by Land, Alexa
“No, and that’s pretty disturbing. I mean, I got propositioned all the time working there, and sometimes men offered to pay me for sex, but I always turned them down. Prostitution wasn’t actually in my job description.” He fell silent after that, resting his head on my shoulder for the remainder of the drive.
Soon we pulled into a gated parking area beneath an upscale condo complex. It was close to the bay, and just a few blocks from the baseball stadium. Skye was still a little unsteady on his feet, so I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him to the elevator, which Vincent accessed with a key card.
Once we got to the spacious top floor apartment, I sat on the couch with my friend while Vincent brought him some ibuprofen and a glass of water. Skye slipped off his shoes, then curled up with his arms around me as I held him securely. “I guess I’m too trusting,” he murmured after a while. “River always said it would get me into trouble. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come along tonight, Trevor.”
He dozed off after a while and I settled him onto the sofa. I planned to let him sleep it off for a bit, then bring him to my apartment when he seemed steady enough to climb all those stairs. I texted River so he wouldn’t worry when Skye didn’t come home, saying only that his brother was going to spend the night with me. It really wasn’t my place to spill Skye’s secrets.
I returned my phone to my pocket and took a look at my surroundings. Vincent’s home was sleek, modern, and absolutely pristine, a study in white and shades of grey. It was the kind of place where you’d never put your shoes on the furniture or set a drink down for fear of ruining something expensive. It didn’t seem like anyone could be comfortable living here.
I went to look for our host, and found him on a little balcony with a Kindle Fire, the screen reflected in his glasses. He set it aside when he saw me and asked, “How’s your friend?”
“Okay, I guess. He’s napping now.” I fidgeted a bit, scratching my palm, and said, “Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re welcome. Sit down if you’d like.”
I perched on the chair beside Vincent and looked out over the bay. This wasn’t the postcard view the tourists saw, but it was interesting. A huge cargo ship moved slowly in the distance, and the Bay Bridge off to my left loomed solid and imposing. I tilted my face into the gentle breeze and let myself relax a bit.
“Are you okay?” he asked, gesturing toward my hands. I was still scratching.
“Yeah. I just picked up a few splinters when I went for that makeshift weapon in the alley.”
He grinned a little. “That was impressive.”
I smiled too. “You know, for a minute there, I thought I was pretty awesome. Until I realized you’d chased those scumbags off, not me.”
“You’re a lot tougher than I’d have guessed. You didn’t need my help.”
“I’m not really. I just try my best to protect the people I care about.”
Vincent picked up my injured hand, turning it over in his. “These splinters look pretty bad. Come on, I’ll help you remove them before they get infected.”
We got up and I followed him to a half-bath off the kitchen, where he located a first aid kit. “Sit up here and turn toward the light,” he told me, indicating the marble vanity. I did as he said. He found some tweezers, then tilted my palm up and looked closely at the little wood shards, knitting his brows.
He was so close to me that I could feel the warmth of his body and breathe in his scent. Vincent always smelled faintly of cologne, but right underneath that was his own natural scent, clean and masculine and heady. I really didn’t know why he bothered with fragrance when he already smelled absolutely tantalizing.
“What are you doing?”
I opened my eyes and blinked at him, a blush rushing to my cheeks as I stammered, “Nothing. Why? What did it look like I was doing?”
“Sniffing me.” A little smile curled the corner of his mouth.
“Oh. Well, yeah, I was doing that. You just...you smell good.” Gah! Awkward.
“The cologne’s by Tom Ford. I forget the name.”
“Not the cologne. Which is great, don’t get me wrong.”
He was still grinning ever-so-slightly as he turned his attention back to my palm. “This might hurt a little. I apologize in advance.”
And then he struck like a cobra, jabbing the fleshy part of my palm with the pointy little tweezers and yanking out a big splinter. I yelped in surprise, then exclaimed, “Holy crap! What was that, attack ninja splinter removal? Go easier next time!”
“I had a theory that faster was better. Obviously I was mistaken.”
He shook the splinter into the garbage, then came back for more. This time he worked very slowly, dragging another big shard out a tiny bit at a time. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I said, “Oh man, that’s way worse. Go back to the attack ninja thing.”
“Okay.” He plucked the splinter out quickly, and I winced. “Hate to tell you, but those were the easy ones,” he said. “The smaller ones are going to be harder to dig out.”
“Do what you have to do.”
As he concentrated on the task at hand (ha!) I tried not to stare at him and totally failed. A lock of his thick, jet-black hair had fallen forward, hanging across his eyebrow and the rim of his glasses. I quickly jammed my free hand underneath me, because that was the only way I could stop myself from reaching up and brushing it back.
“Do I want to know why you’re sitting on your hand?” he asked, still focused on my palm.
“I’m trying to keep myself from touching you,” I admitted.
His dark eyes flickered up to meet my gaze. He’d been leaning forward, my right hand cupped in his left, his face just inches from mine. My heart raced as he watched me for a long moment. Finally he said, “Ah,” and returned his attention to the splinters.
When my hand was clear, he stepped back and said, “I’d suggest flushing that with warm water, followed by peroxide.” He set the tweezers aside, pulled a brown bottle out of the first aid kit and put it beside the sink. “I’m going to bed. You and your friend are welcome to spend the night, the guest room is at the end of the hallway. Or if you change your mind about me and would like to join me, my bedroom door will be unlocked.” Embarrassingly, my cock stirred at that suggestion and I tried to cover it by shifting positions. If he noticed what I was doing, he didn’t react.
Vincent left the bathroom and I sat there for a while, almost shaking with the effort of stopping myself from running after him. Don’t do it, the rational part of my brain warned, even as the rest of me was screaming, Go! Go! Go! Finally I sighed, slid off the counter and held my hand under running water for several seconds. I dried it carefully, then drizzled some peroxide over the little divots on my palm. It stung, but I was too distracted by thoughts of Vincent to care.
I made myself go to the guest room, where I stripped off everything but my white t-shirt and boxers and climbed between the cool, steel grey sheets. I’d been staring at the ceiling in the semi-darkness for several minutes when a sound in the hallway caught my attention. My heart started pounding as I sat up in bed, thinking Vincent had decided to pay me a visit. But then Skye slipped through the ajar bedroom door and crossed the room quickly, climbing in bed beside me.
“Can I sleep here?” he asked as he pulled the covers up over himself. “I woke up and got a little scared,” he admitted. “I’m weird about sleeping alone in unfamiliar places.” When I laid down beside him, he draped an arm over my chest and snuggled against me. Once he was settled in, he said, “I’m surprised you’re not with Vincent.”
“Why would I be? It’s not like anything’s going on between us.”
“Yeah, right,” Skye said, putting his head on my shoulder. “Being around you two is like watching a Van de Graaff generator.”
“A what, exactly?”
“It’s a device that creates a visible spark as it transfers energy between two objects.” I raised an eyebrow and looked
at him, and Skye added, “I really loved the hands-on science museum when I was a kid. But that’s not the point. I was just trying to say there’s so much attraction between you and Vincent that I can practically see the electricity crackling between you. Don’t bother denying it.”
“I’m not denying it. I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my life. But being with him isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“He’s mixed up in some dangerous stuff. I don’t know what exactly, but he admitted he’s a criminal. And last night, he came to pick me up after work and we actually got in a high speed car chase. I mean, I’d known him a day, and there we were, re-enacting a scene from the Bourne Identity! We ended up breaking into a school and hiding out in a storage closet.”
Skye sat up and stared at me with wide eyes. “Oh my God, that’s freaking awesome!”
“What are you, nuts? I’d have to be crazy to get involved with him.”
“Then why did you go out with him again tonight?”
“I didn’t. He found out I was going to the club where you worked and followed me to make sure I was okay.”
Skye raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Wow, what an ogre. No wonder you’re trying to stay away from him. I mean, a man that would look out for you and try to keep you safe, yikes!”
“Did you not hear the part about the car chase?”
“Was he the one doing the chasing, or the one being chased?”
“Being chased.”
“So, I’m guessing he had no idea that was going to happen, right? That it was your basic wrong place, wrong time kind of situation?”
“But he’s a criminal.”
“Well, geez, who isn’t? I break into places to steal scrap metal. And my best friend Christian is a graffiti artist, he’s chased by the police at least twice a week.”
“But Vincent carries a gun, not a can of spray paint.”
“Okay. So maybe he needs you to set him on the straight and narrow,” Skye said.
“You’re actually advocating that I get involved with a felon.”
Skye reclined beside me, propping his head up with his hand. “I’m not saying it isn’t risky. But aren’t the best things in life always a bit of a risk?”
“Maybe. But they don’t usually include high speed car chases.”
“That sounds so damn fun.” He flashed a bright smile at me as I rolled my eyes. Then he added, “I mean, it’s your call of course. You have to go with what your gut tells you, not your weird new blue-haired friend, even if he is usually right about everything.”
“It’s telling me getting mixed up with Vincent is a mistake.”
“Is your gut telling you that, or your overthinking brain?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I can’t do it.”
“But you said you don’t even know what he’s involved in, so maybe it’s not even that bad.”
“I’m guessing he’s not just selling counterfeit Girl Scout cookies,” I said, “given the fact that thugs are trying to chase him down.”
“So, be his salvation, Trevor.”
“I have no idea how to do that.”
“Isn’t it worth figuring out? I mean if it was me, I’d give my left nut to be with a man that gorgeous and sexy. Of course, then my hottie wouldn’t want me, what with only having one nut and all.” Skye grinned at me as he put his head on the pillow again.
“It just isn’t the smart thing to do,” I said.
“Do you always do the smart thing?”
“I try to.”
“Doesn’t it get boring?”
“Stop being the devil’s advocate, Skye, or I’m booting you back to the couch.”
“Okay, okay.” He draped his arm across me again and snuggled close. I wasn’t used to that much physical contact, especially from someone I barely knew, but it was actually kind of nice. I rested my hand on his arm and relaxed, letting my eyes slide shut.
“Thanks for helping me tonight, Trevor,” Skye said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you really think someone drugged me?” he whispered, fear and uncertainty in his voice.
“I don’t know.”
He thought about it for a while. Then Skye burrowed close as he could get, head on my chest again. I wrapped my arms around him and held him securely. After a while, he fell asleep and I just continued to stare at the ceiling, my thoughts completely focused on the bedroom down the hall.
Chapter Six
Skye took off first thing in the morning, saying he had to finish a project at school. Soon after that, Vincent gave me a ride to his grandmother’s house, since Nana was expecting me and he was going there anyway. He was polite but quiet on the drive across town. Now that I’d shot him down he’d closed himself off from me, reverting back to the stoic version of himself that I’d first seen at the party. It was kind of depressing.
Once we reached Nana’s big, beautiful Victorian and entered the elegant foyer, he told me how to find the kitchen, then jogged up a winding staircase. I watched him go. Then I sighed and headed in the direction he’d indicated.
The kitchen was total pandemonium. About ten people were bustling around, everyone talking at once. What looked like a little studio audience had been set up off to the side, a couple rows of chairs holding half a dozen tiny Nana clones with white hair and giant handbags, all of them chattering excitedly. Industrial-looking lights and a television camera were pointed at the big kitchen island. It was so bright that it made me wish I was wearing sunglasses. I ducked into a corner and tried to make sense of it all.
River appeared beside me, his brows knit. “Hi Trevor. Are you sleepin’ with my kid brother?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because you spent last night together, even though you just met. I wondered if y’all got some crazy-ass notion to deflower each other or something.”
“You mean Skye’s a virgin too?”
“Yup, and I’m glad to hear ya didn’t spend last night goin’ for the two-for-one devirginization special.”
I grinned at him. “That’s not a word. And he was right, by the way, you are overprotective. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’m glad he has someone looking out for him.”
River smiled at me and said, “Hell, I don’t know what I was worried about. You’re both so inexperienced that y’all probably couldn’t even figure out what to stick where. Be like a squirrel tryin’ to hump a pinecone.”
I laughed at that. “Thanks, that’s really flattering.”
“Just saying.”
“So now that you know I wasn’t corrupting your brother last night, are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”
“Oh jeez, talk about an idea that snowballed. Nana decided that she’d be doing the world a service by becoming a TV cooking instructor. I guess she figured, as long as she was teaching you and me some recipes, she might as well teach others, too.”
“And she actually got a TV station to agree to that?”
“Well, yes and no,” River said. “She found out how to get a show on our local public access station, then went out and rented herself some equipment. But she didn’t stop there. She also hired a director, cameraman, sound technician, lighting expert, makeup artist, hairdresser, and a personal assistant. You need to mentally prepare yourself for that last one, he’s a piece of work.”
“Wow. She really doesn’t do anything halfway, does she?”
“Apparently not.”
“And what are we supposed to be doing while she’s becoming the next Julia Child?” I asked.
“Watching and learning, I guess. Oh, and avoiding the wrath of Sven.”
“Who’s Sven?”
“The aforementioned piece-of-work personal assistant.”
Just then, an extremely tall man across the room called out, “I need everyone in their places, we’re going live in eight minutes. Hurry up, people!” He was dressed in head-to-toe black, including a ber
et, which he’d cocked so far to the right that it was barely clinging to the side of his head.
“The director, I assume,” I said to River.
“Roger that. Also, his name is Roger, so that’s funny,” my companion told me with a grin.
“He’s not serious about going live, is he?”
“Actually yeah, he is. Nana somehow wrangled a Monday morning time slot on the local station, I guess she has some sort of connection over there. So this is being uploaded directly for broadcast.”
“Holy crap.”
“Eh, it’ll be fine. It’s local TV on a Monday morning. There’s gonna be like six people watching. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Just then, a man of about thirty-five with bleached blond hair styled in an elaborate pompadour marched over to us. “Did you not hear the director?” he snapped. “We’re going live, people. What are you doing over here? You need to get ready!” He was probably the most flamboyant gay guy I’d ever seen. He was dressed in a screamingly loud floral shirt with a yellow ascot and bright green skinny jeans, along with lemon yellow topsiders. I again wished I had a pair of sunglasses.
“Sven, Trevor. Trevor, Sven.”
“No time for formalities,” Sven snapped. “You two need to get changed, pronto!”
“Get changed into what?” my friend asked.
Sven stared at River and spoke slowly, over-enunciating like he was talking to a not-terribly-bright child. “Your on-air wardrobe. We’re going to start filming in about six minutes.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” River demanded. He was dressed in an oversized surfer’s t-shirt that said Bodie’s Board Wax: Helps Your Stick Slide along with his usual long swim trunks and beat-up Birkenstocks.
At the same time, I exclaimed, “What do you mean by on-air?”
“Christ almighty, you two are worse that my wife Helen. She always needs way too much of an explanation for everything.”
“We didn’t bring a change of clothes, Sven. This is what we’re wearing,” River informed him.
