”
Mac blinked a couple of times then scrunched his eyebrows. “Um, yeah, I know. Why do you think I was so shocked to see you bringing a girl home?”
I shook my head and swallowed hard. “There was no girl. You saw me coming back from a show.”
“In a wig and stilettoes?” he asked skeptically.
“It was a drag show. I do drag performances sometimes.” I held my breath, waiting for the laughter to start, but it never came. Mac eyed me with a curious expression that almost felt predatory. His reaction confused me, though it was preferable to how I expected things to go.
He licked his lips and wiped his hands on a paper towel before balling it up and tossing it on the table. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Proof—the wig and the shoes.”
“Why would I lie about doing drag?” I didn’t understand why he was acting off. He wasn’t disgusted or angry—just off. It was unsettling.
“I’m not accusing you of lying, Dove. I just need to see.”
Dove. I blinked at him, at a complete loss for words. Whatever his motivations were, he looked sincere, so I nodded and stood up. He followed me to my room and I felt my cheeks heat. What we were doing was entirely innocent, yet I couldn’t bury the thought of what it would be like to lead him down this hallway under different circumstances.
I opened my door and walked in first, standing off to the side to allow Mac entry. He stepped inside, looked around before settling his gaze on me. People often said blue eyes could penetrate to your soul, but Mac’s brown eyes were doing a fine job of it. He stood with his hip cocked and a hand placed upon it. I had to look away before I made a holy show of myself and got hard or said something I wouldn’t be able to take back.
“Um, my show clothes are in the closet.” I walked over to the open closet door and pulled out a dark-green duffel bag. I unzipped it and pulled out the red and white four-inch heels I wore the night before. I set them aside on the floor then retrieved the black silk bag I kept my wig in. The patent leather shoes shone bright in the overhead light. I was too distracted and nervous to notice that Mac had moved in closer and was now standing directly in front of me.
I looked up and bit my lip. His cock was inches from my face and the scent of sweat and sex was strong on him. All I wanted to do was lean forward and rub my face across the front of his boxers until he begged and pleaded for more.
“Can I see one of the shoes?”
His voice made me jump. Jaysus—I needed to get myself under control. I handed him one of the shoes and unzipped the wig bag, revealing the gorgeous, long, platinum-blonde lace-front wig I’d paid a small fortune for. He studied the shoe, turning it about in his hands, silently running his thumbs across the smooth, cool leather.
I held up the wig with a sigh and he stroked it, running his hand through it and letting the tendrils of hair sift through his fingers. His eyes flicked from the wig to me, but he didn’t make eye contact. Following the path I thought his eyes were on, I thought he might be staring at my hair. I had it draped over my right shoulder to get it out of the way. To test my theory, I set the wig down and tossed my hair over my other shoulder. Mac’s eyes momentarily widened and followed the movement, confirming my suspicion. I still don’t know why he’s acting so weird, though.
He made a sound in the back of his throat that almost sounded like a moan and handed the shoe back to me. I dropped it on the floor next to the other one then flicked my eyes back up at him. “Is there anything else you wanted to see?” It was a loaded question if ever I’d asked one.
Mac’s Adam’s apple bobbed—something else I wanted to trace with my tongue—and he shook his head. “No. I think I’ve seen enough. I, ah… I have to go out today.” He abruptly turned and darted toward the open door.
Shite. I shouldn’t have pushed. “Where are you going?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
“To see my grams,” he shouted back before I heard his bedroom door slam closed.
His grams—as in his granny? Did I really just shock him into making that awful lie on the spot? My shoulders slumped as I let out a deep sigh.
Well. I made a complete fuckin’ haymes of that.
Work was every bit as uneventful as it normally was. Stocking shelves and working the register at a Jewel supermarket wasn’t my idea of glamor work, but I had bills to pay and it was easy enough. I had a full, eight-hour shift that day and shouldn’t have stayed out so late, though I didn’t always make the smartest decisions. My actions with Mac a few hours ago were proof of that.
With hours of monotonous work ahead of me, I had ample time to stew in my thoughts and pick apart every little thing I should have done differently. Changing at the fuckin’ club would have been a great start. I was so knackered last night and had just wanted to get home. It was late and I assumed Mac would be asleep as he had been those other nights I’d come back late. I hadn’t even considered he’d go out, and I really hadn’t expected him to hook up. Why wouldn’t he? Mac was hot and—even though I took the piss out of him—charismatic.
He was also straight from what I gathered. Flirting with straight guys had its appeal, though flirting with my straight flatmate? I’d have to be thick as a plank. And since that was exactly what I’d done… I sighed and cut open a pallet of breakfast cereals. Then I sighed as I stared down at a dozen boxes of Froot Loops.
Mac was still out by the time I got back close to 7 p.m. Being in the flat alone felt strange—it was way too quiet without Mac’s awful music blaring. Even if he had gone to visit his granny, I couldn’t help but assume he wouldn’t spend the entire day visiting. He was avoiding me. I went to my room and turned the water on to heat up
. I hadn’t had the time to wash my hair proper before work and couldn’t stand another night of it in the current state it was in.
Mac made himself scarce during the week when I was home. He spent more time working in his room and was less engaged when we did find ourselves in the same room. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, and he wouldn’t sit on the couch with me, opting instead for the kitchen table or the loveseat. I tried not to take it personally and let it get me down, but it was hard.
The following Friday I got my grade back on my assignment and wanted to share the good news with Mac, only to find that he wasn’t home. I changed into sweats and a tee, tied my hair back, and set up residence on the couch with a bottle of Jameson. I skipped using a glass since there was no one around to gawk.
After two episodes and a quarter of the whiskey, I heard keys rattle against the front door. I forced myself not to turn around when Mac walked in. Friends no longer held my attention, but I kept my eyes fixed on the TV and listened to every move he made.
Mac’s breathing was harsh—like he’d just been running or something. His keys crashed into the dish he kept by the front door then his footsteps grew louder as he approached the living room. I could see him standing there with one hand on his hip and the other tugging at his wild hair. He was in a white T-shirt, black basketball shorts, and Nikes—chances are my initial assumption about what he’d been doing was correct.
When it was clear that he wasn’t going to take off to his room, I cocked my head in his direction and took in his heaving chest under his sweat-soaked shirt. I leaned and picked up the whiskey bottle from the table, then took a generous gulp.
Killer Queen Page 3
