SATURDAY, LATE in the morning, I was wondering how I’d let Val drag me out to a bar the night before. In his words, it was “because it’s time you got out and met people,” but the only people I could remember the next morning were Mr. Vodka and Mrs. Rum—a couple who were not a match made in heaven. By the time I got up and out of the bathroom, Val was already pounding on my door.
He bounced in, telling me to get up, we were going outside. “It’s a wonderful day, so let’s go down to the park.”
I groaned but couldn’t come up with an argument against it, other than the fact that it was all the way downtown. Val was determined, so we spent the afternoon wandering the park and tossing a Frisbee he’d shoved in the backpack he’d brought along. Of course, Val caught the eyes of half a dozen guys while we were there. I swore he collected phone numbers the way guys used to collect stamps. I wondered if he had an album he pasted them into so someday when he was old, he could look at them, sigh wistfully, and remember what it felt like to be young… and horny.
We stopped at a bodega on the way home and got dinner. Val had worn me out, but he still insisted on having drinks.
“How about a Diet Coke each and we can watch a movie?” I asked.
“The Hobbit?” Val asked hopefully. I had no idea why he loved those Hobbit movies so much, but I acquiesced, and we spent the next few hours devouring a huge bowl of popcorn on Val’s couch. I dozed off before the end, but Val nudged me awake in time for the dragon parts, which I liked, and then I went home, dragging my butt to bed.
Sunday I slept in and had the most amazing time doing laundry and spending a whole hour cleaning the apartment. I did get out to do some shopping and found a cool metal chair from the fifties for the patio. I hauled it home and set it out there. It looked lonely, but it would do for now. I decided I needed to get some Rust-Oleum to paint it, but that could wait until I stopped at the hardware store during the week.
Monday morning was the weekly agency meeting, and I sat in my usual place. Just before the start of the meeting, Gloria got up from her seat and walked down the table. “You sit there,” she told me, motioning toward Jane’s empty chair. I got up and sat across from Garren, just as Claude came in to start the meeting. I expected looks or grief from the others, but no one said anything. Apparently I’d made Claude happy.
“I don’t understand,” I told Gloria once the meeting was over.
“You will,” she said with a smile before she left the conference room. I found out later in the day that two of the clients I’d sent to auditions got their parts, and that I’d helped Gloria land a huge part for one of her clients. How that worked I had no idea, but then, when it came to Broadway, sometimes the politics could be more powerful than anything else.
I spent the morning making calls and answered one just before lunch.
“Payton, it’s Giles Winter. I have an opening at ten o’clock tomorrow for your client if you can get him here.” Beckett had returned the contract, and I had been trying to get him in for his pictures, but the photographers were booked solid.
“That’s great. Give me ten minutes and I’ll call you back and confirm.”
I hung up and called Beckett. “I have a photography appointment for you tomorrow at ten.”
“That’s fast.”
“We have to take advantage of it or it could be weeks. Can you be ready?”
“I need to get a tuxedo.”
“Okay. Get to my office as soon as you can. I’ll make a few calls to see where we can go to get what we need.” I hung up and called Marvin, Gloria’s assistant. He was one of those guys who had the town wired, and he told me where I could get a tuxedo in any size on short notice. When Beckett arrived, I met him in the lobby. We rode the elevator down to the street and hailed a cab.
“You have all the other things you need?” I asked once I’d given the driver the address and we’d pulled out into traffic.
“Yeah. I asked a friend, and she helped me pick out some things that would soften the way I look.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“I know you worked hard, but it’s important that you have an image that’s versatile. Trust me, everyone will see that you’re handsome and hot. But they need to see you as vulnerable and intelligent too, even dashing.”
“You think I’m hot?” Beckett asked.
“That’s what you got out of that?” I countered, rolling my eyes. I was certainly not having a conversation about his hotness, which was off the charts, but going there was not an option. He was sex on a stick, and in that enclosed space, his scent, mixed with soap and even a touch of lavender, turned the cab into a libido-building caldron of pheromones that went straight my head. I sat as close to the door as I could, trying to breathe through my mouth so I could think clearly. I turned to him and saw him looking back, mouth open a little, wetting his lips slightly with his tongue. He turned away when he saw me looking, and I watched out the window as we made the final turn and approached our destination.
I placed my bag over my lap and breathed as normally as I could, sighing to myself when we pulled over to the curb. Beckett got out, and with relief, I paid the driver, got a receipt, and led Beckett inside the formalwear store.
They had an amazing selection, judging by the racks that lined the walls.
“Can I help you?” a gray-haired gentleman in a crisp suit asked as he came around the counter.
“Beckett here has a photo session tomorrow, and we need some images of him in a tuxedo. We’d like to rent one. It should be plain black with a black tie. Make him look like James Bond.”
“My,” the man said, looking Beckett over like he was lunch, “that’s going to be difficult, but if he were playing James Bond, I’d be sure to go see it.” He pulled out jackets for Beckett to try on and quickly found one that fit. Then he stared at Beckett, lightly scratching his chin. “I have pants that will fit him around the waist, but I have to go bigger because of his legs.” He handed Beckett a pair of pants and pointed toward a fitting room, and Beckett went inside.
When he came out, he looked as though he’d been poured into the pants. They gripped his legs and hips tightly and would probably rip if he flexed. “Those are way too tight,” I said, and George, who had introduced himself while we waited, agreed.
“I might have a pair that will work,” George said. “Go ahead and take those off. I’ll be right back.” He walked through a curtain at the back of the shop, and Beckett returned to the dressing room. George came back out a few minutes later with a pair of pants over his arm. “I had a gentleman built like this a year ago. He ordered a custom pair of pants but never picked them up. I’ve had them all this time. At least someone might get some use out of them.” He handed them to me, and I took them inside the dressing area.
Beckett stood behind a curtain. He turned and peered over the rod. I handed him the pants, and he smiled and turned away.
“Come out when you’re ready,” I said.
“Okay, but bigger pants are only going to be baggier around the waist. I have this problem all the time. I can only wear certain brands of jeans and pants.”
“Just try them on,” I said.
Beckett came out a minute later holding his shirt up so we could see the pants. They were a little too long, but fit him perfectly otherwise.
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah. These feel nice,” Beckett said.
“Good,” George said. “Now I’ll find you a shirt and you can try on the whole package.” George looked through the rack, then handed me a white shirt with a tab collar. I passed it to Beckett, who returned to the dressing room. He stepped out again, shirt open, looking confused.
“There are extra holes and things. What do I do with those?”
Damn, he was stunning, with his open shirt revealing warm, rich skin. “Those are for the shirt studs.” I buttoned the shirt for him and had Beckett lift his chin. George handed me a black tie that I fastened around his neck. “Tuck in the tail, and we’ll take a look.” I stepped back while he did as I asked.
“Is this right?”
“No,” I said, chuckling, and I proceeded to straighten the shirt. Beckett was as hard as granite, and damn if I didn’t want to see what all that muscle would feel like under my hands. But I kept my thoughts and attention on the task at hand and got everything the way it should be. Then George handed me the jacket and I gave it to Beckett, who slipped it over his shoulders.
“My God,” George whispered.
“You can say that again,” I agreed. Beckett was stunning—all wide shoulders, narrow waist, and elegant lines. The entire package would look amazing on a red carpet, a stage, or the big screen. “All right,” I said, swallowing hard. I had to pull my gaze away from him. “Take a look at yourself in the mirror.”
“What size shoes do you wear?” George asked.
“Thirteen,” Beckett answered.
George hurried away.
“Isn’t this a bit much?” Beckett asked.
“No. The black smooths you out.” I moved closer. “See how elegantly you taper from your shoulders down to your waist and then your legs? You look like a statue. Most really big guys look like a huge man who’s been stuffed into a tuxedo. You were made to wear these clothes. And when the casting directors see these pictures, they’ll see you in the clothes they need you to wear for the film.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. Do you want to spend your entire career running around in a loincloth?” I asked, hands on my hips.
“No.”
“Then we have to show them you look stunning in fine clothes or that’s all you’ll get to do. Remember, Arnold spent years as Conan, wearing next to nothing and saying even less. Then he played a killer robot. He was a body. I want more than that for you.”
George returned, handed Beckett the shoes, and he slipped them on.
“We’ll take it,” I said.
“I can give you a good deal on the clothes if you want to buy them. The pants are his”—George waved his hand dismissively—“because they fit and were already paid for. I’m glad to get them out of my back room. The coat and shirt will come to less than forty dollars more than the rental if you buy them.”
I handed him my credit card. “Add some studs and cuff links.” I’d charge them to the agency. I had a small expense account, and I’d slip the total onto that. I haven’t eaten lunch out for a while. George put a basic set on the bill. Then he marked the length of Beckett’s pants, and Beckett went to put on his regular clothes.
“You should definitely wear more black,” I told Beckett when he came back out. “You look stunning in it. It isn’t necessary to go extreme. But some nice black shirts with darker pants would look very good on you. If we’re sending you to an audition where they want a big man, we’ll get you a patterned shirt, though. It will make you look huge.”
“Why are you so worried about things like this?” Beckett asked. He handed over the clothes, and George went into the back to hem the pants.
“Because I know you can act. There’s no doubt about it. But in an industry where tall, slim, and attractive are very in, you’re different. I want to make sure that difference is used to our advantage. You could have a decent career as an actor in historical or adventure movies where the hero is larger than life, but don’t you want more?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me do my job,” I insisted. “Looks are everything, so if you go into an audition looking stunning, they won’t be as quick to dismiss you.”
“But….”
“You’ve been to cattle calls, right? Hundreds of people show up, and the producers give you ten seconds. Do you think they do much more than look in those first few seconds? I want them to remember you. If they’re gay, I want them hard, and if they’re female, wet.” I knew I was being crass, but if it got my point across, so be it.
“And if they’re straight?”
“I want them to wish they were you, and we do that with clothes.”
“Okay.” Beckett put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll listen to you.”
“Good.” Otherwise we were both up a creek. Because like it or not, my career advancement was now tied to Beckett’s. I had to make him a success or it was likely I’d end up as the next Jane, out on my ear.
Beckett’s gaze hardened, and I coughed slightly. “I’ll always do my best for you.” At least as far as his career was concerned. God, I needed to watch my mouth and keep my eyes off the way he filled out that damned shirt, to the point where it strained across his body. “Your appointment with the photographer is at ten tomorrow.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a card with the address on it. “Get there a few minutes early, and I’ll help you with the tuxedo if you wish.”
Beckett appeared relieved at that. When George returned with the clothes bag, Beckett took it, and we both thanked George. “Come back again anytime,” George said as we reached the door. Beckett pulled it open, and we stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Fresh air—I needed it to clear my head. “I’m going to go back to my office. Are you able to get home?” I hailed a cab and it pulled up to the curb. “If not, I’ll drop you and then go on.” He got in, and I groaned under my breath and followed him inside. He gave the driver his address, which turned out to be just a few blocks from mine. After we dropped him off, I directed the cab back to the office.
“How was the babysitting?” Millie asked with a slight grin when I walked in.
“He’s quite a baby,” I retorted.
Millie laughed. “Is he really?”
“No. He just needed some help with clothes for a session with a photographer.”
“He isn’t a model, you know. He’s an actor,” Claude said from his office doorway.
I felt like a fool. “I wanted to make sure he could show the versatility of his look. Otherwise….”
Claude nodded thoughtfully. “Good thinking.” He went back into his office and closed the door. Millie shrugged and I turned, heading back to my office with a smile.
THE FOLLOWING morning, after making all my calls to remind my charges about auditions, I met Beckett at Giles’s studio. He was with another client, but his receptionist pointed toward the screen where Beckett could change. “Start with the tuxedo,” I told him. “It takes the longest to change into.”
“Okay.” Beckett carried his clothes behind the screen while I pulled out my phone to check and return messages. The receptionist nearly swallowed her tongue when Beckett stepped back out with his shirt open, the package of studs in his hand.
“Jesus,” she whispered under her breath, and all I could do was nod. My mouth was Sahara dry as I stepped closer and helped him with his shirt. Every now and then, my fingers brushed against the smooth, soft skin of his belly or chest. He was warm, and he appeared as immovable as the proverbial brick wall he seemed to be made of. Once I had the studs done, I helped him with the collar, tie, and cuff links. The assistant watched, completely enraptured. Then I held Beckett’s jacket for him and stepped out of the way so he could see how he looked in the mirror.
“Fantastic,” Giles breathed as he came in. He was tall and olive-skinned, with a slim, artfully trimmed beard. “Come with me and we’ll get started.” I stepped out of the way and let Beckett follow Giles as they got acquainted.
“We need as many looks as possible,” I explained once Giles began setting up the lighting and plain backgrounds.
“This one looks good to me,” Giles purred.
I wanted to smack him and step between him and Beckett. Then I wondered where that thought had come from. Beckett was my client, nothing more. He was out of reach for me. I couldn’t allow myself to have any feelings for him, not after what had happened in high school. This had to be a professional relationship. That was the only way I could ever deal with him. It kept me in control and him at arm’s length. But what amazed me was that Beckett simply looked at me with that gentle half smile he had and ignored Giles for a brief second.
“Okay, let’s get you over here,” Giles said.
Beckett walked over to the backdrop, and Giles positioned him, checked lighting, and started taking pictures. Beckett wasn’t uncomfortable, but he seemed stiff. He took direction, but his eyes were lifeless. “Pretend you’re Willy Loman,” I told him from off to the side. “Give us that fire.” And he did. Almost instantly his jaw set and his eyes blazed. Beckett wasn’t a model, but his eyes did convey emotion. After a few minutes, Beckett was sent off to change clothes, and Giles walked over to me.
“What’s going on with you two?” he asked. I widened my eyes in surprise. “He watches you instead of me. Even when we’re in the height of the session, he knows where you are.”
“I’m his new agent, and I think he wants to impress me.”
“He certainly isn’t interested in impressing me,” Giles retorted in a snarky whisper.
Maybe Giles wasn’t the best choice for this shoot. He clearly had his eye on Beckett for something more than just taking pictures, and he seemed like he was the type who got what he wanted.
“The only people he needs to impress are the casting directors,” I said with as little emotion as possible. I didn’t want Giles to know that he was really starting to piss me off. Thankfully, Beckett returned, now in jeans and a plain black sweater. Giles got him into position, and Beckett did a great job. I stood out of his line of sight, and Giles seemed much happier this time.
After we were done and Beckett had gone to change, I got the details from Giles about when the pictures would be ready and thanked him for all his help. I also made a note to find someone else for my future photography work.
“God, I felt like a piece of meat,” Beckett said, shivering, as soon as we stepped out onto the street. “All he did was look at me like he was a lion and I was his lunch. It was creepy.”
“Well, you did great, and we should have some stellar pictures out of this. I’m going to start lining up auditions, and I’ll probably send you all over town. We need to get you in front of producers and casting directors. As I’m finding out, New York is a huge city, but the theater community is rather small. You have a solid résumé and a look that most don’t have, so I suspect you’ll turn heads.”
Beckett shifted his gaze upward, and I followed it. “I thought I was being devoured.”
“Get used to it,” I said. “Once we get you out there, people will be watching you all the time.” I smiled and motioned Beckett toward the avenue, where it would be easier to get a taxi. “God, I could use coffee,” I groaned. I motioned toward the shop across the street. “Join me?”
“Sure,” Beckett said. We crossed and walked into the busy shop. It seemed to be the end of the lunch rush, and by the time we got to the counter, most of the people had gotten what they came for and left. There were just a few tables with people lingering to talk. When we got our coffee, I glanced at the door and realized I wasn’t interested in going back to the office. Not yet, anyway.
We sat down, and I sipped my latte. Beckett sat across from me and stared. I figured at any second he was going to remember who I was, but he just kept looking. “Sometimes I get this idea that I should know you from somewhere other than New York… like….”
“Mount Pleasant,” I said, and then I sipped from my cup, watching him over the top.
“Yeah.”
“So you really don’t remember?” I figured I’d play with him to see how long it took.
“We do know each other?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t giving him anything more. “I looked very different in high school.”
Beckett gasped and jumped to his feet. “You!” he exclaimed and pointed. “You knew all along.” His eyes blazed hotter than they ever had during his audition or the photo session. “After what you did to me, I should—”
I chuckled uncomfortably. “What the hell are you talking about?” I remembered suddenly that we were in public and lowered my voice to a hiss. “You were the one who made my life miserable for months. Things were bad enough before you got involved, but after that it was open season.”
“You weren’t the one outed in front of everyone.” Beckett headed for the door. I watched him go, then picked up my coffee and the bag with his clothes and raced out after him.
“What do you mean?” I demanded as I reached the sidewalk, thrusting the bag of clothes toward him. “I never did anything to you.”
“You saw me… us… and told everyone.”
“I most certainly did not.” My anger rose and I stepped closer to Beckett, jamming my finger into his chest. “Yes, I saw you, but I left, and I never told a soul. I knew I was gay and wasn’t about to out anyone. I have more class than that. I mean, even after the way you treated me, I was mature enough to realize that you had talent and signed you, against my better judgment. I should have let you rot on the garbage heap of obscurity.” I turned away and began walking down the sidewalk. I’d had enough of this. Me outing him? He had no right to be angry with me. He wasn’t the one who’d had all his self-confidence and worth stripped away layer by layer until there was nothing left at all.
A car horn honked and I was yanked backward, hard, falling against what I thought at first was a brick wall, the coffee sailing out of my hand.
“That car almost hit you.”
I turned and found myself standing right in front of Beckett. I would have stepped back, but I’d have ended up in the street. I looked down, and of course, what was left of my coffee now lay on the sidewalk.
“I need to get back to my office.” I needed distance. My heart pounded and I was still angry and liable to say something I would regret. “I’ll be in contact as soon as I have some auditions for you.” I turned and held my bag to my chest as I signaled for a cab. Getting out of here and away from Beckett as quickly as possible was my only goal.
A taxi pulled to the curb and I practically jumped in, giving him the office address as soon as I yanked the door closed. As the car took off, I sat back and tried to think about something other than Beckett.
The cab pulled up in front of the agency building, and I hurried inside and rode the elevator up. As soon as the doors parted, I marched out and past the reception desk. Millie looked up. She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed again and went back to her work. I continued to my office, closed the door, and flopped into the chair behind my desk. How dare he be upset? I wanted to bang my hands on the desk. Instead, I took a deep breath and picked up my phone, listened to the messages, and settled in to do my job. That was what I was here for, and regardless of Beckett’s delusions or anything else, I would do my best for all my clients.
My phone rang as soon as I’d taken down my messages. “Yes.”
“He’s on his way back. I tried to stop him,” Millie said, clearly frazzled. My door opened and Beckett lumbered in, face flushed, eyes blazing as though they’d been stoked with gasoline.
“It’s okay,” I told her and hung up. Then I turned my fury on Beckett. “What do you want?”
He tossed the bag of clothing on my chair and kicked the door closed. “I want to hear this crap once again about how you never said anything. How dare you just run away? Are you a coward? A scared rabbit?”
“No.” I stood up. “I’m your agent, and I suggest you settle down and listen to yourself. I had nothing to do with outing you in high school. My guess is it was the guy who had your dick down his throat. Just because he couldn’t talk while he was blowing you doesn’t mean he didn’t run his mouth afterward. Now I suggest you leave.”
“You honestly didn’t?” The heat and anger seemed to leech out of him by the second.
“Of course not,” I said evenly. “You should go.” Beckett nodded and turned, opening the door. “Don’t forget your things,” I told him, and he reached back and grabbed the bag before walking out.
I watched him for a few seconds and tried to get my head around what he’d said. Beckett actually thought I had been the one who outed him. I shook my head. I’d never do that to anyone. Maybe it was easier to blame me than someone he didn’t want to think could hurt him. God, that little fact explained so very much. No wonder Beckett had been so mean—he’d hated me… for no reason to be sure, but he’d hated me for what he thought I’d done to him.
“You should have asked,” I said quietly.
“Asked what?” Garren said as he came into my office.
“Nothing,” I answered quickly. “What can I do for you?”
“We heard loud voices and thought you might need help,” Garren said as he looked around.
“I’m fine. It was just a difference of opinion. Nothing to be worried about.” I sat back down. “How are things going for you?”
Garren shrugged. “The usual.” He kept looking at me. I wondered what he wanted. “I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner or something sometime. We haven’t had a chance to talk or anything much since you got here other than to glare or yell at each other.” Garren smiled. I figured this was his way of trying to build bridges after our disagreement over the client. “I’ll call you and set something up.”
“That’d be great,” I said. I watched Garren leave, then sat back down and got to work. I had plenty to do, and thankfully I didn’t spend more than a few seconds wondering about Beckett Huntington.
“SO HOW did it go at work?” Val asked as he sat on my sofa late that evening. He’d knocked on my door when he got home and since I was still up, I invited him in.
“Okay,” I answered pensively.
Val picked up the yearbook I’d pulled out of one of the boxes under my bed. “Taking a walk down memory lane?”
“More like Elm Street. High school was a nightmare.”
Val set the yearbook down. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain client of yours, would it?”
“Possibly.” I sat down next to Val and handed him a beer. “Sorry, I don’t have the stuff for cocktails. I hope this is okay.”
Val opened it and took a drink. “Perfect.” He smiled and waited expectantly. I tried to ignore him, but he stared at me without saying anything. It was unnerving, to say the least. “You might as well spill, because I’m just going to sit here until you do.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
“Who doesn’t love gossip?” Val took another chug of his beer. “Besides, I know there’s more to this than you’re saying. I think you’re attracted to this guy and don’t want to admit it. He gets under your skin because you have the hots for him. That’s the only reason you’re so obsessed with him.”
“I am not.”
“You keep telling yourself that. But every time we’ve gotten together since you saw him at the gym, he’s the topic of conversation, and that’s never happened before with any guy.”
“He’s just so….” I tried to find the words while Val smiled at me indulgently.
“Protest all you want. I know what I know.”
I wanted to wring his neck, but I couldn’t very well do that when he was fucking right. “Can we just drop it?”
“As long as you admit he’s hot and that you like him.”
I signed. “Okay, he’s really hot. But I do not like him. He’s a complete ass. He actually accused me of outing him in school. The pain in the ass. He thought I outed him and that’s why he made my life miserable.”
Val rubbed his hands together. “Honey, you have him where you want him.”
“How so?”
“Guilt. Let me tell you, it’s a wonderful thing. You’re his agent—”
“I would never let this interfere with doing my job,” I growled, cutting him off. “I’m a professional, and regardless of how I feel about the gorilla personally, I will do my best for him professionally. All you have in this business is your reputation. It’s what we trade on, and I will not have that endangered for any reason.”
Val set down his bottle. “Take off the coat of righteous indignation and listen to me. I only meant that he can’t avoid you. So make the most of what he did.”
“I wish he’d never crossed my path.” I was beginning to think Beckett was my own personal black cat. Every time we met, I ended up getting sent flying and landing on my proverbial ass.
“But he did.”
“Let’s talk about something else. Are you and Rod still going out this weekend?”
“Yeah. He wants to get together earlier, but with the shifts I’m working, I don’t think it’s possible. I hate this shift. I get stuff done in the morning, but by the time I get home in the evening it’s really too late to get together with anyone if they have to get up at a normal time.”
“How long do you have to work this shift?” I asked.
The front door buzzer sounded, and I looked up. I stilled. Val did the same. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I got up with Val behind me and cracked open my door, peering toward the iron-fronted glass door of the building. There were also windows on either side, so it was easy to see anyone standing outside.
“It looks like you have a visitor,” Val said cheekily. “Do you want me to stay?”
“No.” I wondered what in the heck Beckett was doing out in front of my building.
“Okay.” Val walked by me to the front door, then opened it to allow Beckett inside. “You call me if you need anything.” He glared at Beckett, and I had to stop myself from laughing as the notion of a mouse glaring at a cat came to mind. Val turned as though he were covered in armor and walked up the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Beckett once I heard Val’s door close. Crossing my arms across my chest, I waited for him to answer me.
“The Internet is amazing,” he answered.
“Okay. That explains how you found me, but what are you doing here?” I wouldn’t let him off the hook.
“I went home and then wandered the neighborhood, thinking about things and some of the stuff I did back in high school.” Beckett closed the front door to the building, and I stepped back into my apartment. I didn’t invite Beckett in—I was wondering if I wanted him here at all. But since I didn’t tell him to leave, Beckett slowly came inside. I didn’t sit, so he stood just inside the door. “I have to ask—you really didn’t say anything about what you saw?”
I shook my head. “What does it matter? You had a few tough weeks and then you were as popular as you’d been before. Sure, some kids avoided you, but the team backed you, and the girls loved you even more.”
“That was at school. That little revelation meant I had to change homes… again.” Beckett looked like someone had kicked his puppy. “I was seventeen at the time—not an adult. Three months from my eighteenth birthday.”
“Your parents kicked you out?”
“No. My parents were dead. They had been for six years. I lived with my grandmother until she died, and then I spent much of high school in a foster home. I thought they loved me, but as soon as they heard what was going around school, they called child services and said I was incompatible with their family. So I ended up moving again, this time into a county home. No parents, just an overseer, as I referred to her. I shared a room with another boy. I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen and went on welfare. I had nothing and got into the college by the grace of God.”
I had no idea what to say. I motioned to my chair. It was sturdy enough to support him. Then I sat on the sofa. I really needed to get something to cover its ugliness. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, I didn’t give anyone the chance to know. I covered it with personality to most people and blamed you for everything that happened.” Beckett cleared his throat. “Then I heard that you were trying out for the lead in the school play and that you were the only one up for the part. So I figured, how hard could it be? And I tried out. I was thrilled that I’d been able to take the part away from you. I knew you wanted it bad. It was written on your face, and when I got the part, I was happy as hell. I’d taken it away from you with no effort at all.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, remembering the ache and hurt. What I’d wanted had been so close, but my tormentor had taken it all away with what looked like ease. “That day ended my acting career. I loved it. But I wasn’t good enough. I realized that. I had planned to major in theater in college but ended up changing to business and worked backstage. And you got your revenge on someone who never did you any harm.”
“Yeah,” Beckett breathed. “I realize I was wrong.”
“You think?”
“Well, I’m not angry at the world the way I used to be. I know it’s no consolation, but I figured out years ago that my anger led me to my calling. I found a talent, but I didn’t major in theater either. I took classes and loved it, though. But I don’t remember you after high school.”
“I decided I didn’t want to be Pay-ton anymore. I lost weight—”
“I noticed. I didn’t recognize you.”
“Yeah. Once the weight came off and my skin firmed up, I didn’t look the same at all. The chins were gone and the shape of my face seemed to change. I wasn’t as round anywhere. I remember seeing you around, but I stayed out of your way. I wanted to be someone different, and you were a reminder of the person I used to be.”
“So you saw me?”
“Sometimes. I worked quite a few productions because I loved it, but then I stepped away from it. After I graduated, I got a job as an assistant theater manager in Ann Arbor. I stayed for a while, then tried for jobs here in the city. I still love the theater, but I knew I wasn’t good enough to be an actor. By a stroke of luck, I got this job, and I think I’m really good at it.”
Beckett nodded. “Then why did you take me as a client?”
“I wasn’t going to until I saw your audition. If you hadn’t been so fucking good, I would have said thank you and showed you the door. But you are good, and I’d be a fool if I let my personal feelings get in the way of business. So I set them aside and did what was best for both of us.”
“You’re a better person than I am… than I was,” Beckett said softly. “During college and after I started competing, I used my theater to make my poses and routines dramatic, and I started to win. I got bigger and bigger and won more and more.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“It wasn’t what I wanted from my life. When you’re young, you can win. As you get older, it requires chemical help, and I wasn’t going to go there. I got some roles in community theater and then decided I had nothing to lose, so I moved here, staying with a friend. I got a few small roles, and Jane saw me and thought I might have promise.”
“Well, you do.” I got up and went to the refrigerator. I needed another beer. I brought one for Beckett as well, because it would have been rude not to. He took it and rolled the bottle between his hands.
“Was I really that mean to you?” Beckett asked.
I opened the bottle. “Yes, you were. I was a kid, another person, and you delighted in making sure I was the butt of everyone else’s jokes. I gained weight because of medication, and it was hard not to eat when comfort was all I wanted.” I drank half the bottle in a few gulps. “Every day was hell, and though my parents were supportive, they didn’t know everything that was happening.” I stood and walked to where Beckett sat. “You made me feel so badly about myself that I actually thought about ending it all more than once.”
Beckett gasped.
“You have no idea how many times I wished I could have you right where you are now, right in front of me, so I could tell you what I thought of you.”
Beckett swallowed, put his beer bottle down, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why don’t you?”
I realized there was no reason to. Not anymore. “Because all the anger and hurt is in the past. Yes, it was painful, but I can’t carry it with me forever. It isn’t healthy, and when I shed the weight, I’d like to think I shed the person I was along with it.”
Beckett stared at me, openmouthed. “You have to be shitting me. No one is that nice.”
“I never said I was nice. I just had to let it go or it would eat me alive.” I took a deep breath. “That’s what my dad told me to do. Of course it wasn’t that easy.” And now I was acting my ass off because I didn’t want him to think I was a basket case or something. Beckett had an immense impact on my life, mostly negatively, but I was who I was because of all the experiences in my life. I couldn’t change that, and I wasn’t going to hold on to the past.
“That’s more than I could ever do,” Beckett admitted. “I spent my entire life afraid someone would look at me and see me for who I really was, and you… you’re so damned comfortable just being you.”
“I am not,” I said, more loudly than I intended. “There are things I hate about myself.”
“Like what?” Beckett asked, sitting back. The fucker looked relaxed. He seemed to be enjoying himself. He even reached for the beer and opened it.
“It’s easy for me to say that I’ve moved on and that I can turn my back on what happened. I’d really like to think I’m that kind of person. I want to be, but in truth I’m finding it hard. I know carrying a whole bunch of baggage will only weigh me down, and I want to let it go. But saying it and doing it are very different things.”
“You don’t have to be some kind of saint. Hell, I certainly know I’m not.”
“That’s easy for you to say. I know differently.” I emptied my beer and got up for another, opening it before flopping back down in the chair.
“How many of those have you had?” Beckett asked.
I shrugged. My memory was becoming a little hazy. I knew I’d had a few sitting in front of the television and one with Val, then these. Maybe that accounted for the way I was running off at the mouth, but at that point, I didn’t much care. I popped off the top.
“Maybe you should take it easy.”
“Maybe you should stop acting so nice—you make it hard for me to hate you.” I drank some from the bottle, then stood and walked over to where Beckett sat. He still held his bottle. I leaned over him. “I should really hate you. You know that.” God, I was on a roll, and the small part of me not influenced by the alcohol said to stop, but the rest of me was sliding downhill, picking up steam. “You were such a shit to me in school, and I just want to hit you.” So I did. I smacked Beckett on the shoulder. “Ow,” I said, waving my hand. “You got rocks in there?”
“Yeah,” Beckett chuckled. “I got rocks in my shirt. Maybe I should go.”
“No. You need to hear this. You were a total shit to me, and I hate you. I hate the way you treated me, and I hate that you took away my chance at acting. I never did anything to you except watch you like a lovesick kid, and you shit all over me.” I waved the bottle around and then took another drink. “I hate that you’re so fucking talented and all I can do is watch, and I hate the way I feel about you.” I stepped back and put my hand over my mouth. “Maybe you should go.” Rationality had to make an appearance, and as soon as the words crossed my lips it was like someone had doused me with cold water. “Oh fuck.” I turned away, unable to look at him.
“What did you mean?” Beckett asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” I hated that I’d let my guard down. “Just forget it.”
“What if I don’t want to? You’re a nice guy.”
“And we get shit on all the time.” I should have known not to drink so much. When I did, I always hit this point where my mouth engaged and suddenly I’d say anything. I always remembered what I said, but I couldn’t control it at the time. Then, as more alcohol hit me, I started to get weepy and maudlin as hell. That was the worst part.
“Are you a ‘feel sorry for yourself’ drunk?” Beckett asked.
“No,” I said loudly. “I’m just a depressing drunk.” And so much more.
“What did you mean?” He stood, and I heard him come up behind me. I didn’t turn around, even though I wanted to so badly. “You can tell me. I promise I’ll keep it to myself.”
I laughed. “No one ever keeps anything embarrassing about someone else to themselves. They tell everyone.”
“You didn’t. Remember? You said you saw me with Peter and didn’t tell anyone.”
I lifted the beer and drank a few swallows. What the hell, it was already open, and it was going to be my last one. “I never told anyone. Not even my friends. They asked what I’d done to get you mad at me, and I never said a thing. I could have, but I didn’t.” My voice slurred slightly, the beer going to my head.
“So what did you mean?”
I turned around. Beckett was so close I could feel his heat. I closed my eyes and swayed a little on my feet. I’d definitely had enough, so I handed Beckett the bottle. He set it aside and turned back to me. “Come on,” I said. “Look at you. Geez.” I reached out and my hand came into contact with his chest of stone. When he didn’t pull away, I slid my fingers around one of the buttons of his button-down shirt. Fabric gave way to smooth skin and I wiggled my fingers, excitement coursing through me. “You’re like this god-man. Sexy and all that.” I loved the tantalizing touch of how he felt, and I wanted more. I was hard, and one of my legs began to shake like a dog’s when you pet it just right.
This was bad and I knew it, but I didn’t care. At least not at that moment. “You’re really sexy, okay?” I whispered. “You’re hot. And sexy, did I mention that?” I knew I was in trouble when I started to giggle. But as soon as I looked up and saw the heat in his eyes, I forgot everything else. “I used to be really fat and I hated myself, so I lost weight. Wanna see?” I stepped back and tugged my shirt over my head. “See? I’m not fat anymore.”
“You should sit down before you fall down.”
“If I do, will you catch me?” I giggled again. “I hate it when I’m like this. I swear I will tell anyone anything they want to know.” I made it to the sofa and sat down.
“What did you mean that you used to watch me?” Beckett loomed over me, but he was smiling.
“Pffft. Like you don’t know you’re sex on a stick. Everyone watched you. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“But you said you watched me in high school.”
“Of course I did. I was gay, and you were hot… are hot…. God, you’re getting me all confused. Did I say you should go? That might be a good idea now.”
“Maybe. And maybe leaving isn’t such a good idea until you tell me what you meant.” There was an edge to Beckett’s voice.
“Okay. I think you’re hot, and sometimes I stay awake at night, thinking about you. I used to do that in high school too. Once I had to go into the locker room when you were changing for practice. I whacked off thinking about you for weeks after that.” Maybe if I told him all of it, it would gross him out and he’d leave. “I thought about you the past few nights too.”
Cool air flowed over my skin. I looked around for my shirt. I was going from hot to cold every few minutes, and by the time I remembered where my shirt was I was warm again.
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
When Beckett leaned closer, I licked my lips and looked away.
He lightly touched my chin and turned my head until I was looking at him again. “Did you think that would make me mad?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what to think with him touching me and the scent of him filling my nose. He smelled like a drug I was addicted to and couldn’t possibly get enough of. Those kinds of things are bad for you, and I knew I should push him away.
“I’m not the same man I was then, and neither are you,” he said.
“I know I’m not as fat.”
“Yes, there’s that. But you’re confident, and that’s sexy too,” Beckett said.
I blinked up at him. God, his blue eyes were so pretty, and the way he looked at me sent shivers of hot and cold shooting up my spine at the same time. A whimper formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I had to.
“I am not,” I whispered without conviction, hoping secretly that Beckett did find me attractive, because then I might know what it would feel like to actually touch him. Beckett reached out to me, clasping my shoulders in his large hands. I closed my eyes and my attention centered on the two spots where he touched me. His thumbs made little circles at the top of my chest, and I wanted to whimper, wishing he’d take me into his arms. Beckett could probably snap me like a twig whenever he chose, but I wasn’t scared.
“What do you want?” he asked. I slid my eyes open. “What do you think about when you’re alone at night, dreaming of me?”
“Don’t be mean to me. Just go,” I whispered. “I just want to be alone.”
Beckett tugged me forward. When his lips touched mine, I thought I was being burned. My head clouded with lust and desire, blotting out the haze of alcohol. I wrapped my arms around Beckett’s neck, pulling him in hard as I kissed him back. I was demanding, filling the kiss with need and the desire I’d always felt but had been afraid would never be returned. When he backed away, I thought he was leaving. I grabbed his shirt and yanked him back, tugging at it until the buttons gave way, and the fabric parted under my hands. I let go and slipped my hands under his shirt. Hard muscles flexed and danced under my touch. The planes of Beckett’s chest quivered, and when I found his nipples, I bumped my fingers over the hardening nubs.
He kissed me harder, tightening his grip on my shoulders. I let him bring me closer, my chest pressing to his as he took possession of my mouth. It was exactly what I wanted. My head swam, and when we parted, I gasped for breath.
It was hard to breathe or see straight. I slid my hands under his shirt again, around to his back. He felt amazingly strong, and I held him to me, resting my head on his shoulder. “Is this real?”
“Yes.” He slid an arm under my knees and lifted me as though I weighed nothing, then carried me across the room to the bed. He laid me on it and I tugged him down, kissing him again, pulling at his shirt. I wanted to feel him against me, but when I clutched at him, he held me back. I sighed and groaned softly as he pushed away, stroking my chest. I had to close my eyes to take in the sensation. I willed him to give me everything I wanted and to take me places I’d only dreamed of.
He kissed me and I relaxed. Warmth surrounded me, and I curled into it, holding on to it. I wanted it to last forever. “Good night,” Beckett whispered.
“Good night, sexy man. Just hold me.” I felt his hand on my arm and sighed. I was warm and safe. Then my consciousness slipped away and everything went black and still.
I didn’t know how much later I jerked upright in bed. My head ached and my mouth was dry as a bone. I was alone, and all the doors were closed and locked. Blankets had been drawn up around me, and my shirt lay folded on the seat of the chair. Everything was as it should be except that I felt more lonely and cold than I could remember being in a very long time. I got up, used the bathroom, and drank some water before returning to bed.