Page 21 of Refraction

Looking forward to seeing you. A lot.

I know. I haven’t seen you since brunch. I’m having withdrawal symptoms.Just as Tucker was about to reply, that was followed by:I get it if you think I’m too weird and clingy. You can just say so. It’s cool.

Oh, honey.

I want to see you. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow.

Whenever. He was easy. Tucker knew they were all going to have to go and work, have real lives and shit, but not yet. Not quite yet.

He got a smiley face in a cowboy hat and a thumbs-up. Okay then. See you tonight. I’ll be the guy without pants on.

I’ll be the one looking uncomfortable in the hat.

LOL we’ll give them something to talk about while they write fat checks. L8r

Bye honey

Lord have mercy.No pants. Christ on a sparkly pink crutch. It was going to be the best opening ever.

* * *

God helphim,he didn’t belong here.

Hiding underneath his hat, Tucker stood there in the back of the gallery away from the lights, wearing his best jacket and his white shirt.

All these people were here to look at his motherfucking soul and judge whether he was… what? Worth paying for?

Christ.

“I will not nag you all night, hon, I promise. But standing here, letting it eat at you is not going to make this any easier.” Marge handed him a beer. “There’s a whole six-pack just for you. You look good. You can do this.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am. I just—you know, right? This is the bad part.”

She snorted, her eyes rolling. “The bad part is when your mother calls worrying that you’re going to hang yourself or starve when you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. You simply don’t like this, drama queen.”

“Listen to you. Mean old woman.”

“Try, Tucker. It’s one night. You can—hm. Tucker? I think your date’s arrived, hon.”

He looked up, ready to make introductions, and caught a broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped man headed in his direction, but from across the room, the only way he knew it had to be Calvin was the black utility kilt.No pants. The turd.

Lord have mercy, look at that.

Black kilt, black shirt that you could see right through, and those eyes. Jesus Christ, that was fucking magic the way Calvin had made them up.

It was like a fucking fallen angel was coming for him, and he swore to God his fingers itched for a pencil.

“Yep. He’s a model all right.” Marge laughed and poked him with her elbow. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Calvin caught his eyes and held them. Walking right up and stepping in too close for polite company, Calvin slid naughty fingers up under the lapels of his jacket and kissed him.

Well, fuck-a-doodle-goddamn-doo.

He sank into the kiss, letting it distract him, steal him away.

The whole room disappeared for a bit, for however long Calvin kept him there, lingering over the kiss. “Sorry I’m late,” Calvin whispered finally, pulling back enough that Tucker could see him without forcing his eyes to focus, and not sounding the least bit sorry.

“You do make a lovely entrance, honey. I’m so glad to see you.” God, he wanted to know what was under the kilt.

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