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BO STRUMMED A SLOW melodic line of mournful minors, letting his fingers settle between the frets as the waves of sound washed past him and sank into the bookshelves built into the wall. He tried again, making a little change here, a faster tempo there. This sort of farting around had always led to something good, something original enough they could play later in the night when the crowd thinned out and only the die-hard fans and the too-drunk dancers undulated on the floor. The former loved anything Saltpeter Fluxx had to offer, the latter was past giving a damn.
Right now, he wasn’t thinking of the crowd, the band.
Right now, he wallowed.
This wasn’t bad. It was sad, like a melancholy quicksand slowly trapping a graceful beast of prey. He felt trapped just like that, dragged down slowly, little bit by a little bit. One event after another. They just sucked the life out of him, drained him of energy and joy until only those few notes resonated in his soul.
He picked up a pen and leaned toward the music stand, marking the chords and the tempo. He paused. The melody... he didn’t want to lose that, so he set the bass in its stand, grabbed the notebook, and spent the necessary time marking down the tabulature and its undulating rhythm.
His phone rang. Its space-beep sound was so unlike his music, Bo startled as though from a dream.
Dammit. And who was bothering him now? Not even the sun pouring through the bow window of the music room succeeded in burning his funk away, and he sure wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone be civil about it..
“Bo? It’s Eli.”
Well, then. “Hi there.” He could be nice enough to Eli, if only for just a short while.
“Hey... the factory’s opening next week. Did you hear?”
“Yeah.” Bo could hardly wait. Wild rumors floated around, anything between minor changes to massive restructuring. Maybe even a sell-off and a permanent closure. The uncertainty of waiting was going to be the death of him.
“Anyway...” Eli’s voice wavered, suddenly unsure, and Bo didn’t know whether Eli had picked up on his funk, or whether Eli had been suffering an internal storm of his own. “I really wanted to see you. We didn’t get to talk much in the last two weeks.”
Just those good-night phone calls, few sentences so tired Bo didn’t even rise to retell a lame joke. Now, however, the chill that had been surrounding Bo began to thaw. “Yeah?”
“I thought...” Eli’s voice seized up, as though he suddenly ran out of air. He cleared his throat. “I thought we could go out. You know, for dinner.”
“Like a date?” Bo blurted, kicking himself immediately for assuming too much.
A beat of silence. “Maybe?”
He didn’t want another microwaved pizza, or another unidentified casserole someone had brought over. Sitting down with Eli, being served, not having to clean up? That sounded uncommonly civilized. “Okay,” he said finally. “Burgers?”
“There’s a nice place in Shadyside,” Eli said. “Small, a Portuguese-inspired French cafe where you bring a bottle. I’ll bring the wine.”
“Wine.” He’d had wine at his sister’s wedding. “Is this a dress-up place?”
“It can be, but we can go casual. Y’know, jeans and a good shirt.”
Bo hesitated. It didn’t sound like his scene at all.
“And they have outdoor seating,” Eli said. “It’s gotten warm out. We could... if you want.”
Was Eli begging? Aw, hell.
“Okay. When?”
Bo swore he could feel Eli’s smile through the phone even before Eli spoke up again. “Fabulous! I’ll pick you up. Parking’s hard to find and my car’s smaller.”
“Okay,” Bo said, realizing he’d been mostly monosyllabic throughout the whole conversation. “When?”
“I’ll pick up you at six.”
“Okay. See you then.” Bo hung up. Six gave him three more hours of farting around with this melody – except the sad tune didn’t want to come back. It’d changed during the conversation, had morphed into a faster, more solid heartbeat of a rhythm that filtered Eli’s voice and sunshine, blending them under his fingertips into an entirely different mood.
Bo shook his head. Good thing he’d written that maudlin dirge down before Eli had called. For now, he just turned the page and started afresh.
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ELI MADE IT TO BO’S house with three minutes to spare, and was surprised to see Bo waiting outside. The porch swing moved as Bo got up, slung his leather jacket over his shoulders, and walked toward Eli’s old, beat-up Toyota.
“Hop in!” Eli called out his open window as he clicked the locks open, but he kept his eyes on Bo. Never had he seen him move so slowly. Like the weight of the world was on is shoulders and chains were dragging off his ankles.
Bo got in, buckled up, and turned to Eli. “So where are we going?”
“Café Zinho. A nice little place, I think you’ll like it.”
“I’d better, I guess, since you’re taking me out.” Bo chuffed a laugh. “You go there often?”
“Nah. My mom took me last time she was here. She and Dad discovered it when they were in town when I was staying with you with that leg injury.” Eli’s mouth just wouldn’t stop. “I got a bottle of white and a bottle of red, so we can each get whatever we want. And we don’t have to sit outside if you’re cold.” He really wished he could shut up, but Bo’s antisocial silence felt different from his other silences, and it had Eli on the edge.
“But if you’d rather go out for pizza or somewhere more normal, we can do that. I know you like pizza and cabbage and stuff, and – “
Bo’s hand settled on Eli’s knee. The sensation of it had him lift his foot off the gas, making the car slow down. “Uh...”
“It’s okay.” Bo whispered.
“Um –“
“Shhh.” Bo didn’t so much squeeze as intensified the pressure of his palm, sliding up Eli’s thigh just an inch or two. “Drive.”
And Eli did. Bo’s hand stayed on Eli’s leg the whole twenty minutes to Shadyside, and Eli just breathed in an out as he tried to focus on the simple act of driving with Bo’s big, warm hand settled above his knee.
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BO STEPPED OUT OF THE little car with a wine bottle in each hand. It made him feel a bit self-conscious, going to what looked like a nice restaurant and bringing wine as though he knew anything about it. And that little car of Eli’s - he shuddered at the thought of Eli driving it in the snow. His pickup truck was so much more reliable with its traction and power and an extended crash zone – but then he’d never be able to park it in that minuscule space on Spahr Street.
Something warm and tingling rose in Bo’s chest as he drank in the sight of Eli as he locked up and bee-lined for him across the quiet street on a sloppy diagonal. Even though he didn’t limp like he had before, he still walked with careful deliberation.
“How’s your leg?”
“Why, can you still tell?” A shadow of frustration passed over Eli’s face. “I’ve been working out. Dancing, even.”
The memory of Eli dancing at the Ramrod induced a curious, growling sound in the bottom of Bo’s throat. “Dancing?” He had an urge to lick his lips.
“I was allowed to do Pilates with the concussion, and there’s an intermediate ballet class. I just did what I could.”
“They let you drive with that concussion?” Bo frowned.
“Nobody said I couldn’t.”
They walked between an adobe stucco wall and a low garden wall with a bench, which was surrounded by a screen of burgeoning plants. Bo would’ve opened the door, but Eli was there first and did it, holding it for Bo. The awkward feeling of not belonging began to crest when Eli looked up at him. “Your hands are full.”
“Oh.” As long as he didn’t look like a jerk. He looked around. The space used to be industrial, with piping and metal structures still hanging off the ceiling and painted a uniform brown. Some enterprising soul suspended cute little lanterns off all the camouflaged infrastructure.
“What do you think?” Eli hummed by his side.
Bo took in the paintings, the odd decorative fabrics and eclectic lamps. “Looks like your bedroom,” he said, but as soon as he did so, he felt heat rise up his face. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“Really.” Eli raised his eyebrows with a mischievous smile he gave gave their names to the hostess, who led them through the crowded room to the last empty table by the large window.
Bo set the bottles on the table and sat. The experience unrolled as though by a script to which Eli knew the lines, whereas Bo merely improvised. He had no idea what the foods were supposed to be, or be like, and he didn’t want to draw attention to his ignorance by asking.
“This looks good,” he pointed randomly at an appetizer. It said a ravioli – so far, so good. “And, um, the steak.” Because steak was always safe and predictable.
Eli ordered a cup of soup and something with wild mushrooms, and they waited.
Waiting was part of the process, and so was starting with white wine and Portuguese corn bread with butter.
“So,” Bo said, taking an experimental sip and letting the white wine spill across his tongue. It wasn’t sour, nor was it sweet, and there was something... something interesting going on in the back of his throat. He swallowed, breathed in, experienced. A long, silent moment passed before he spoke up. “Thanks for suggesting we go out. Things have been, um, tough.”
“Yeah.” Eli reached into the bread basket for a slice of bread. “What did your doctor say? You okay?”
Bo tasted some bread. “This is good,” he said absently. “Oh, doctor. Yeah, a close call on heavy metal poisoning, and the chemical burns are okay, so I’m good.” He lifted his eyes to Eli. “Unlike Halloran. He’s still in the ICU.”
Eli nodded. “Paul called. He... he probably won’t make it. You were lucky, the heavy metal exposure you suffered was minimal compared to what he got, up-front. Plus, the burns.”
Bo got caught up on Halloran’s situation through the grapevine. Forty percent of his skin was gone. The blast had caught straight-on, and the caustic chemicals had made a bad situation worse. He didn’t need to be reminded how close he came to dying. It could’ve been him, dying in the ICU of organ failure. “Can we not talk about Halloran? Or about Joe.”
Eli paled. “Sure.” He ripped his piece of bread in half, then into quarters. “So. You and I. Change of topic.”
As much as Bo was relieved they didn’t have to discuss explosions, murders, and untimely deaths, relationship talk wasn’t his strong suit. “Okay,” he said. “Best get it over with.”
Eli gave him a startled look. “Best get what over with?”
“It’s been hard for both of us. There’s a lot of chemistry, but... something’s not right. So you’re letting me down easy.” Bo looked straight in Eli’s eyes. “Right?”
“What,” Eli sputtered, “you think I’ll take you to a fancy restaurant just to break up with you? Hell no! I don’t want to do anything like that.” He leaned forward, closer to Bo, and lowered his voice. “I really like you, and yeah, there’s that spark. But things have been fucked up from the beginning.”
That was true. “The way I found you at the club, you mean?”
Eli’s cheeks pinked. He groaned. “You’d have to bring that up, but yeah. That was especially fucked up, and I think we need to just, you know.” He gesticulated with his half-empty wine glass. “Date. Like normal people do.”
The waiter brought Eli his roasted garlic bisque and placed a plate with one large ravioli in an orange sauce in front of Bo. “And your goat cheese ravioli in roasted carrot puree, sir.”
Bo looked at his plate. “This is... different.”
“Taste it!”
He poked at the palm-sized, irregularly shaped blister of a ravioli with his fork. This wasn’t what he thought it would be. Bo glanced up at Eli, who was observing him with an amused smile. “Toni likes to play with our food. But taste it, you’ll like it.”
Bo cut a piece off, dipped it in the orange-colored sauce, and put it in his mouth with resolve. He figured he’d chew and swallow fast and get over it, then return to that corn bread, but something tangy oozed onto his tongue, and then he tasted carrots. Real carrots, their essence and earthy sweetness, and... oh, my.
He didn’t hurry after that, not even after he and Eli traded tastes halfway through. And that white wine, so different from his usual beer or whisky, didn’t taste alien anymore. It tasted like it belonged.
Bo threw a covert glance around the room. Nobody paid them any attention. The other diners were engrossed in their own food, and the indistinct murmur of their conversation was a subtle privacy screen that enclosed him and Eli in their own bubble.
Maybe, just maybe, Bo belonged too.
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ELI FORKED ANOTHER bit of key lime tart, sipped the coffee he normally wouldn’t have at this hour of the evening, and surveyed Bo. He looked better now. Happier, and well fed, and their conversation hadn’t stalled yet.
This relationship thing might work, if they tried hard.
Bo agreed that Eli should keep his apartment, and he totally supported Eli’s theory on learning how to be by himself. They finally toasted Joe and his memory, and, after their stomachs settled enough and the wine had dulled their senses, they did bring up Halloran again.
“His brother said he gambled,” Bo said. “And if you look at when the glass developed the stone problem, it’s about a year after the casino opened in Pittsburgh.”
“Really?” Eli wrapped his hands around the warm coffee mug. “So did he owe money to a shark, or something like that?”
Bo shook his head. “His wife divorced him when he wouldn’t stop. They sold the house. That got him some money for a while, but...”
“There’s got to be someone on the supplier side.” Eli frowned. “And the supplier is in Illinois.”
“Mr. Phillips called, said the FBI wanted to talk to me. They’ll probably want to talk to you, too.”
“They already did.” Eli clenched his jaw in frustration. “I gave them all the data, right? All those boxes of files, all nicely correlated, and what do you think they did? They thanked me, patted me on the head, and sent me on my way. Then they took the original production files!”
Bo’s eyes widened in amusement. “But they don’t know shit about glass!”
“Yeah, exactly. Morons.” As soon as the words left Eli’s lips, he froze. “Oh God. So that’s how all you guys think of the new people!”
Bo shrugged. “It just means you get it now. You’re one of us. Don’t worry, they’ll be back and ask for explanations.” He yawned. “We should go. I’m wiped. Are you safe to drive?”
“Nope,” Eli said. He pulled his phone up, tapped on it for a little while, and smiled. “I’m calling us a car. Our driver will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh?” Bo raised his eyebrows while digging in his wallet. “And where is he taking us?”
“I said I got it,” Eli said with a mischievous smile. “Really, Bo. Please.” He reached across the table and lifted Bo’s chin up with is finger. Eye to eye, Eli put all his will and desire into his intent stare. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done.”
“I’ll leave the tip.”
Eli nodded. “If you must. But I was gonna hit you up for drinks this weekend at the Ramrod.”
Bo fished out a twenty with his thick fingers and slipped his work, black leather wallet in his jeans pocket. “Yeah? You coming?”
Eli nodded even as he felt a self-conscious flush tinge his cheeks. That place, and Bo’s music. He wondered whether hearing the reverberating riffs of Bo’s bass would affect him the same as before. No pills, and no booze until Saltpeter Fluxx was done with their set.
“Can you dance okay?”
“A little. I’ll start slow, see how it goes.” Eli flagged the waiter and turned back to Bo. “And I’ll dance alone till you’re done.”
“That so,” Bo drawled and leaned back in his chair. “Can’t wait to play for you.”
“So...” Eli’s voice hitched as he took in the sight that was Bo, relaxing back and measuring Eli with his hooded gaze. “Are we officially dating?”
They were done playing. Now that the question Eli had been waiting to pop all night long was out in the open, Bo stood up and reached his hand to Eli. “Yeah. You bet we are.”
Slowly, making sure they didn’t bump into the chairs of other diners, they wended their way out of the restaurant and to the sidewalk. The soft spring night was just this side of cool, and the trees and telephone poles cast long shadows in the light of the street lamps. Eli tugged Bo’s hand. “Let’s stand in the light so he can see us.”
Bo wrapped his arm around Eli’s shoulders. They stopped on a well-lit corner. Bo bent the smallest bit, depositing a gentle kiss on Eli’s temple. “I wanna play for you.”
A flush of warmth bubbled up Eli’s chest, and an involuntary smile blossomed on his lips. He turned to Bo. “And I wanna dance for you.”
“I wanna dance with you, baby.” And Bo kissed him again.
~the end~
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Thank you for reading “Flux,” one of the adventure/gay romance novels in the “Steel City Heat” collection If you liked it, check out other stories in my catalogue below, or check out my website at www.olivettedevaux.com.
You’ll find a link to my own bookstore, where I can sell titles at the best prices around! And because of the great terms, the both you and I benefit and I can pass on the savings to readers like you. You will find all of my books there eventually, unless they happen to be in KU at the time.
Your opinion counts – and so does your review. Any review you drop, at any venue, is much appreciated!.
Be well,
~Olivette