Page 21 of Lace

About how much he wanted it.

The house, when he arrived, was as deserted as he’d expected.

“Uncle Jase?” he called anyway. He knocked on his uncle’s bedroom door, checked the workshop in the garage, and poked his head down to the laundry area in the basement. No uncle.

“Thank God.”

Dashing up to his room, he closed and locked the door, shucked out of the tight pants and tossed Levi’s shirt into the laundry pile. A quick shower washed off the discomfort and the feeling like he’d been walking around all day inside a peeling, ragged layer of fake.

He had a half hour. It wouldn’t be enough to do it all up right, but it was something.

He started with his favourite lace undergarments. These ones felt best, with their odd dual sensation of silkiness and a bit of rough. He’d always wondered if the really expensive ones would have more of the silk and less of the rough. He couldn’t affordto find out, though, so he settled for department store three to a package bargain. Better than nothing.

The skirt he chose was more girly than anything he’d ever wear in public. Chiffon and flippy, it twirled out when he spun and the deep, shimmering purple colour looked good against his skin. He needed something simple on top, that hint of the unexpected, just a cropped football net jersey that left his belly bare and did little to hide the rest of his pale chest or pink, tight nipples. Here he had the advantage. Girls got themselves into trouble showing that much. While technically, it wasn’t illegal, practically, people didn’t like it. He smiled at his reflection. He didn’t have that problem. Might get his ass kicked into next Tuesday, but no one could tell him to put his tits away.

That’s what was so great about living in a free country. That constant squeeze between the rock of ridicule and the hard place of intolerance.

“Caleb?”

Caleb jumped, whirled to glare at the door handle as it wiggled.

“Caleb? Son? You in there?” Even the reasonable tone of his uncle’s bass voice didn’t offset the wicked flash of heat or slow the way his heart thundered.

“Uh…yeah…Uncle…” Caleb grabbed up his bathrobe from the bed and whipped the plush material around his shoulders. “Here. Just…doing homework.”

“Why is the door locked?”

“Just…” Caleb gulped and fumbled with the robe’s tie. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sure.” He heard the smirk in his uncle’s voice. “You’re alone, right? Ain’t got a girl stashed away in there, have you?”

“You wish,” Caleb muttered as he finally got the robe tightly, safely closed over the clothing. “No, Uncle Jase. No girl,” he said more loudly. “Asshole,” he added, once again under his breath.

“Well, finish up there, big guy.” He tapped lightly on the door. “I brought pizza for supper.”

“Sure. Be right down.”

Pizza. Caleb hated pizza. He didn’t sleep with girls. Still, it didn’t stop his uncle from bringing the pies home every other night or asking about his sex life, basically ignoring anything Caleb said about any of it.

Sighing, he ran a hand down the front of his terry-cloth armour and waited for the tight grip of panic to ease so he could breathe clearly again. Finally, he loosened the tie and dropped the robe onto the bed. Turning back to the mirror, he gazed at himself, fingered the soft material of his skirt and frowned. Some things he didn’t even have the guts to say out loud. He glanced to the door. He could just march down those steps. Walk right past his uncle and out the door. He could ignore the pizza and the uncaring, self-righteous asshole. Or better yet, tell him he was going on a date with his boyfriend. In a skirt. He could.

Not.

Stifling a deep sigh, he shucked the feminine clothes and donned jeans and a T-shirt then stashed the skirt in the back of his closet where he could shut it safely away. Grabbing a scarf from his bedpost, he threaded the silky material through his belt loops and snatched his jacket off the bed. He hurried down the stairs, past his uncle and the half-eaten pizza, past his school bag and out the door.

“Hey!”

He heard the expletive. He ignored it.

“Caleb!” Heavy footsteps clambered after him down the front hall.

It was unlike Jason to actually get up and follow him like that. Most of the time, Caleb got the impression his uncle didn’t really care if he came or went. He didn’t have much use for Caleb. Not for anything his nephew wanted to be, anyway. IfCaleb suddenly took up sports and girls and scarfing down pizza five times a week,thenmaybe Uncle Jase would show some actual interest in his life. But that wasn’t going to happen any sooner than his uncle was ever going to simply accept that being coach of the high school football team didn’t make him uncle of the year.

“Caleb Robert Driver!”

“Fuck.” Caleb kept the swear quietly under his breath as he turned.

“What is that?” Uncle Jason pointed one thick finger at Caleb’s middle. “Around your waist?”

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