Page 33 of Refraction

8

Five fifty-fivep.m.

Already.

Tucker would be here soon, apparently in some fancy car he’d hired for them so they didn’t have to take the subway or wait for an Uber when they were ready to leave.

If Tucker really did decide to stay in the city for a while, Calvin was going to teach the man how to enjoy the convenience of underground public transportation.

Or—he’d get that Calvin Klein centerfold gig Michael was lining up for him, and then he’d become too well-known to ever take the subway again, andhe’dbe the one hiring cars. Pretty much worked for him either way.

He looked himself over in the mirror, futzing with his hair one more time, making sure the waves were tame and respectful. He’d agonized over his hair and his outfit most of the afternoon—what does one wear for a formal introduction to the woman who had half raised your lover, was a total shark of an agent, and had so obviously earned every ounce of love and respect Tucker had in him?

Right. Fuck. He’d met Tucker two days ago and was already meeting the family.

No pressure there at all.

In the end he’d settled on a V-neck sweater in a bright, happy violet that showed off his pumped-up shoulders and chest in a way he hoped would get Tucker’s attention and keep it, but still be cheerful and friendly enough to make a good impression. After that, it was easy—a white T-shirt under the sweater, skinny khakis, and…. Oh God. What was he going to wear on his feet?

He hurried back to his closet.

“This one must be special. You’re fluttering.” Timmy leaned on the doorframe with a grin. “The Texan?”

“I am not fluttering. I just need shoes.” He looked around his closet door at his roommate and smiled. “The Texan is named Tucker.”

“Yeah? Is the Texan sticking around a few days?”

Oh. “He’s renting studio space in the city for a few weeks.” He pulled a pair of Vans out of his closet and sat on the edge of his bed to put them on. “I’m having dinner with his grandmother’s college roommate tonight.” Because that sounded good, right? Better than just an agent, anyway.

“For real? Dude.” Timmy looked him over, top to bottom. “Good choice on the shirt.”

“For real. And you think this is okay? I look good enough to meet family?”

“Yeah, it says happy and classy. Besides, it shows off your collarbones. I bet the Texan loves that.”

Tucker had sketched them, in fact, so Timmy might be right. “It’s weird that you know that, but yeah, I think he does. Are collarbones, like, a thing?”

“That’s the whole deal with the oversized sweaters, huh?”

“Oh, I guess. Go you with the fashion sense.” He stood up, paced across the room, and looked out the window at the busy street below. No car yet. Was Tucker going to text? Come up? He’d forgotten to ask.

Like thinking about Tucker made him appear, Calvin’s phone rang, Tucker’s name on the screen.

He dashed across his room, dove onto his bed, and snagged the phone off his bedside table. “It’s him.”

He glanced over at Timmy. “I am totally fluttering.”

“Yeah. Whoa.” Timmy waggled his eyebrows.

He swiped his screen with his middle finger. “Hey, tiger.”

“Evenin’, honey. You ready? We’re fixin’ to pull up.” He could hear Tucker’s smile.

“Great. I’m almost ready. I’ll be right down.” He was so ready. He’d been ready, except for the shoe emergency, for a half an hour. But the whole right-on-time thing was weird, and he didn’t want to seem anxious. He blew a kiss into the phone and hung up.

“I can’t wait to hear about your dinner. You coming home tonight?” Timmy was the king of living vicariously.

“Fuck. Dinner. I didn’t even think about dinner. I have a shoot tomorrow.” And he had to come home too.

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