by Avon Gale
It was avoidance at its finest, and it drove me fucking crazy.
I couldn’t understand why he’d blown things out of proportion. It wasn’t as if he was a doctor and I was his patient. He might call me kid, but I wasn’t actually underage. He didn’t really have any ethical or moral ground to stand on. And, yet, he kept up the evasion dance for another week after that.
Finally, I lost patience with the awkward limbo we were in, and though he’d given me permission to leave before he started his last client, I waited at the front desk until they were done.
Jericho’s brows drew down when he saw me there, but he maintained a friendly, easygoing façade as I rang up his client and sent her on her way.
I turned from locking the door to find Jericho watching me with his arms crossed over his chest and a stony expression on his face. Everyone else in the shop was already long gone. For the first time in fourteen days, we were completely alone. I couldn’t bring myself to care that he didn’t look happy about it.
“I thought I told you to go home,” he said.
I shrugged lazily. “You told me I could. You didn’t say I had to.”
Jericho’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “What do you want, Poe?”
I closed the space between us, stopping only when I was close enough to feel his warmth, to hear the way his breath caught at my proximity. I didn’t go so far as to touch him, no matter how much I was dying to put my hands on him again. I wanted him to reach for me this time. “I want you to take me home and fuck me.” No sense being shy about it.
Jericho’s nostrils flared. For a second, just a second, I could see how much he liked the idea. That look, that look right there, was why I hadn’t backed off and respected the supposed boundaries he’d mentioned. I knew he wanted me. I understood his reservations—to a point. But while they might be well intended, they were also total bullshit. He wasn’t really my boss. He wasn’t paying me a salary. And, when it came to Landon, there was no reason he’d have to know we were fucking. I never brought people home for sex. Not only because it would feel awkward with my father sleeping upstairs, but because it was my space, my private domain, and I guarded it zealously. Only Blue and occasionally Landon were allowed inside.
When Jericho fucked me, it would be at his place. On his bed, on the floor—I didn’t really care.
“It’s not going to happen,” he said flatly.
Irritation heated my belly. I took a step back, glaring up at him through my hair. “Stop. Stop pretending the idea of fucking me doesn’t already have your dick hard. Stop acting like you don’t want to throw me down and do me right here.”
“Stop pretending you don’t understand why I won’t.”
I flinched, my face warming with both anger and embarrassment. I fisted my hands, ignoring the beginnings of sweat on my palms. “Maybe I think you’re a coward, then. Maybe I don’t understand why you’re so scared of what Landon might say or do that you won’t take what you want. You’re a grown man, aren’t you?”
I expected Jericho to lash out in return, but he sighed, long and low.
“Watch it, kid. I told you before I won’t take your shit. Don’t think the fact that I let you suck my dick gives you a free pass to be a bratty child. I’m not here for your temper tantrums. You want me to treat you like an adult? Fucking act like one.”
He sounded bored, as if he were dealing with some smart-ass preteen who’d mouthed off at him when they crossed paths on the sidewalk. As if he didn’t give a shit what I said or did as long as I stopped being a nuisance and got out of his way.
My face burned hotter. “Screw this. I’m not so desperate I have to deal with your uptight bullshit to get laid. I can call like three or four guys who’d be more than happy to take your place, and they’d be grateful for the privilege.” I moved to grab my backpack from under the front desk. A quick glance over my shoulder showed Jericho hadn’t budged an inch from his position. He wasn’t even going to try to stop me, the asshole. “Enjoy your hand tonight.”
With that parting shot, I left the shop. I knew I was behaving like the child he’d accused me of being, but I couldn’t help myself. I was hurt and resentful as hell, and I couldn’t summon a proper adult response if I tried.
I pulled out my phone and texted Blue to tell him I’d be hitting that party with him after all. I’d been staying home more often than not, so caught up in the apprenticeship I didn’t want to risk walking in late or hungover. And, yeah, maybe I didn’t want to risk disappointing Jericho either.
Well, fuck that shit. And fuck him too.
If he didn’t want me, I’d find someone who did.
A few hours later, Blue picked me up in his old beat-up Civic. We drove to an industrial area long abandoned by whatever businesses used to keep the buildings running. Our crew had taken over one of the derelict textile factories. We called it The Pit. We’d written on the walls both inside and out, marking our territory. One floor had been transformed into a skate park. The others were mostly used for hookups or as temporary crash pads.
Blue and I had our own corner on the third floor. One night a few years ago we’d dragged a ratty couch and some milk crates up there, claiming it as ours. Blue stayed there more often than I did. Landon actually worried if I didn’t come home at night. Blue’s roommates didn’t give a fuck when he came or went. Sometimes I considered suggesting we get a place of our own, something small, but that meant splitting the rent, and when I’d worked at the gas station, I hadn’t been able to afford it on my miniscule wages. Until I got my license and started taking paying clients, I’d be relying on Landon to support me. Maybe someday, after I started tattooing and hopefully pulling in some decent money for once, Blue and I could find a cheap apartment somewhere.
The party was in full swing when we parked. The ground vibrated with bass as I got out of the car, and I recognized the Run The Jewels track. Thanks to Evol, the building had electricity. I didn’t know how he’d pulled it off or what he’d done to access the city’s power supply, but I didn’t ask any questions. Plausible deniability and all that.
Familiar faces greeted us as we entered from one of the side doors. I’d only taken a few steps before a red plastic cup was pushed into my hand by Kandee, one of the few women in our crew. She mostly sticker-bombed the city with anarchist quotes and black-and-white renditions of feminist icons like Naomi Wolf and Margaret Atwood, but sometimes she painted too.
She gave me a sloppy, one-armed hug, and I noticed her hair was purple this week. It wasn’t much more than fuzz on her skull, but it worked well with her small, heart-shaped face. A tight leather corset put her impressive cleavage on flattering display, and her tiny skirt bared long, shapely legs. Pussy Riot lyrics were scrawled across her collarbones in vivid red ink. Something from a song called “Kill the Sexist,” she’d told me, but the words were in Russian, so I had no idea what they actually said. As she leaned in to kiss my cheek, her big hoop earrings swayed, and I got a waft of vanilla body spray. I felt the glossy scarlet mouth print she left behind on my skin.
“Hey, Poooeee,” she said with a glassy-eyed giggle. “Have this. It’s vodka cranberry.”
I took a sip and almost choked as the liquid blazed down my throat. Fuck. If there was an ounce of cranberry juice in that cup, I’d be amazed. I gave a mental shrug and took another drink.
“Blue, get me a screwdriver!” she yelled. “Light on the OJ, okay?”
Blue rolled his eyes, but strode off in the direction of the makeshift bar in the corner.
Kandee wound an arm around my waist and draped herself against my side. “Leta broke up with me. She said she’s too crazy to be in a relationship right now, and she doesn’t understand why I’d be into her.” Kandee looked up at me, tears hovering on the edge of her mascaraed lashes. “Isn’t that bullshit? It’s bullshit, right? Like . . . she doesn’t understand how gorgeous and smart and, like, amazing she is. She thinks she’s ugly. And fat! Which is bullshit, am I right? Fucking bullshit
!”
Okay. So bullshit appeared to be the word of the night.
I steered Kandee to a free spot along one of the walls. “I’m sorry, babe.”
She nodded. “Me too. But, like . . . I still love her. I don’t know what to do, you know? How do I convince her my feelings are real? It’s . . . it’s such . . .”
“Bullshit?” I suggested.
Kandee shoved my shoulder. “Yes! Like, if she doesn’t believe I’m telling the truth, or that I want to be with her, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Kandee started rambling, and I listened with half an ear as I surveyed the growing crowd. A new rap song started, and people went crazy, some keeping rhythm with obvious skill, others doing a drunken approximation of dancing. Blue arrived with Kandee’s screwdriver and a beer for himself. She stopped talking long enough to chug the drink, and Blue and I exchanged a look over the top of her head. There’d be no leaving her alone tonight. I didn’t trust some of these dudes not to take advantage, and I could tell she needed to be able to let go and not think for a while.
I danced with her until she burst into tears in the middle of a song. She asked for more alcohol, so I got her another screwdriver, but when I caught her drifting off for the second time—while standing upright with a drink in her hand—I knew it was time for her to call it a night.
Blue and I led her up to our hangout spot and tucked her in on the couch to sleep it off. We’d drive her home in a few hours, but not going to lie, we were both a little wasted too.
For the time being, we settled on the pile of blankets on the floor to nurse our beers and chill out to the music that drifted up from downstairs. Luckily, it was muffled enough for Blue and I to have an actual conversation.
“I had the most heinous customer last week,” he said, gesturing with his bottle. “I mean, I wanted to dump a pitcher of Coke over this guy’s head. He was so fucking rude, and he talked to me like I was a goddamn servant. He even snapped his fingers at me. Snapped his fingers! Like I was his fucking dog. Jesus. I’m so tired of this shit, man.”
The restaurant Blue worked in was near a couple of big hotels. He regularly dealt with the worst of humanity in the form of entitled business people and impatient tourists who demanded constant attention, but then left shitty tips. I kept waiting for the day he told me he got fired for going off on somebody. Really, it was only a matter of time. Every month that passed with him still working there surprised me.
“That sucks,” I told him. “You need to find something better.”
Blue lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “It’ll do for now. All I need is for it to cover my bills until we get our names out there.”
I didn’t know what Blue expected to happen once we got up, once our work started appearing everywhere and being recognized by people outside of our small crew. He didn’t want to commercialize his art, so I didn’t really understand why the recognition mattered to him so much. I’d just followed in his footsteps since he first took me under his wing. But I knew from my research even artists like Banksy made money from their work. That was different, though. Banksy was notorious and known on an international scale. Or at least the name was. No one knew the true identity of the person behind it.
It would be a long fucking time before anyone put down money for an Azure or Raven piece. Unless someone hired us to paint a mural, which hadn’t happened yet, we didn’t make any cash spray-painting on buildings. In fact, we actually lost money buying supplies. What Blue expected to change, I didn’t know. If he insisted on making art for purity’s sake for the rest of his life, he’d always be stuck in dead-end jobs like he was now.
“Wanna split a joint?” Blue asked.
I leaned back against the couch, taking another swig of my beer. “Sure.”
Blue withdrew a baggie from his pocket, and I watched in disinterest as he rolled a thick blunt. The weed was cheap and smelled like straight-up skunk, but when he lit it, took a few puffs, and handed it over, I didn’t hesitate to follow suit. We passed it back and forth until it was little more than a stub.
“We can shotgun the last of it.” Blue put the butt between his lips and inhaled deeply, the cherry flaring bright. He grabbed my chin and turned my head so we were face to face. My mouth parted automatically as he leaned forward, and I sucked in the smoke he slowly exhaled, my gaze fixed on his.
I held it in my lungs for a few seconds, relishing the mild burn, then let it out through my nostrils.
Blue was still close enough all I could really see was the whiskey-brown of his eyes. The space between us was hazy with smoke, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. It wouldn’t have taken more than a fractional shift for us to be kissing—and for a brief flash, I wondered how it would feel. One of the prettiest things about Blue was his full, lush mouth. An old friend of ours used to wax poetic about Blue’s “dick-sucking lips” until I’d finally snapped and shut that shit down. It was true, though. They were beautiful and soft looking, and I could see why people might fantasize about having them wrapped around certain body parts. But I’d never really thought of Blue that way. To me, he was simply the brother I’d never had.
The moment grew tenser as the seconds passed. Blue stayed where he was, our lips nearly touching, staring at me as I stared at him. This close, I could smell his sweat and the scent of the apple shampoo he used. His eyes darkened, the pupils dilating, and it was like the very air grew heavy and hushed with the sense of expectation.
Then Kandee let out a stuttering snore, and like that, the tension vanished.
Blue bounced to his feet. “I’m gonna get another beer,” he said without quite looking at me.
I waved a hand, already floating around in a pleasant fog. I must’ve imagined that moment of weirdness. Blue and I had shotgunned before, and shared the same bed on multiple occasions. It had never led to making out, let alone anything more. There wasn’t anything sexual between us. Never had been. I’d blame the sudden tension on the beer and cheap-ass weed.
When Blue returned, my eyelids were half-shut. He handed me a fresh bottle and settled onto the blankets. I didn’t think anything of it when he rested his head on my lap. Blue kept his wavy mane long, and he liked for it to be played with. I took the elastic out and wrapped a silky strand around my index finger. It made me wonder how Jericho’s would feel. I’d kissed him and sucked his dick, but I’d never gotten my hands in his hair. I wanted to.
Fucking Jericho. Why couldn’t I get him out of my head?
“Men are assholes,” I declared.
Blue snorted a laugh. “Well, yeah. We are sometimes.” He tipped his head back to peer up at me with bloodshot eyes. “What brought that on?”
“Nothing. Thinking about some stuff.” I shrugged and scratched at his scalp to distract him.
Blue hummed softly. “Feels nice.”
I turned the scratching into a massage, and soon Blue drifted to sleep, his face lax, full mouth parted on quiet breaths.
I let my hands fall from his hair. He could crash for a while. Neither one of us was in any condition to drive.
I sighed, allowing my own lids slid shut. I wished I had someone to talk to about Jericho, but I couldn’t tell Blue, even if he were awake. He wouldn’t get it. Blue barely dated and rarely hooked up, as far as I knew. He didn’t understand my tastes or why I almost never messed around with anyone my age. I’d tried to explain that it always ended badly when I did. And the older men and women I fucked, well, they didn’t usually see me as much more than a convenient cock or hole to use and then put outside with the rest of the garbage. They wouldn’t be inviting the aimless, former-gas-station-cashier, currently broke tattoo apprentice to their holiday work parties or children’s birthdays or big family dinners. That wasn’t what they wanted from me.
The thing was, I hadn’t given a shit before now. Not really. I wasn’t looking to shack up or get married anytime soon—if ever. I’d always been content with wha
t they offered because I hadn’t wanted more myself.
Then Jericho had come along.
Ugh. Why did my thoughts keep going back to him? It wasn’t like I wanted to be his boyfriend. I wanted him to fuck me and make me come with his big, thick cock. I wanted to kiss him while I got him off in return. That was it. End of.
I wasn’t looking for more than sex, so why did his rejection bother me so much? I’d been rejected before, and yeah, it sucked, but I’d shrugged it off, no problem, and had not a single fuck to give afterward. I’d never had any issues finding a replacement.
Goddamn it. Just the thought of Jericho was killing my buzz. I should be here in the moment, enjoying my time with my friends. Once my apprenticeship ended, Blue and my crew would still be here for me. This was my world, and Jericho wasn’t part of it.
Except maybe . . . maybe it was time for me to admit to myself that I wanted him to be. And for more than sex. I liked Jericho. Genuinely liked him. I enjoyed talking to him. I loved the way he looked at me, and the slow, sexy smile he gave me in his unguarded moments. I wanted to preen whenever he complimented me—then drop to my knees and suck his cock. I’d started to crave his approval, and the thought that he was out there tonight, probably cursing himself for ever giving me, the perpetual fuckup, a chance . . . it made me want to scream and destroy something.
I finished my beer instead.
Jericho
“You did what?”
Scowling, I handed Callum a beer and watched him tuck his feet under him on the couch. “You’re not very good at faking surprise.”
“I’m not very good at faking anything.” Callum batted his eyelashes at me. I scowled harder and collapsed on a chair across from the couch, at which he burst out laughing. “And I’m not surprised. I told you the kid had the hots for you.”
“Could you stop calling him a kid?” I groused, taking a sip of my beer. I felt as sulky as I’d always accused Poe of being. “It makes me feel gross.” I conveniently let myself forget how I called Poe kid all the time.
