Page 37 of Work: Strictly Professional

“Yes,” he replies stiffly.

I throw the covers open for him. He looks at the bed as if it’s made of battery acid. “So,” I say to distract him, “you’ve got Bridget, fresh out of a terrible relationship, Gould andeverything that goes on with him. Any other friends I should know about?”

He gets into bed and lies back with a sigh. “Well, there’s Trouble.”

I chuckle. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Not really. I mean, sure, he’s unspeakably beautiful, indomitable, and a world-famous burlesque dancer, but other than that, he’s completely, well, not down to earth exactly, but close. Especially if you don’t take into account the fact his life partners are two childhood best friends, both bi guys, who Trouble took great pleasure in, and I quote, ‘waking the fuck up.’”

It takes a second for all that to land but as soon as it does, a laugh barrels out of me so hard and fast it could easily be mistaken for a snort.

“Anyone else?” I ask.

“You mean anyone normal, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not!” I say defensively. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good, because Luke and Jessie are completely normal. They’ve been together forever, are stable and lovely, and have a dog and everything. I mean, yeah,technically,they’re stepbrothers, but that’s really only weird when you see them with their parents.”

I laugh so hard my eyes water.

I turn out the light, and Wyn keeps talking, telling more about his friends and family. In the dark, I cling to his voice. I hang on his words.

Eventually, he slows and then stops talking. The room falls silent. Everything except for the sound of the ocean crashing into the shore goes away. It’s quiet.

Quiet but not peaceful.

Under the cover of night, my madness grows louder. Heavier. Darker. It swirls around me.

I let my mind wander. I let myself think things I’ve spent my whole life trying not to think. I think them and think them, and nothing happens. Nothing. Nothing bad happens. There are no bolts of lightning. No damnation. Nothing changes.

I start to play with words and concepts in my mind. I test them. Taste them.

I want him.Him. Him.

I want Wyn.

Madness swirls harder and faster, whipping around the room and spinning me. I’m awake for hours, spinning, breathing, watching the shadowy profile of the man in my bed.

The moon’s begun its descent, changing the light in the room from pitch black to ink with a dash of milk when Wyn laughs in his sleep. It’s a soft, sweet sound. The softest, sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. A tiny giggle muffled by sleepy lips.

What makes someone laugh in their sleep?

Whatever it is, I want it.

I want him.

I want Wyn.

I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

How the hell do I get him though? How? I’m pushing fifty. He hasn’t even hit thirty. I haven’t been on a date with someone new for almost as long as he’s been alive.

How do I get him? How? How?

It’s late or early, and madness has had its way with me because, in the blue light of morning, I find myself landing on the obvious solution.

I’ll buy him.

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