Warders, Volume One

by Mary Calmes

  He took a quick breath. “I’m not a rent boy, if that’s what you’re thinking. I work at Epic Create and Copy down off Powell.”

  “I know where that is, we do some of our flyers and stuff there.”

  “Oh yeah?” His eyes glinted in the low light. “I don’t remember ever seeing you come in. I would’ve totally remembered.”

  “Totally,” Rene repeated, waggling his eyebrows at me.

  “What do you do there?” I asked, ignoring both his compliment and my annoying friend.

  “Assistant manager, I work second shift, sometimes graveyard.”

  Rene turned and looked at me.

  “What?”

  “At least this one’s not a stripper,” he said sarcastically.

  “That guy didn’t strip at my club,” I said, defending myself.

  “You have a strip club?” Dylan asked, way too interested in that bit of trivia.

  “Not that you can go in,” I assured him. “You’re too young.”

  “I’m nineteen,” he claimed.

  “Which is way too young to be at a strip club,” I said, sighing. Why couldn’t he be older? Tougher? Or at least sober? “You know there are laws about serving alcohol to minors, right?”

  “But I could just come to see you,” Dylan said excitedly. “Right?”

  “Wrong.” I shook my head. “If you’re not a dancer, then what’re you doing in that outfit?”

  “You think I look like a dancer?” He belched.

  “Charming,” Rene groaned.

  I smiled, I couldn’t help it. “What’s with the costume?”

  Big smile. “I have a second job from now ’til”—he hiccupped—“January at that Christmas boutique in Union Square. I’m an angel.”

  “No,” Rene teased him, “really?”

  “It’s seasonal,” he told my friend seriously, nodding.

  He really was the cutest thing.

  “I wish I was a stripper, how cool would that be?”

  He was much too adorable to be stripping; no one should see him take his clothes off who wasn’t planning on keeping him.

  “Can I come home with you?” he asked, leering at me, his laughter bubbling up out of him like champagne.

  “No,” I said, even though I had the urge to grab him tight and hold him… just crush him up against me; I wanted to feel his skin next to mine. “What’re you doing in here?”

  “Oh, see, I was at a bar with some friends, and these guys came over and asked if I wanted to hit a club with them and then meet back up later with everyone else,” he explained, taking hold of the hem of my sweater. “And so I said sure but I didn’t know they thought they could… whatever.”

  I nodded, moving back so my sweater pulled free of his hands. “Well, listen, we’re on our way out, so why don’t you come with us to make sure you don’t get in any more trouble tonight.”

  “Okay.” He smiled up at me, stepping in close, arms wrapping around my waist.

  “Oh for crissakes,” Rene groaned.

  “Hey!”

  I looked up, and the guys that had left earlier were back. I shoved Dylan behind me and waited.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, man, but––”

  Rene stepped in close to me. “Back up, man, we don’t want any trouble.”

  And even though they were both bigger and younger than Rene and me, they backed off fast. I knew that had my friend been there alone, it was doubtful they would have left. He had a nice face and kind gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. He was the guy that stopped for people stranded on the freeway in the rain—he wasn’t scaring anyone. It was me. I scared them. I made them uneasy, caused them to fear for their continued safety. I was intimidating just standing still and I knew it. Even if I wasn’t holding my spatha, the sword that gladiators used to use in the coliseum, I was still spooky. I was the guy you crossed the street to avoid having to walk by.

  “Cocktease,” one of the men called over to Dylan.

  “Get out,” Rene ordered them, and they moved a little faster.

  “Big scary Rene Favreau,” I teased him, and he smiled wide, his hand on my back.

  “Let’s go eat,” he said, looking at Dylan. “You got friends you can call after?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, c’mon, we’re not leaving you here.”

  Dylan looked back and forth between Rene and me. “Are you guys––”

  “What?”

  “Together?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “Now, c’mon.”

  Dylan nodded, but turned to look at me, checking to see what I was doing, whether I was coming or not, to see which way I was walking.

  “Go, already.”

  The way I was being looked at, what the hell was that about?

  It was fun to watch the rest of Rene’s friends when he and I joined them with Dylan. His pal Sean could not take his eyes off him, offering to go get him some ice for his lip. Dylan eased closer to me, and when I looked down at him, he smiled.

  “What?”

  “Will you buy me a drink?”

  I gave him a look. “Sure. Whaddya want? Milk?”

  He scowled up at me. “Hah, funny. I’m twenty-four, ya know.”

  “Really.” I nodded because that was interesting. He had aged five years from the bathroom to the floor.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  “That’s funny, because you already told me you were nineteen in the bathroom.”

  “I did?”

  I nodded.

  “Shit.”

  I smiled down at him. An angel swearing was funny. “How’d you even get in here?”

  After a minute of staring at me, he answered. “The doorman knows me, we make their drink menus and coupons and stuff.”

  “I see. So he let you in here even though you’re underage?”

  “I’m barely underage. I’ll be twenty-one in two years.”

  I grinned lazily. “Do you even know what you’re saying at this point?”

  He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Who cares, I’m legal to do what’s important.”

  “Vote?”

  “No, fuck.”

  “Oh,” I said, chuckling. “That is important.”

  He grinned wide. “It is right this second.”

  “Stop flirting; it ain’t gonna work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just––kill your motor.”

  “C’mon, let’s have a drink together. I have a really good fake ID.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m gonna buy you some food instead.”

  “And take me home after?” he asked suggestively, his eyes all over me.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you’re too young for me,” I explained.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “That’s it?”

  I chuckled.

  “Mal,” Rene said, his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll meet you at Dad’s Diner on Folsom. Whoever gets there first gets the table.”

  “Yep.”

  “Hey, Malic, can I ride with you and Dylan?” Sean asked me.

  “Sure,” I agreed, what the hell.

  So I had an angel and a guy that wanted to get into the angel’s very tight leather pants hanging out with me. On the street I realized that Dylan was freezing. I immediately traded him his wings for my heavy leather jacket, and he wrapped himself up.

  “Thanks, Malic,” he said, smiling at me.

  I took them to my silver Mercedes, and once Dylan was belted in the front and Sean in back, I pulled away from the curb. As I drove the streets of San Francisco I listened to them talk, Sean telling Dylan all about his job as an associate at a law firm. He was trying to impress the younger man; I knew the hard sell when I heard it.

  “Malic, what do you do?” Dylan asked, and I could feel his eyes on me.

  “I own a strip club, I already told you that,” I reminded him.
“Now tell me where you live.”

  “What kind?”

  “What kind of what?”

  “What kind of strip club?”

  “The kind women strip at.”

  “Only women?”

  “Yes, only women.”

  “Oh.”

  “I repeat… where do you live?”

  “Why?”

  “Just in case your friends don’t show up and I might need to take you home.”

  “Malic, why don’t I just come home with you instead?”

  “You can come home with me,” Sean volunteered with a leer.

  Dylan’s hand went to my thigh. “I wanna go home with Malic.”

  “Why?” Sean asked with a chuckle, patting my shoulder. “No offense, buddy, but I’m way cuter than you.”

  And he was. Cute was not a word that described me. I got “scary” a lot, and “cold” and “intimidating” and “mean.” I heard “mean” the most.

  “Don’t you think I’m cute, Dylan?” Sean asked.

  He didn’t answer, which caused me to turn from the road so I could see him. Big, dark, liquid-brown eyes absorbed my face.

  “I’m not looking for cute,” Dylan said to Sean while he stared me right in the eye. “I’m looking for a man.”

  I just smiled as I turned the corner.

  The restaurant was small and cozy, and I went first into the booth with Dylan in the middle between Sean and me. Rene was minutes behind me, taking a seat across from me. He had just started asking me what I was going to have when I realized that the angel was trying to wedge himself onto my lap.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I wanna be on the other side of you,” he said, rubbing his cheek against my bicep, leaning into me.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I do.”

  I looked over him and realized that Sean was much too close, and neither of his hands was on the table. Since I didn’t want my angel to be molested—it would annoy me—I agreed. I shifted back and he went over my legs, ass sliding over my crotch provocatively as he wriggled against me and dropped down on my left side. Wedged between the wall and me, he was in heaven.

  “Stop,” I chuckled, as his hand slid over my thigh.

  I felt him shiver against me.

  “What’re you gonna eat?”

  He focused on his menu even as he pressed himself into my side from shoulder to hip.

  After the late-night, early-morning snack, Sean had to go with Rene after we ate; there was no more stalling. They had a BDSM club to hit. Dylan was all hot to go, he wanted me to tie him up, but I assured him that he was going home because he was, for the hundredth time, too young. So I was alone as I walked him toward his apartment. It turned out that all Dylan’s friends were out partying, and he didn’t feel like meeting up with them after all. As I escorted him home, strolling through his neighborhood, I couldn’t stop smiling. Hard to remember the last time I was in Haight-Ashbury.

  “Why’re you smiling?” he asked me.

  “I just remember coming here when I first moved to the city. I feel so old right now.”

  “You’re only thirty.”

  “Yeah, but compared to you, that’s ancient.”

  He pointed and we went down an alley, around the back of a building, upstairs, and inside. It was like a maze, and inside it was no better.

  He lived with three other guys in an apartment no bigger than five-hundred square feet. One of the rooms had a bunk bed in it, and the other had a futon against one wall and a mattress and box spring on the other. The kitchen had a stove with one burner and no oven. The microwave oven sat on top of the refrigerator.

  “Seriously, why are you smiling?” he asked, turning to face me.

  “I just remember living like this. My first roommate and me, I think our place was smaller. Our apartment was in the Tenderloin, and the refrigerator was outside on the fire escape and we opened it through the window.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, small,” I said with a smile, passing him the wings I was carrying for him.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “Can’t lose those.” I smiled at him.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Who?”

  “Your roommate?”

  I squinted at him. “I dunno, that was, like, a hundred years ago.”

  He snorted out a laugh, ending with a giggle. The food had helped a little, but he was still really wasted. “You’re not that old.”

  I gave him a grunt.

  He cleared his throat and took a breath. “Listen, I don’t want you to think bad about me.”

  “No, baby,” I told him, “I don’t think anything bad.” In actuality, I had thought nothing at all. I couldn’t imagine I would ever see him again after I walked out of his apartment.

  “’Cause I usually don’t drink or do anything but work and go to school, but tonight when I got off and my friends asked me to come out and everyone told me to forget about taking the costume all the way home, that I should just leave it on and change my… oh shit.”

  “Oh shit what?” I asked because how pale he got suddenly was spooky.

  “I left my bag in my friend’s car.”

  “So what? You can get it tomorrow.”

  “But I need my books for school on Monday, and my wallet’s in there and… shit.”

  He looked really upset.

  So I had to fix it. “Let’s try calling whoever you left your bag with. Where’s your phone?”

  It was wedged inside his back pocket. How, because of how tight the leather pants were, I had no idea, but he passed it over and told me who to call.

  I spent another half an hour on his phone while he was trying not to hyperventilate, running down some guy named Tucker until I got him and he agreed to drop the messenger bag off the following morning before he went to work at eight. He would not forget, at least he sounded like he was sober.

  “There,” I told him, “catastrophe averted.”

  “God,” he moaned, “this whole night was a fuckin’ disaster… until you saved me.”

  The long-drawn-out sigh would have made me laugh if anyone else had done it. But there was something about Dylan that made it sexy beyond words. And he was cute and hot and everything else, but there was more. Pretty only went so far, especially with me. I saw evil practically every day of my life. What was on the surface was easy to look past. With Dylan there seemed to be an innate goodness that drew me more than anything else. He was so innocent.

  “What would I have done if you weren’t there?”

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  “I just––I don’t want you to think that I’m some fuckin’ twink out there hitting the club scene every night and going home with anybody who asks, or shit like that, ’cause that ain’t me, ya know?”

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say.

  “That guy and his friend, they––they thought I was a rent boy or something.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not.” I knew enough of them, saw them in clubs and on the streets, most of them strung out, losing their looks to the ravages of meth and other vices, trading their bodies for money so they could in turn trade the money for drugs. I knew a hustler when I saw one. There was no haunted look in Dylan’s eyes; his were big and wide and baggage-free.

  “I just don’t want you thinkin’ I’m trash because I’m not and I really like you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough,” he said, his breath catching as he took off my leather jacket I had given him to wear. Instead of passing it to me like I thought he would, he turned and dropped it on the threadbare couch. “You probably saved me from getting raped or at least really hurt, and then you and your friend protected me afterwards. I’d say I know a little bit about your character.”

  “I see.”

  “Would you stay?”

  “What about your roommates?�
� I teased him, moving to step around him to get my coat.

  He barred my path, his hands on my abdomen. “They’re not coming home.”

  “Dylan,” I said gently. “I’m very flattered, but we both know that you are very drunk.”

  “So what?”

  “So you’ll regret it.”

  “I won’t,” he assured me. “I swear I won’t.”

  “Baby,” I sighed, “I don’t wanna hurt you, you’re too sweet.”

  “Hurt me? How the fuck would you hurt me?”

  Having sex with a man who was not my hearth could be potentially lethal; I would not put the angel in danger.

  “Malic?”

  “Just––”

  “You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

  It was only then that I realized that the very pretty boy trying to talk me into his bed was on his knees in front of me. When had he done that?

  “Please, Malic, lemme take care of you.”

  But he was too young.

  What if it took a week to heal the damage I inflicted? He had work, he had school. There were practical, real-life, real-world problems to consider. Older men had grown-up jobs and they could miss work, call in, or take a vacation. He was a poor, struggling college student with a job working at a copy store. If I slept with him and he needed to heal, how would he manage that and still get to class? There was no possible way he was my hearth, so was I going to drain some years off him just because I wanted to bury my cock in his sweet, tight little ass? It was beyond selfish, and even though I was, on most occasions, a self-centered prick, even I had limits. If he was over thirty, I would have thrown him down on the couch and pounded him into the floor. As it was, I took his hands in mine, moved them off my belt buckle, and brought him back up to his feet.

  “Baby, this is not gonna happen.”

  He gave me the most wounded look I’d seen in a while. “So you would never want me, huh?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what I said. You come see me when you’re twenty-five, and we’ll talk. If you still want me, I’m all yours.”

  He nodded fast before he looked up into my eyes. “I don’t wanna wait.” One hand went flat against my chest; the other went up the side of my face and then back into my hair.

  “Again, I’m very flattered,” I told him, reaching for his hands, moving them off me. “But no.”