by SF Benson
“I can’t—”
“You can.” He presses it into my palm, and his ocean-blue eyes lock with mine. “Listen, I’ve been in your shoes. My father didn’t approve of my choices in life either. I had to leave home, so I get it. Let’s go buy you some clothes, and then we’ll figure out the job thing.”
“How do I thank you?” I stare down at the key in my hand.
“Don’t make me regret my decision.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jeremiah
Inviting a stranger to your house nowadays is a questionable action under any circumstance. One never knows if you’re bringing home a serial killer, a lunatic, or a diseased body. But to invite that stranger to move into your place, no matter how temporary, might qualify me for a few hours on a shrink’s couch. Other than the fact that Colton is an attractive, troubled man, I have no idea what I was thinking inviting him home.
Honestly?
If I’m truthful about the situation, when I met Colton something whispered to my soul. A voice I hadn’t heard in a long time told me Colton needed somebody. Strangely, I saw myself in that role and I liked it. Without knowing his story, I identified with him. His pain had a pulse I could feel. We traveled along the same path—hungering for kindness in whatever form it can be found—and it’s a lonely spot to be in. No one should have to be alone when faced with rejection.
And there it is. The real reason you invited him home.
You’re lonely.
But I should have played it smarter. Found him a room and stayed with him if needed. Frankly, I’ve never taken the safe road. I’ve never followed rules either. It’s part of the many reasons I had to leave.
Still dressing it up?
Fine. It sucks when your conscience argues with you.
The reason I was forced out. My rebellious behavior prompted my exodus. It doesn’t matter how the story is told, the outcome is still the same.
Shame.
Abandonment.
Loneliness.
Last night, meeting the mysterious stranger dissolved those emotions. For the first time in far too long, I met a man who resonated with me. Colton feels safe to me—welcoming like a hug from a long-lost friend. A kindred spirit.
It doesn’t hurt that I caught him checking me out during my set. The way his inky black eyes followed me each time I left the stage was, admittedly, a little creepy. I pegged him as a stalker, but I forgot that possibility once I sat down at his table. As I watched him, I detected a man who hid from his own reality—a deep pain influencing how he saw himself.
Right now, I push aside all my doubts and emotions to think about Colton’s well-being. Spending so much time deep in thought can’t be normal.
Maybe he really is a writer. Creative types can be weird.
Said the musician.
Naw. I’m blaming Colton’s asshole father. When everything you say is constantly ridiculed and torn apart for veiled meanings, living inside your head is easier. A safer option than risking opinions from those who don’t care. The philosophy worked for me when I dealt with my judgmental parents.
For a little while.
Wanting Colton here with me might be construed as selfish, but I only want to know him better. It’s my hope that helping him get his act together will give me that chance.
The way he checked me out last night made me suspicious. Then he confirmed my hunch, and I entertained something more than friendship. Just didn’t think we’d kick things off with a damned shopping trip. Despite having a few inches on him, I offered Colton my clothes. Granted, my wardrobe is pretty basic—jeans and T-shirts—but it’s clean and comfortable. After passing by all the other shops, I get the feeling this man with model looks prefers high-end merchandise.
Colton freezes in the middle of Fifth Avenue, slugs my side, and exclaims, “This is it!”
“What?” My eyes land on the beige storefront at the corner. It looks like every other building on this damn street.
His hand is on the door handle. “Come on. This is my favorite store to order from.”
Looking at the button-down shirts, khakis, and polos, I quickly determine this is not my type of store. Colton drags me across the faux wooden floor to a rack of suit coats. “You should try one on.”
“Try what on?”
“Ever think about changing your look?” he asks and hands me a black blazer. “This would look good on you.”
I shake my head and push the offending item away. “No thanks. I’m good picking out my own clothes.”
Colton shrugs and returns the item to the rack. “I wanted to give you a present. Something to say thanks.”
He doesn’t realize what that jacket represents to me. If I could have stayed in my birthplace, I would have sported a full suit and tie daily. I abhorred the style then and hate it even more now. It screams entitled do-gooder. Someone I never wanted to become or could never be. Not now, anyway.
Colton’s posture droops, and he continues searching through the rack.
His expression hurts me far more than wearing the loathsome garment. I mutter, “It probably doesn’t come in my size.”
“I can help with that.” A short, stout salesman bounces toward us with a tape measure in hand. His exuberant voice assaults my ears. “Let me take your measurements, and we can tailor it to you.”
Colton’s lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes gleam as he stands there with his hand poised on the jacket. It’s possible my refusal will inflict more pain on him—not my intention.
Moving to the rack, I search for my size and drag an appropriate one off the hanger. Colt takes my coat. The salesman eagerly helps me into the garment.
“It’s a perfect fit,” he says with a smile on his face. “That’s a rarity. I usually have to make adjustments, but this fits like it was made for you.”
Of course it does.
A broad smile takes possession of Colton’s lips. It lights up his face and changes the surrounding atmosphere. He should definitely do it more often. That looks good on him.
Before he shells out more money on me, I take back my jacket and say, “Thanks for the gift. Now, find what you need. I’m going to look for a place to sit down.”
“There’s a lounge at the front of the store. Help yourself to a beverage while you wait.” The salesman calls out as he holds his arms out for the items Colton pulls from the racks.
I wander toward the lounge area, eyeing the trendy clothes as I pass. A pair of over-dyed black jeans catches my eye. When I see the two-hundred-dollar price tag, however, I decide my Old Navy jeans will do fine. I grab a bottled water from a fridge in the front of the store and take a seat on the hard-ass sofa. The vantage point allows me to watch Colton from a safe distance and not get pulled into any more of his craziness. The poor salesman isn’t so lucky. Colton loads his arms with button-down shirts, jeans, jackets, and casual pants. The man insists Colton try on the items. I close my eyes as my friend disappears behind a curtain.
Friend.
It’s not a word I toss around lightly. I keep my inner circle tightly guarded. My best friend is a female—Azaria. I’ve never had a male friend. Where I come from, males aren’t close. We’re too busy one-upping each other. Competing against each other. Those who get too close…well…they soon move on.
I share things with Azaria, but it’s not like talking to another male. Being around Colton makes me want to open up.
Be careful.
There are things I’d love to tell Colton, but I doubt he’d believe me. Some things in this universe are too unfathomable. No. I’ve kept a tight seal on my past, and it won’t break. Living this life is easier that way.
“What do you think?”
Glancing up, I see Colton sauntering toward me in a reddish blazer, print shirt, and jeans. Few men can pull off that look, but he can. Damn. I resist the urge to lick my lips.
Colton runs his fingers over the front of the jacket, holds his hand out to the side, and does a quick spin. A wicke
d dance beat starts playing over the store’s sound system. Colton bops his head to it with his hips rocking left and right. This man’s moves make me want to see more.
Don’t go there. You claimed you were looking for a friend.
Nothing quite like having an attack of consciousness. I say to Colton, “Got a place in mind for that?”
“Hey, I have to find a job.” Colton pops his chest in and out to the beat. “One thing I do well is dress the part.”
He’s underestimating himself. With moves like that, I suspect he’s good at quite a few things. Parts of my anatomy wake up. Rubbing my top lip, I sit back and watch Colton dance back to the fitting room. I can’t help but be curious about what type of work he did before fleeing his corner of the world.
Minutes later, Colton approaches me wearing crisp jeans, a sweater, and his leather jacket. “Let’s go.”
“What happened to your get-a-job outfit?” I’m also wondering about the merchandise I saw him pay for.
He pushes open the door, and a breeze blows in. “The store delivers.”
Of course, it does.
Colton insists on walking over to the New Balance store for sneakers and workout clothes. I offer my stuff, again, but he says he doesn’t want to be a burden.
A man with his looks could never be a burden to anyone.
“It’s noon, Colton,” I point out. “Let’s grab lunch.”
“Where to?” he asks and adjusts the bags in his hands.
I take one from him. “One of my favorite places.”
Rye House is crowded. We’re fortunate and grab one of the last available tables and order a couple of burgers. It’s too early for anything but a soda for me. Colton, however, decides on a signature cocktail—London Calling.
“Ever been to London?” I ask, wondering if he’s a traveler.
Colton takes a sip of the gin-and-absinthe cocktail. He lets the drink sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing the concoction. “Actually, I have. Great place to visit. I don’t know if I’d want to live there permanently. Too wet. You?”
“Naw. I’ve never been outside the States,” I lie. The places I’ve been aren’t on any map.
He takes another sip and winks. “Maybe one day.”
Is that an invitation? If it is, would I go with him?
This man makes me contemplate a real future instead of the self-imposed isolation I’ve endured. Ever since I came to this place, I’ve steered clear of too many entanglements with men. I tried the whole dating scene with women and bombed miserably. And the men I met? Not worth more than a quick fuck. As a result, I gave up and settled for living alone.
Until Colton.
He’s the only man I’ve met who’s intrigued me enough to reconsider my seclusion.
Push it aside. Sex muddies situations. Destroys friendships.
I run my finger along the condensation on my glass. “Let’s talk about the here and now. You need a job.”
The smile slides from Colton’s face, and his shoulders curl forward. It’s like I deflated a damned balloon. I only want to bring him joy. “What did you do for a living before you came to New York?”
“My first job was as a dancer in a club.” Colton stares into the glass beneath his hand. “Stripping for money didn’t meet with my parents’ approval.”
The waiter, an overly effeminate man, arrives with our plates and disrupts the conversation. “Anything else?”
“I think we’re good,” I say.
The man ignores me and ogles Colton. “I don’t know about your friend, but you look good.”
My muscles tighten. If this guy doesn’t move on, he will be sorry.
Colton gives the man a polite smile. “I appreciate the compliment, but trust me, I’m not interested.”
“Too bad,” the waiter responds but doesn’t depart.
“What part of not interested did you miss?” I snap.
The man rolls his eyes and walks away.
Colton studies me for a moment. “Was that really necessary? I told him I wasn’t interested.”
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I draw in a breath and try to calm down. My temper is another reason why I had to leave home. No one appreciates someone who wants to solve every disagreement with his fist.
Or a sword.
“Yes, it was necessary. He didn’t seem to understand.” I take a sip of my soda, suddenly wishing for a drink with an edge. “Continue with what you were saying about your jobs.”
Colt dips his head and says, “My second and last jobs were modeling. Both made good money.”
That explains his tastes in clothing. I take a bite of my burger and ask the stupid question, “Were you any good as a dancer?”
Colton’s upper lip curls, and his shoulders push back. Arrogance, or maybe it’s pride, takes over his voice. “Damned good.”
He tosses back his drink and is ready to order another when I shake my head. I need him focused, not drunk.
“Do you have a problem stripping again?”
Colton shrugs, and the confidence takes a hike. “If it pays the bills, I’ll do it.”
“For men?” I challenge.
“Also not a problem.” He drops his eyes and concentrates on his meal.
“I have to work tonight. Come with me. I’ll see what can be done about getting you a gig.”
Colton simply nods and keeps eating.
He makes my heart hurt. Time to put the smile back on his face. I tap his plate with my fork. “Want to split a slice of Peanut Butter Cheesecake? It’s—”
And there it is. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “You had me at cheesecake.”
Colton’s purchases arrive shortly after we return to the apartment. I clean out space in my closet so he can hang up his new clothes. For a man who dropped a wad shopping, he doesn’t seem happy. Sighing, Colton folds a bag and walks out of the bedroom.
Following him to the living room, I say, “Colton?”
“Yes?” He dumps the bag on the sofa and plops down beside it.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m having a little buyer’s remorse that’s all. I shouldn’t have spent so much money.”
Agreed. But it wasn’t my place to judge him. “Why did you?”
Leaning forward, he explains, “Before I left home, I’d easily blow through a grand or more in one day. I bought whatever the hell I wanted. Did whatever I wanted. After the delivery, I checked my bank account. Maybe I should have stuck with jeans and sweats.”
“Not your style.” I sit next to him. “Stop beating yourself up. You needed clothes. You’ll put on your best stuff and come with me tonight.”
“Where?”
“I work at a club over in Hell’s Kitchen. Tonight’s usually my night off, but I’m filling in for a friend.”
Colton’s eyebrows furrow. “What type of club?”
Grinning, I lean back into the cushion. “It’s not what you think. I DJ and tend bar when I’m not singing. Basically, I hold down a few side jobs to pay the bills. Tonight, I’ll be bartending.”
The confusion lifts from Colton’s face, and his head bobs up and down. “It’s called surviving. Been there, done that.”
“Exactly. This club, however, caters to gay men. I’ve been working there for a couple of years. The owner used to be a stripper.” I glance over at Colton. “From time to time, I find talent for him. You showed me a little at the store. Got any real moves?”
A mischievous look crosses Colton’s face. “You want me to dance for you?”
“Call it an audition.”
He waggles his eyebrows and points to the table. “Help me clear the floor.”
I stand and help him move the coffee table. Colton retrieves his phone and scrolls through it.
“This will do.”
“Here.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll put it on the speaker.”
Colton passes me his device, and I plug it into the wireless speakers. The seductive sound of Kid Cudi’s “Mature Nature” fi
lls my living room. Colton pops his body in and out like he did at the store. The movement morphs into a body roll passing through his stomach and ending up at his crotch. Smiling, Colton pumps his groin a few times before winking.
Fuck!
He’s flirting with me, but I’m not mad. Hell, it’s hot. He’s hot.
