by DJ Jamison
He turned startled eyes on me.
“Help me unpack the cart,” I said gently.
“You two are just so cute.”
Sherrilyn pushed her own cart a little closer as Lee rolled ours toward the bagging area.
“Plastic or paper?” a high school boy asked, while the checker chewed her gum loudly and began scanning items after a mumbled greeting.
“Plastic’s fine,” Lee said, holding out a hand to me and motioning for me to hand over my money.
Sighing, I pulled out my wallet. The back of my neck prickled with unease. Handing my credit card to a criminal felt so wrong. Ignoring the sensation, I slapped my Visa card into his palm.
“Are you planning to stay in Fields?” Sherrilyn asked. “It’s a great town. You could always keep your uncle’s home. Remodel it? I could stop by and give you some tips if you’d like to improve your home value.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I have a business back home. I’m just here to get the house ready for market, and the cafe gig is a great chance for Lee to make a little money while we’re here. The house needs quite a lot of work, so we’ll probably be here for a while.” I was warming up as I solidified our back story, selling it with flying colors. I leaned in closer to Sherrilyn and whispered loudly, “Besides, he hates getting his hands dirty. He’d complain more than he’d help if he was home all day.”
“But I can be plenty dirty in other ways,” he teased.
Sherrilyn blushed, and I gave us a mental back pat. We were actually selling this boyfriend bit. I’d had my doubts we could pull it off.
Sherrilyn fanned herself. “Oh, my. Well, I’d still love to come by and look around.”
I kept my eyes on Lee as he ran the credit card. “Why’s that?”
“Well, I’d love to see the old place again. And I do represent several buyers, so it wouldn’t hurt for me to refresh my memory about all its features.”
Lee returned my card, and I turned to face her again. “It’s not ready for showings. I’m planning to do some repairs. I’m meeting with Camden on Monday to strategize.”
She waved a hand, and several large bracelets clanked together. “Oh, I understand. I’d just take a quick peek. Get a better idea of layout and size. I won’t give out too many details until you’ve made your improvements. What do you say? Next week, maybe?”
Lee cleared his throat, and looked pointedly at our groceries, all bagged up. I sighed. I knew Sherrilyn’s type. If I didn’t agree, she’d just keep pestering me.
“Fine,” I said. “You can give Mr. Lewis a call and set something up.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“He’s my agent. He’ll know best what to share about our plans for the house.”
I moved toward Lee, picking up several bags. “Have a nice day. I’ll let my mother know you said hello.”
She looked disconcerted. “Oh yes,” she said. “Thank you. It’s been a long time.”
***
Camden
Miguel followed me to my apartment and stood guard while I showered and packed some fresh clothes. When I came out, feeling sheepish about not asking for help sooner, Mig had already made a dent in the cleanup.
Two trash bags sat stuffed to the brim with broken dishes, torn up books and busted photo frames and other knick-knacks.
“You didn’t throw away everything, did you?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “It kind of looks like it, doesn’t it? If you didn’t have crappy luck, you’d have no luck at all, Cam.”
“I know.”
“I already took some of your other belongings down to the car. Your Lord of the Rings books are safe, my dorky friend. Oh, and your Games of Thrones books. Dude, you could just watch it on television, you know?”
“My television is a POS and I like reading. Besides, I like to surprise men by having a brain behind this pretty face.”
I fluttered my lashes at him, and he laughed. He knew all too well that every man who hit on me expected an airheaded twink. Sadly, I’d played the part too many times. I’d practically been a kept boy with Austin. I’d let myself become too comfortable in his large house with its swimming pool, new appliances and all the latest gadgets. But I’d felt uncomfortable there too. I wanted more purpose in life than to be available for my boyfriend’s pleasure.
“You can store your stuff at my place for now,” Miguel said. “You can store yourself there too for a bit.”
I bit my lip, holding in all the rejections I’d like to give. I didn’t have a choice. I could rent a hotel room for a day or two, but then I’d be out of cash again. My odd jobs were irregular and paid little. I never knew how much money I’d have at any given time, so I couldn’t afford to turn down Miguel. And it’s not like I could fool him anyway.
We’d arrived to find an eviction notice posted to my door, along with a note that the door would be fixed after back rent was paid in full or I was gone, whichever came first.
Mig hesitated. “Think you’ll ever move back here?”
“Maybe. If I pay my back rent, he’ll let me. I don’t really want to come back here, though. I just wish I could catch a break. I thought the Ivy Lane house, but …”
“That place is a money pit,” Mig said as he tapped away at the keys on his cell.
“It’ll be a while before it can sell, that’s for sure.”
I paused, watching my friend’s bowed head. “What are you doing? You better not be sexting Jeremy right now.”
Miguel scoffed. “Yeah right, as if he’s not way too conservative for that.”
True. I thought Miguel and Jeremy were a bit of an odd couple, with little in common, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned the hard way that Mig’s boyfriends were off-limits if I wanted to maintain our friendship. Miguel was never single, and I wasn’t sure he knew how to be alone. But I was in no position to judge. He was a hell of lot more independent than I was, especially today.
“Just dealing with client drama.”
Ah, what I’d give to have that problem. I nodded and glanced around. “Guess this is it, then. I just leave?”
Miguel shrugged. “I’d offer to pay to fix the door, but if you’re not returning, there’s not much point. I don’t want to do your slum lord any favors. Just stay with me until you can find a better place to live.”
The apartment looked even shabbier now that so many of the personal items that made it a home had been cleared out. The carpet was threadbare and stained. The kitchen appliances were dated and grimy. And that was without looking at the outside: peeling paint, rotting window frames and missing shingles. Yeah, it was a shithole. I’d always known that.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I nodded. “Thanks, Mig.”
I didn’t want to be a burden, but I didn’t know what to do anymore.
“I’ll see if I can get a few more hours at Dogs N Stuff,” I said. “I’ll pay you some rent if I stay more than a couple of days.”
Miguel wrinkled his nose. “I can’t believe you took that job. It’s totally undignified.”
My face heated with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Thank you for pointing that out, Miguel. I thought dressing up as a hot dog was classy.”
Miguel threw an arm over my rigid shoulders and pulled me in against his side. “Damn. I’m sorry,” he said. “That was shitty of me, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, unable to speak through my emotions. I hated being this helpless. Maybe I should put in applications for a full-time job. Even working at McDonald’s couldn’t be this bad, right? At least it would give me a paycheck, instead of requiring me to pay fees, like being a real estate agent did.
I didn’t voice any of that out loud. I wasn’t in the mood for an argument with Miguel, and he’d fight tooth and nail to keep me on a “career” track.
With Miguel’s help, we made relatively quick work of the clean-up job. After righting my couch and returning the cushions, it was mostly a matter of returning bent and torn photos to my photo
boxes and gathering up my remaining food to take to Mig’s place. For once, I was glad I didn’t have a ton of nice belongings.
“Is Jeremy okay with you being here?” I asked about an hour later, after lugging up another load of clothes from the laundry room on the first floor of the building. There was exactly one washer and dryer to serve five apartments so it was slow going.
Miguel shrugged. “Eh, lots of showings today, but they’re such flakes. Wasted my whole afternoon.”
I laughed. “That’s terrible. You’re just going to lie?”
“You know how he gets. It’s harmless. You and I both know that we’re never going to be anything but friends. Besides, I don’t want him all pissed off when I tell him you’re spending the night.”
Great. Something to look forward to then.
***
That evening, I shoveled a bite of lasagna into my mouth and tried to ignore the tension at the small kitchen table. Dinner tasted like guilt — and delicious spicy tomato sauce. Jeremy was a gifted cook, even if he was acting like a petulant baby right now.
On either side of the table, Miguel and his boyfriend stared daggers at each other. Arriving for an impromptu slumber party had gone about as well as I had expected. Jeremy was unhappy Miguel hadn’t asked his permission, and when I first arrived he spent a lot of time asking questions that made me feel like shit.
Why can’t he stay in a hotel?
Doesn’t he have family or something?
Are you really his only friend?
Luckily, he hadn’t taken his anger out on the meal. This was the best dinner I had eaten in a long while, and I tried to appreciate it despite the circumstances.
“This is great. You’re such a good cook, Jeremy.”
“Thanks.”
Jeremy’s tone was flat, just this side of ungracious. But he was civilized in a way my ex-boyfriend never managed. He hadn’t drunk his weight in wine or threatened bodily harm to Miguel — even if his eyes promised murder — so I couldn’t judge.
Miguel set down his fork and sighed.
“I didn’t know you had something special planned.”
“It’s our anniversary.”
I had no idea tonight was special for Miguel and Jeremy. I would have persuaded Miguel to let me stay at the office again. I could have set an alarm to get out of there before anyone came in the next morning.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry—” I started.
“No, it’s not!” Mig broke in. “What crack are you smoking?”
“It’s our eight-month anniversary,” Jeremy said obstinately.
Miguel stared, dumbfounded.
“Eight ... are you shitting me? Who the hell celebrates that?”
I crammed another bite in my mouth and picked up my plate as Miguel’s voice got louder. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
“I’m just gonna—”
“It’s also our one-month anniversary of moving in together,” Jeremy said. “People celebrate that.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
Realizing no one was listening to me, I retreated to the living room sofa to gobble my meal. If I was going to be tossed out, at least I wouldn’t be hungry.
“Just admit you’re acting like this because you’re jealous!”
“I’m not jealous of that pretty boy! If you want some kewpie doll with more air in his head than brains, go for it.”
Ouch. Thanks, Jer.
I caught a glimpse of Jeremy passing by before he turned down the hall to their bedroom. Miguel soon followed, grumbling under his breath.
Then the door slammed.
“Damn. This lasagna is so good, too,” I whispered to the room.
Uncertain whether to stay or go, I sat back and enjoyed the pasta. Sooner or later, the answer of where I was staying tonight would arrive, and I was in no hurry to seek it out.
I kicked up my feet, turned on the television and flipped channels until I found a baseball game. Then I cranked up the volume.
Ten minutes later the bedroom door opened with enough force to hit the wall.
“Well, if you’re so sure I’m fucking him I guess I’ll just spend my night with him.”
“Miguel,” Jeremy growled.
The door slammed again.
“Okay,” I mumbled, rising from the couch and crossing the room to grab my duffel bag.
That was nice while it lasted, but at least I got a final meal.
I was pulling on my shoes when Miguel stormed out into the room and threw a pair of skinny jeans and a pale blue V-neck T-shirt at me.
“Get dressed. We’re going out.”
I arched an eyebrow. Miguel’s cheeks were still flushed with anger, his chest heaving.
“You sure that’s a good idea? I can go to the office. I’ll make sure to sneak out before anyone comes in tomorrow.”
“Fuck that,” Mig spat. He was so furious, his eyes were shooting sparks. For a guy who’s usually all smiles and warmth, he could be scary when you drove him over that edge. “We’re gonna hit Glory. I need to blow off some steam.”
I groaned. “Seriously? That can’t be a good idea, Mig. That place is a dive. I wouldn’t touch those guys’ dicks with a ten-foot pole. Besides, it’s not worth throwing your whole relationship out—”
Miguel approached me, grabbed the hem of my loose T-shirt and yanked it up. I had to hurriedly raise my arms or risk suffocation by cotton. He tore it off my head roughly, nearly taking my nose with it.
“I meant blow off steam by dancing,” he corrected as I rubbed my smarting nose. “And I meant dancing with you.”
He ran his gaze over my bare chest, then shrugged. “Yeah, should be safe enough. I feel nothing.”
I shoved him. “Don’t be a bitch!”
Laughing, he picked up the much tighter V-neck T-shirt from where it had fallen onto the floor and shoved it at me. I dragged it on, sensing that resistance would be futile. Miguel was a force to be reckoned with when he was fired up.
Miguel was smaller in stature than I was, which always seemed weird because he had such a big personality. I usually forgot I had an inch and 20 pounds on him.
As a result, his tight shirt was even tighter on me, but we hadn’t brought in any of my packed belongings. They were still crammed into my car’s back seat. An overnight bag had freaked out Jeremy enough. Neither of us had wanted to send him into a panic at the thought I might be here for a while. For some crazy reason, when I’d packed a quick bag of essentials, clingy fabrics hadn’t been a priority.
I looked down to check the fit. “Holy crap, I can see my nipples in this thing.”
Miguel chuckled and tossed the jeans at me. “That’s the idea, cutie.”
Damn. They looked small too.
“Maybe I could go look through the car for my own clothes?” I ventured.
I was wearing a pair of gym shorts, and I’d brought in a suit in case I had to run out and do a showing — and to keep one nice thing from getting wrinkled to hell — but I hadn’t planned on going out. I had no money and no desire.
Miguel, on the other hand, had too much of both.
“Put them on. They’re supposed to be tight. You always dress too conservative when we go out anyway.”
Right. Well, I guess it wasn’t a party unless someone could see the shape of my dick through my pants.
***
Reid
I was elbow deep in dirty mop water when Lee’s voice broke the numbed state of meditation I’d reached from the monotonous job.
We’d spent most of two days clearing out trash, boxing up things to sell and ridding this old house of years of grime. I figured if I had to babysit Lee, I could get some free labor out of the deal. He was less enthusiastic about that idea, but he’d gotten bored enough sitting around on his ass with nothing to do that he’d eventually caved.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
“No.”
“But you don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“No
.”
“Reid!” he growled, sounding more like the drug pusher I knew him to be than the drama queen he’d been showing me the past few days. “I’m going to lose my shit!”
I paused, dropping the sponge into the bucket of soapy water, and sat back on my haunches. Fixing him with a flat stare, I rolled my hand to show him I was listening.
“I’m bored, and when I get bored, I get horny—”
“Hell no,” I said emphatically. “Not even when hell freezes over.”
“But—” He stopped, eyes going comically wide. Then he doubled over in laughter. Loud, obnoxious laughter. The kind where his eyes watered and he had to gasp for breath.
“You thought,” he said, pausing as another round of laughter hit him. “You and me?”
I crossed my arms, not even caring I was getting foul water on my shirt. These clothes were toast anyway.
“Are you done?”
He fanned a hand in front of his eyes, his face contorting as he worked to rein in his hilarity at the idea of hooking up with me. I scowled, but I was relieved Lee wasn’t into me. I didn’t mess around with my witnesses, had never done and never had the desire. To me they were objectives more than people. Keep this alive and well. It might seem cold, but it was necessary in this line of work.
“Sorry,” he said at last. “That was funny.”
“Let’s get back to work,” I suggested, leaning forward to grab the sponge.
Lee grabbed my arm, tugging me back. “Wait, wait. I didn’t get to tell you what I wanted.”
I sighed. The answer was going to be no, whatever he said, but I could tell he wouldn’t let up until I heard him out.
“What?”
“I want to go out.”
“No,” I said.
This time, I did grab the sponge and go back to scrubbing. The knees of my jeans were soaked from moving along the wet floor, and my skin was burning from the bleach mixed into the water. The fumes weren’t so great, either. I hadn’t done much housecleaning, so I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I just dumped some soap and bleach in some water and went to town.
