Page 104 of College Town

“Does this Mack guy know what he’s doing? He’s gonna build a good ramp?”

“The best, and the safest. I told him it had to be up to OSHA code. Did he mention OSHA?”

“He did.”

“Good. He came highly reviewed, and then I vetted him myself.”

“Vetted,” Lawson repeats. “What does that mean? You hacked his computer?” When he’s met by silence, he breathes, “Holy shit, you hacked his computer, you little criminal.”

Tommy clears his throat pointedly. “He should be up to the job. If you or your parents aren’t happy with his work, I’ll fire him and find someone else.”

“Daddy Warbucks,” Lawson accuses.

“Update your references, please.”

“It’s updated. There was a remake. It had Jamie Foxx in it.”

“Oh, well, then…”

Lawson exhales, and he can feel himself sinking back into the mattress; can feel himself caving. “I don’t like this,” he says, quietly.

“I’m just trying to help,” Tommy says, with a note of pleading.

You can’t help, Lawson thinks.You came back into my life, my boring, failure of a life, and you beat it to death with a sledgehammer. What will I do when you leave again? How can I scrape myself off the floor this time?

“Let me make it up to you,” Tommy says. “I want to take you to dinner.”

Lawson snorts. “How is you buying me more shit making up for spending too much on me in the first place?”

“I’m spending it on your parents,” Tommy corrects. “You’re just mad about it.” His tone deepens. “And I want to take you to dinner.”And do other things after,that tone promises.

The problem, Lawson reflects, with stepping over the line once, is that it gets easier and easier to step the next time, and the next. He shrugs though Tommy can’t see him. Fuck it. He might as well have fun while he can. “Fine. But I don’t want to wear a suit and go to one of your fancy mob steakhouses.”

“Fair enough, I’m tired of that shit, too. You can pick the place.”

“Flanagan’s,” Lawson says, right away, grinning to himself, just to be a shithead.

Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, though. “Okay. I’ll pick you up.”

“I want Dana and Leo to come,” Lawson presses.

Now, Tommy hesitates.

“Shit, that’s not safe, though, is it? They–”

“No, it’ll be fine. Anyone who’s been watching you will have seen you with Dana. Tell them to come. I’ll have security perimeters set up.”

“Jesus.”

“It’ll be fun,” Tommy says. “No suits. Wear somethingyou, and I’ll swing by at seven.”

~*~

Even if money was no object, Lawson wouldn’t be what anyone would call “fashion conscious.” But he’s figured out what works well on his body, and pays attention to the sorts of outfits his various dates and hookups pay the most attention to. At five ‘til seven, he steps into his Chucks at the back door wearing jeans, his belt with the obnoxious Ford seatbelt buckle, a gray t-shirt, and the black leather jacket he got at a thrift store ten years ago. It’s vintage, and fits better than it did when he bought it, clinging a little more through the shoulders and arms thanks to his grudging gym routine.

“Mom, I’ll be back in a little bit,” he calls over his shoulder, and then leaps out of his skin when he sees that she’s standing at the sink. He flattens a hand over his jumping heart and says, “What are you doing?”

She’s staring out at the half-finished deck is what she’s doing. The lights that flank the garage doors shine on its clean, tidy skeleton, and pool readily around the stacks of timber that wait for tomorrow’s continued construction.

---