No Tears with Him

by K. Webster

  His smile is back and it warms over me like the sun. “Truce.”

  Malcolm

  I’m reeling by the time I walk in the front door. It’s past six in the evening and I can smell something cooking. If it’s meatloaf, I’m going to moonwalk out of here.

  “Is that Malcolm?” Mom hollers from her bedroom.

  Crap.

  Madden peeks around the corner in the kitchen. “Cat dragged in your baby boy!” he calls back. Then, to me, he shakes his head. “Didn’t call your mommy. She’s pissed.”

  I flip him the bird and toss my portfolio folder on the entryway table. Melody is in the living room standing two feet from the television singing along to Christina Aguilera and failing miserably at recreating her dance moves. Mina is stretched out on the couch reading a textbook. I find Mom in her room with one of her plastic tubs open as she does her frequent inventory of her Beanie Babies.

  “Hey,” I say from the doorway.

  “We don’t hear from you all day and all you have to say is ‘hey’?” She pierces me with an irritated look before she rifles around in the tub.

  “Sorry,” I squeak out. “I had the interview…”

  “And?”

  “And I got the job.”

  She seems surprised. “You did?”

  Excitement courses through me. “Mr. Hawkins was impressed with my work. There’ll be some travel involved, but—”

  “No,” she snaps.

  I recoil at her words. “What do you mean no?”

  “No travel. You didn’t accept this job yet, did you?”

  Tears threaten and I swallow hard. “Yeah.”

  She tosses the Beanie Baby into the tub and turns to regard me, her hands on her hips. “I know you didn’t just take the first job that came to you.”

  I blink several times to chase away the emotion trying to form in my eyes. “Mom,” I rasp out. “It’s a good job.”

  “Great because they want you to travel. Is it commission too? What are the hours like? Excuse me for being pissed that I’m not informed on this wonderful job.” She waves her acrylic fingers in the air and huffs. “Your naivety has always worried me, son.”

  “How much?” Madden asks from the doorway right behind me.

  I jolt at his nearness and scoot away from him. “A lot.”

  “More than my job?” he jokes.

  More than Mom’s too.

  They must both sense it at the same time because Mom stalks over to me. “Speak, boy. What are you hiding?”

  “Hiding?” I ask, my tone shrill. “I’m not hiding anything!”

  Except the fact my new boss is funny and kind and hot.

  Oh God.

  As if on cue, my mobile phone starts ringing. Mom’s brows crash together in confusion as I fish out the new phone Scott brought me earlier today. It’s his number. I know this because he’s the only person who has this number.

  “I, uh, have to take this,” I whisper as I hit the green line to accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Just testing it out,” Scott says, a smile in his voice. “Works like a champ.”

  Mom glowers at me and Madden leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks down his nose at me.

  “Hey, so can I call you back later? I’m talking to my mom.”

  He must sense the distress in my voice, because he’s apologetic. “Yeah, of course. Sorry if I interrupted something. Call me back later if you want or I’ll see you tomorrow. You did great today. I’m proud of you and am looking forward to what’s to come.”

  My heart does a flop in my chest. “Thanks, Scott.”

  “No problem. Talk soon, kid.”

  This time, I don’t get upset at the nickname. I mash the button to end the call before pocketing the Nokia. Two sets of eyes burn into me.

  “I know I did not raise my boy to be someone’s bitch like a goddamn drug dealer,” Mom fumes. “What the hell is going on with you?”

  Madden frowns, his suspicious eyes peeling away my layers.

  “Mom,” I say hotly. “It’s a job. Just let it rest.”

  Whap!

  My cheek stings from taking a slap. I deserved it for disrespecting her.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out, holding a hand to my burning cheek.

  “How much?” Mom demands again, her nostrils flaring.

  “Fifty-five,” I say with a wince.

  Madden’s jaw practically unhinges. “As in fifty-five thousand? To draw shit on the computer?” His brown eyes flare with jealousy and it’s an unusual look on him.

  “It’s designing graphics for clients. I’d be a crucial part of Hawkins Group. The travel is for meeting potential clients and going to conferences.” I look down at my feet. “The phone is in case my boss needs to get ahold of me. Everyone at Hawkins has a mobile.”

  Mom snorts. “Sounds shady as hell, son.”

  “Why?” I snap, jerking my head up. “Because I can’t have anything good ever?”

  Her features soften briefly. “No, baby, and you know that’s not it. It’s just you’re not worldly enough for people who hand out mobiles like candy and jet set on a whim.”

  “Why not?” I demand, hating the tears that well in my eyes.

  “Because they will chew you up and spit you out, son.”

  Madden frowns. “I’m going to check on the meatloaf.” He stalks out of the room.

  “I really want this,” I mutter. “I can finally move out and be out of your hair.”

  “Out of my hair?” she cries out. “You think I’m some heartless mother who doesn’t want her boys under her roof. Newsflash, Malcolm, both my boys are adults and living under my roof. And as long as they do their part, they’re welcome to stay. It was never about running you out of my hair.”

  “It’s a good job,” I tell her, lifting my chin. “The people there are really nice and they’re okay with my quirks. I had lunch and dinner with my boss. He’s…I think we could be friends.”

  Her expression grows stormy. “This is exactly what I mean about you not being worldly. You’re already confusing the line between business and friendship. Make no bones about it, boy, at the end of the day, the man always chooses the dollar, not the ones beneath him on the chain.”

  “Scott’s not like that,” I growl, squaring my shoulders.

  My tone shocks her silent.

  “I accepted the job and I’m sorry if you can’t accept that.” Accept me.

  “Malcolm,” she utters.

  “I’m tired,” I hiss out to keep from letting tears leak out. “I just want to grab a shower and get ready for bed. My boss is picking me up for work in the morning.”

  She opens her mouth like she wants to say more, but I slink away and then rush into my bedroom, careful not to slam the door. My heart is racing with a mixture of hurt and fury. It isn’t until after I sit on my bed and dial Scott that it begins to slow back down. And when his deep voice rumbles over the line, I think it stops altogether.

  Scott’s white Toyota Land Cruiser pulls into the driveway behind Madden’s Trans Am and I bolt off the porch toward it. Mina and Melody are waiting at the bus stop, both curious to catch a peek at my new boss. I give them a quick wave before climbing into the passenger seat. As soon as I settle with my messenger bag in my lap, I give him a shy smile.

  “Good morning,” I utter, taking in his wide smile and playful eyes.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  His scent floods my nostrils—Davidoff Cool Water and a hint of coffee. I’ve never been a fan of coffee, but I’m quickly rethinking that one with each passing moment I spend with Scott.

  “Those your sisters?” he asks, pointing at the girls.

  They turn away now that they’ve been caught staring.

  “Yeah.”

  “Should we say hi?”

  I shake my head. “Maybe another day. I just…I want to get out of here.”

  His brows furl together and he gives my hand a supportive pat before putting the v
ehicle in reverse. “Did she say anything this morning?”

  Last night, I’d filled him in on what went down with Mom and Madden. He listened while I ranted about my standing in my family and how my mother treats me. It felt nice getting it all off my chest. Time flew by and soon my battery was about to die. I hated hanging up with him, but it was a silver lining knowing I’d wake up and get to spend the day with him.

  “She went in early this morning, so I never saw her,” I tell him with a shrug. “Mom is as stubborn as they come, so it’s not like she’ll change her stance or anything.”

  We drive through town, and much to my delight, Scott takes us through a drive through. I get a glazed donut and a Mountain Dew. He gets coffee and a box of donuts for Wade and Sorro. As we drive down Pearl Street and I happily devour my donut, I realize I needed this job. For my sanity. In order to be able to clip the strings tying me to my overbearing mother.

  As soon as we park on the street, he hops out and comes around the side of the vehicle to help grab some stuff. I hand over my Mountain Dew and my fingers brush against his, sending a zing of pleasure coursing through me.

  Stop.

  Am I really doing what Mom accused me of?

  Blurring business with friendship?

  She’d blow a gasket if she knew I was feeling more than friendship. Shame simmers in my gut as I exit the Land Cruiser. I can’t meet his gaze because I feel too exposed. What would he say if he knew my skin heats and my heart beats faster when he touches me?

  “You okay?” he asks, dragging me from my inner thoughts. “Take your time acclimating here. No one expects you to be amazing at your job right out of the gate. You have enough pressure at home. You don’t have to feel it here too.”

  I stop at the bottom of the stairs and chance a look his way. Today he looks even better than yesterday if that’s possible. He didn’t shave this morning and a dusting of dark hair has grown in on his cheeks. His green eyes are bright and probing. The chill of the air is already getting to him because his nose is slightly pink. His lips, though…I could stare at them all day.

  Ugh, stop, Malcolm.

  “I’m fine,” I croak out, trying and failing to move my stare from his mouth.

  What would it feel like to kiss him?

  I went to bed last night with that thought on my mind. It was hard to ignore the hard-on that image created. I wanted to reach into my boxers, grab my cock, and jerk off to the fantasy of something forbidden with my ridiculously good-looking boss.

  “The way you’re chewing on that bottom lip says you’re anything but fine,” Scott says, his intense green eyes boring into me. The wind blows, ruffling his messy brown hair, pushing a lock into his eyes. He tries to blow it away, but with his hands full with the drinks, he can’t. Without thinking, I reach forward and brush it out of the way.

  The moment my fingers touch his soft hair and I brush it back, my fingertips grazing along his forehead, I freeze as I realize what I’ve done. I let out a groan of embarrassment as I jerk my hand back. Heat floods my cheeks, chasing away the January cold.

  “Thank you,” he says as I blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t be sorry, Mal.”

  “I, uh, I didn’t think.”

  He winks at me. “I like it when you don’t think.”

  With those words, he trots up the steps, leaving me staring after him with my jaw practically unhinged. Was he flirting with me? Does Scott like me? Is he…

  Gay. Bi. Homosexual.

  Those words bounce around in my head, sending a multitude of emotions shooting through me. Confusion. Denial. Excitement. Lust. Images of Scott and me together—naked and kissing—flood my mind. I’d often thought about my sexuality, but I couldn’t ever put a finger on what I wanted. Girls were just girls and mostly I couldn’t connect with them. Guys were different. I felt differently around them, but any time I considered if I was gay, I’d see Mom’s narrowed glare. She would flip her shit if she found out I was gay.

  Am I?

  I could ask Jeeves.

  But knowing Mom, she has some sort of tracker program set up on my computer and would find out.

  Maybe I could find out for myself. Spend a little time with Scott and just see what happens. If my stomach flutters every time I see him and he keeps flirting with me, maybe I’ll get to test out my gay theory after all.

  I let out a heavy sigh, exhaling all the mental bullshit so I don’t take it inside with me. I’m going to be the best graphic artist in all of Boulder. I’ll make Scott proud of me. I bound up the steps, energized by Mountain Dew and determination to find the real Malcolm hiding behind insecurities and fear.

  It would seem I have a lot more to solve than the world ending with Y2K.

  I have to figure out if I’m gay and how to grow a set of balls so I can become the man my mom refuses to let me be.

  Solving the end of the world Y2K problem seems a helluva lot easier, though.

  Scott

  I’m antsy.

  It’s half past seven and I know I should take Malcolm home, but I’m caught between wanting to stay and analyze this year’s budget or inviting Mal for dinner.

  But rather than leaving my computer to check in on him and see if he’s hungry, I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to make sense of Wade’s reports. I swear the man enjoys making his spreadsheets as detailed and layered as possible so I go cross-eyed and give up. It must be a power trip thing.

  I let out a heavy sigh.

  “Need any help?”

  Jerking my head up, I latch my gaze onto Malcolm. He’s leaned against the doorframe, a half grin on his face. Right here, in this moment, unsure Mal has left the building. This guy is confident, slightly smug, and playful. It’s a great look on him. I straighten in my seat and try not to notice the way his Polo molds over his trim stomach and waist. The urge to grab the fabric and untuck it so I can admire his chocolaty skin is intense. I lick my lips, earning his stare there, and shake my head.

  “It’s boring numbers crap,” I grumble.

  He laughs—a rich sound that reverberates down to my dick—and walks toward me. I can’t help but glance at the way his khakis hug his thighs.

  “I’m starving,” he says once he’s close. “We could order in and I could help you with your numbers problem.”

  He’d solve all my problems if he’d let me pull him into my lap and kiss his supple lips. Something tells me that would not go over well.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I grumble. “Chinese?”

  He pulls a sour face, making me laugh. “Ew. Pizza?”

  “Let me guess…cheese?”

  His brown eyes light up. “It’s like you know me already. You order the pizza and I’ll grab us some sodas.”

  After I place the order, he shows back up with two Styrofoam cups. I know his will be filled with Mountain Dew. Sorro already stocked the fridge for him. He sets my Coke down and then drags a chair to sit beside me. His proximity sends a shiver down my spine. This kid has no clue what he does to me. For all I know he’s straight as a board, but something tells me I could persuade him to go a little crooked for me with the right finesse.

  “So what’s your numbers problem?” he asks, leaning in to view the screen.

  “Budget for this year. It just seems…tighter.” I scowl at the computer. “Which makes no sense considering I know we’re making more money. Even with Sorro’s recent raise and hiring you, there should be more room for…I don’t know, anything.”

  “What do you want to buy?” He turns to look at me, his face a mere six inches from mine. I can almost taste the Mountain Dew on his lips.

  “Nothing in particular. I just wish Wade wouldn’t make it so complicated.” I let out a huff, revealing my true frustration. This is my company, but sometimes Wade railroads me because he’s the finance guy. Many times, he’s saved me from doing something stupid like buying a sports car I don’t need, but other times, he’s tightened the purse strings to the point I feel
strangled.

  “Why do you spend so much on advertising?” he asks, his attention back on the screen. “For advertisers, this seems unusual to me.”

  “The accountant likes everything categorized a certain way,” I explain. “While the accountant wants it called ‘advertising,’ it’s probably a more intricate breakdown that we can’t see.”

  He turns and regards me with a frown. “This spreadsheet includes a monthly breakdown of money spent on takeout by each of you—Sorro’s winning, by the way—so why would advertising not be broken down as well?”

  His question gives me pause. I dread going into Wade’s office and asking for an explanation of the advertising category. His talks usually end up taking hours while he throws in tax law and other complicated shit I can’t make sense of. There’s a reason why I hired him not long after I started this place. The man’s a numbers whiz. I’m business savvy and great with clients and innovative, but numbers are my demise.

  “I’ll have to have a meeting with him. Thanks for pointing that out. Now that I can bring something to him, he’ll make it all make sense and I can move on to something more worthy of my time.” You. I pause, unable to tear my eyes from his brown ones. “After we eat, let me take you out for drinks.” When his eyes widen and panic flashes in them, I chuckle. “As friends.”

  “I’m not twenty-one,” he reveals as though I don’t already know this.

  “We’ll make do. I know a few places.” I lift a brow. “Unless you need to get back home to your mom.”

  His lip curls up. “Low blow, man. Low blow.”

  I give his thigh a small squeeze. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “See these?” I say, holding up a coaster. “I designed these.”

  He smiles as he takes the coaster from me, his eyelids hooded from his buzz. “I like them. Simple but rustic. It fits their whole theme here.”

  Pride surges through me. I used to do everything for Hawkins Group—designs, finding clients, money management. But then it got big and fast. I needed help. Slowly, I’ve been building my team. And having Malcolm’s incredible skill with us allows us to offer more than simple branding and marketing, but a whole next level of service. It’s thrilling.