Page 15 of The One Decent Thing

“I don’t have much money, Sebastian! You can pick out anything you want, sure, but it has to be something I can afford.”

“Nope, I pick it, I buy it. And we’re going to…” Not the mall, he’d be wildly uncomfortable there. “Target,” I finished. “We’re going to Target. Thrift stores are horrible. The first time I went to one I tried on a shoe and it had gum in it. And then when I tried to get the gum off my sock, I fell over and knocked down a whole display of toys, and the lady yelled at me. No thrift stores, ever again.”

Aidan was shaking his head and his lips were twitching, like he was really, really trying not to laugh at me. Again. I folded my arms and glared at him, even though I was dying inside.

“Okay,” he choked out. “Okay. Target. But I don’t want you buying me anything. I only need —”

“You need what I say you need,” I said loftily. “Come on Aidan.” I hesitated. I really didn’t want to get into it after his reaction to talking about my family the night before, but he had to know. I couldn’t let him feel guilty about this. “You can tell I’m not hurting for money, right? If it makes you feel better, I’ll take it out of my shopping budget for the month. I spend more on a pair of shoes than I will getting you all the stuff you really need.” Shit, shit, that sounded awful, what waswrongwith me? My lungs started to constrict, my breathing going shallow. “I’m not actually a snob,” I said, and it came out all high-pitched and way too fast. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That came out wrong. I just mean that I won’t be starving or anything, it’s not a big deal, I’m really sorry if —”

“Hey.” Aidan took a step, getting right into my space, like he’d forgotten he was trying to keep his distance. He leaned down and peered into my face, a wrinkle between his brows. He smelled like cigarette smoke, and coffee, and faintly of the awful musty clothes, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that all I could see were his eyes, soft with concern. “Hey. That’s three dollars for the jar. It’s okay. We’ll go shopping. You can buy me the basics, okay? And the sorry jar can be your new shoes fund. Deep breath.”

I took one. Unlike a lot of people, I’d never hated the smell of cigarettes, but I was probably going to start really, really liking it if this kept up. I’d start associating the smell with comfort and safety and someone giving a damn about me. I should probably try to get him to quit.

But first things first. “You mean it? I have a couple of hours before I need to get ready for class.” I really didn’t if I was going to get my studying done, but I’d catch up later in the week. If straight-guy, stiff-necked Aidan was willing to go shopping at Target with gay little me, I had to strike while the iron was hot.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Ready when you are.” He shrugged. “Not like I need to change before we go out.”

“Is that a hint?” It came out sharper than I wanted.

Aidan grinned that slow, devastating grin again. “If you want to go out in plaid pajama pants and lose your gay card, it’s no skin off my nose.”

“They’re Hugo Boss,” I hissed in outrage.

Aidan laughed outright. “Awesome. Go put on some pants, Sebastian.”

Left with no dignified option, I flounced into the house to do just that, his chuckles floating after me. Because he deserved it, I emptied the rest of the coffee pot into my mug as I passed by on the way to the shower.

Chapter Eight

Aidan

“Bastian! Hey Bastian, I thought that was you!” Beside me, Sebastian visibly flinched and dropped the hanger he’d been holding. He cut off in the middle of a diatribe I’d been trying to let wash over me about how striped button-down shirts were so last year and plaid was the thing. Bastian? What the fuck? No one had ever called him that in high school. In fact, I thought I remembered him getting pissed when one of his friends tried to use that particular nickname. How was this dude getting away with it? Were they seeing each other? Sebastian hadn’t mentioned anyone. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a tall dark-haired guy in a fancy brown suede jacket bearing down on us. “Howareyou?”

Ugh. How fake could one person sound? I bent and scooped up the shirt Sebastian had dropped and stepped behind the free-standing rack to hang it back up again. Peeking through the rack, I could see the douche with the jacket and Sebastian, who’d plastered a smile to his face and was turning around. Not only did I not want to talk to anyone I didn’t know, I was pretty sure Sebastian would be happier not introducing me to anyoneheknew. I looked like the very recently ex-con I was, and explaining me would be nearly impossible. It sucked enough that I was someone who needed an explanation, without listening to Sebastian try to come up with one.

“Hey, Brody,” Sebastian said weakly. “Nice to, um, what are you doing here? I thought you hated Target.”

Brody smiled, too wide in my opinion, showing off teeth that belonged in an ad for whitening strips. Douche. He was really good-looking, if you liked Ken dolls. He shrugged. “Needs must, you know. We can’t all shop designer all the time.” He went in for a hug that Sebastian accepted, but Sebastian’s body language screamed discomfort, especially when Brody held on for a beat too long.

And had that been a dig at Sebastian being a rich kid? So what if Sebastian had a lot of money? Him spending it on fancy shoes didn’t hurt anyone.

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. “I don’t either,” he muttered. “I mean, I’m here, right?”

“Sure,” Brody said. “I know you like to slum it sometimes.” He lowered his voice, like he was trying to make sure no one else could hear — but he enunciated super clearly. “Case in point, right?” He smirked and nodded his chin in my direction.

Sebastian stiffened, and I really wished I could see his face. “I don’t — I mean — it’s not —”

He sounded like he was on the verge of another panic attack, and that was fuckingenough. I stepped out from behind the rack, positioning myself right at Sebastian’s shoulder and looming over both of them. Sebastian was maybe five foot ten, so not so short, and this guy was an inch or two taller. But it wasn’t enough compared to my six-three, and besides, I’d learned a thing or two about looming in prison. Height wasn’t the be-all end-all of looming. It was an art, not a science.

“Hey there,” I said, in a perfectly neutral tone. I’d learned that in prison too. “I’m Aidan.”

And then I just half-smiled and stood my ground. Give him enough rope to hang himself with, and make sure not to use any rope of my own. Anything I said could be, would be, and probably already had been used against me in a court of law.

Brody eyed me warily. Good. So he had a little bit of common sense. Sebastian stood perfectly still, like the slightest movement could tip him over into something he didn’t want to put on display.

“Brody,” the douche said after an unenthusiastic second, and stuck out his hand. Okay. I took it, fully expecting him to pull the grab-harder-than-the-other-guy crap. I wasn’t disappointed. I smiled, and let him, and gave him one bone-bruising squeeze right as we were letting go. He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket the second we separated, probably so he could wiggle his painful fingers without us seeing. Score one for me.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “How do you two know each other?”

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