Refraction Page 5

  “Except when you’re painting in the nude, hmm?” Stained he got, but torn? How the hell do you tear your clothes painting? Did he even want to know?

  Calvin decided he’d like to watch Tucker work sometime, see him create and listen to whatever music he liked to put on. Nude or otherwise. But nude would be good. Then there wouldn’t be any tearing.

  “So who’s in Texas? Big circle of interesting and diverse friends? Artists’ conclave? Jealous ex-lovers? A coven?”

  He was secretly hoping for jealous ex-lovers. So much fun.

  “My folks are down near San Antonio. I have a few guys that I know from college that I hang around with when we’re not all busy. No coven, although I have been asked to attend many times. No ex-lovers, but there are a couple of guys that are usually up for a mutual hand job when times are tough.”

  Okay, so the coven question was a joke, and he should have known better, but no ex-lovers? Mutual hand jobs? God. “No exes? How is that possible? Does no one in Texas have eyes?”

  “Well, I live a little ways outside of town, and I have a bit of a reputation for being the scary devil painter.” Tucker winked at him, and Calvin didn’t know if that was teasing or what.

  “Huh. I would much rather fuck a devil than an angel.” That was the truth, wasn’t it? Sometimes he wasn’t sure which one he was either. “I’d be driving in your direction, not away from it. Their loss. You can tell them from me that they don’t know what they’re missing.”

  “Fair enough.” Tucker grinned at him, blue eyes twinkling. “Don’t let me fool you. I’m not an unhappy man, just one that gets lost in work an awful lot.”

  “Oh.” Calvin raised an eyebrow and rolled up, tucking one thigh between Tucker’s legs. “I’m sorry, did I give you the impression that I was feeling sorry for you?”

  “Uhn.” Tucker pushed back against his thigh, rocking lazily. “What was the question, honey?”

  Mmm. That was a sweet little buzz. “I said that I don’t feel sorry for you.” Maybe it was better to have no exes than have a list as long as your arm—and your other arm too. “I mean, honestly? If you hadn’t gotten my attention, I wouldn’t have looked into your eyes either.” Head up, eyes a block away. It was a New York thing. I’m not in your business, and you’re not allowed in mine.

  “That would have been a terrible shame.” Calvin liked that, how Tucker meant it.

  “Yeah. You’d have frozen solid with your arm up in the air, trying to flag down a cab in the snow.”

  “And I would have been cold and lonely, standing there for the birds to poop on.”

  “It’s snowing, you dork. The birds are all hiding. You’d have been tagged.” He kind of liked that image.

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be cool? Can you imagine that image?” Tucker’s eyes lit up.

  “I can. I… did, actually. Guy frozen in the snow, cowboy hat, silver spray paint across his chest?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

  “That’s great. I bet there’s a performance artist doing that somewhere.”

  “Could be.” He leaned in and licked Tucker’s nipple. He had to—he’d been staring at it for like five minutes. It was calling his name.

  Tucker’s breath caught, and then he released it with a soft, low moan. “Damn, honey.”

  He chuckled. “I know, I’m sorry. I had to! It’s right. There.” He did it again. “See?” He swirled the very tip of his tongue into the hair just beside it and tugged gently. Tucker had seemed to like that earlier.

  Tucker groaned for him, arched nice and slow and long, lifting him from the bed.

  Fuck, look at that. “Jesus, you are just… luscious.” Calvin drew a hand from Tucker’s shoulder and all along that beautiful bend in the cowboy’s back. He continued over one hip, dark in silhouette against the window, until he reached Tucker’s ass.

  He stared, the sight of his hand on Tucker’s deeply tanned skin wonderful, addictive.

  He’d never have known by the way Tucker fucked him earlier that he was new to all of this, but now that he knew? He decided the cowboy needed a good rimming.

  “Gonna rock your world, cowboy.”

  Calvin pulled Tucker toward him, coaxing, stretching him out on his stomach.

  “Gonna? You’ve done a damn fine job so far….”

  Tucker hadn’t seen anything yet.

  Chapter Five

  “KIDDO, COME look at these and tell me which goes where?”

  Tucker rolled his eyes and headed toward the sound of Marge’s voice. He loved galleries, the way they had more walls than any other building ever. More walls, more places to hide, more corners to look around.

  He should know; he’d built one in his house, just to inspire him.

  “The demons all go together, the red ones in order of lightness. I want the big one the farthest back. The little greens all go on one wall, and hang the big mirror across from them.”

  “Yes, good. I see what you’re going after. Um….” She waved over one of the gallery assistants and set him to work on the red ones and another to figure out the mirror.

  “This is going to be a big one, hon. Are you ready? Look.” She handed him a clipboard with several pages of RSVPs. Several more pages than he’d been expecting.

  “Huh. Cool. I’ll wear black.” No, blue. Calvin said he would look good in blue.

  “I don’t guess you brought something other than Levi’s?”

  “Wranglers, honey, and no. Why would I?” They were good enough for Texas; they were good enough for him.

  “Mmm. I was afraid you’d say that.” She shook her head. “All right, then. I want you to approve the pricing. Come on.” She led him over to a podium and handed him a chart to look over. “You look good, kiddo. Catching up on your sleep?”

  “Works for me.” He handed it back without looking. That was her job. He didn’t know what he was supposed to charge for his personal demons. “Yes, ma’am. Been out meeting folks.”

  “Oh, that’s good. All that snow yesterday… I was afraid you’d have been hiding in your hotel room.” She took the chart back and set it on the podium again without questioning him, like she’d already known he wouldn’t be interested. “Good to get to know some people. You need to work the crowd a little tonight. Can you do that? I’m hoping the show extends. I have a plan for you.”

  “Yeah? I like plans. I want to rent a space here—just for a few weeks. A studio space with windows so I can see everything.”

  Marge pulled out her phone. “What kind of view? Times Square? Central Park? Hudson River?” She dialed and put the phone to her ear.

  “Uh. Street? I need to watch the people walk.”

  “Oh, you don’t mean a view, you mean—Hey, Max, love. Hang on a second—I gotcha, kiddo.” She looked at him while she spoke on the phone. “Max, I have a client from out of town. He needs a street-level art studio. Storefront, busy street, maybe Midtown? Short-term rental. What have you got? Uh-huh. Thanks, baby.” She hung up. “Should have something tomorrow. What else do you need?”

  “A hug and for you to tell me exactly what working the crowd means here?”

  She smiled at him, and all the New York crazy evaporated. “I’m sorry I’ve been all business brain. Come here, hon.” She waited for him to step closer, and put her arms around him. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, lady. I’ve missed your face.” Lord, hugging her made him miss his granny so bad. She’d passed two years ago from a stroke. Just boom—one day she was there telling stories, and the next day she was gone.

  Marge gave him an extra little squeeze, and as she let him go, she reached up and pulled his face down to kiss him on the cheek. “Come to dinner tomorrow night. I’ll make you something you’ll like and we’ll look at a couple of my photo albums.” She grinned at him as she let him go.

  “Oh. It’s a date.” He could listen to her tell stories on his granny for years. On Granny, on her life, on the city—Marge was a bullshitter extraordinaire.
<
br />   “Good. Okay.” She took a step back and looked him over. “So. If you insist on wearing jeans, maybe do the hat thing? And keep the whiskers. Think image.”

  She took a few steps away and peered around one of the display walls. “They’re doing fine. So. Working the crowd, right?”

  “You mean don’t call the snobs fuckers, don’t you?”

  She laughed, the sound loud and joyful. “Oh, I know just where you got that.” She gave him a pat on his chest. “Yes, that’s a good start. But think a little more proactively. It will be much easier to maintain your lifestyle if these people actually buy something, hmm? Listen, jump in on a conversation if you can, offer some insight. Answer questions. Be available. You follow me?”

  “I’ll try. You know me. This is real hard. Me pretending that I know what the hell is all in my brain. It’s okay if I have a date, right?”

  “A date?” She looked at him a little slyly. “You mean a guest? Or you mean a man?”

  “I mean a date, as in someone that I have ulterior motives about, who is, absolutely, a man-type guest person.”

  Marge clapped her hands together. “Oh, wonderful! Yes. Yes, have a man-type guest. I can’t wait to meet him. Oh, how lovely.”

  She stared at him for long moment, and when he declined to give her any further details, she went on.

  “Right. Yes, I know it’s difficult for you, kiddo. Listen. You could tell them anything at all—it doesn’t matter what you say, they either like it or they don’t. If you can’t find the right words, make up some bullshit. You’re the artist, what are they going to tell you? You’re wrong?”

  “Right. He’s a model. I met him here. I like him.” A lot. He liked Calvin a lot. Not only for the sex, which had turned his happy ass inside out, but for the rousing game of Hungry Hungry Hippos they’d shared afterward.

  “Ooh. A model. I like that. That will look great.” She caught his eye and grinned. “I mean, good for you, hon. I bet he’s hot. Or nice. Or whatever you date a model for.”

  “We’ll go with exceptional company, and he was kind to a stranger when he could have just told me to kiss his ass.”

  “Oh my. You didn’t just describe a model. You described an angel. You sure he’s a New Yorker?”

  There was a crash, and Marge took off around the corner like she was twenty-two instead of seventy-two. “What the hell is going on over here?” There was a pause, and then, “Everything’s fine, kiddo. Why don’t you go get cleaned up for tonight? Make sure you eat!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Did you know there’s a neat store deal near my hotel where you can get a bagel and a coffee for next to nothing?”

  “Aren’t you the cutest? That’s a bodega, hon. Insider tip? It’s a good thing if you go in there enough that the owner starts calling you boss.”

  “I’m friggin’ adorable, just ask me, I’ll tell you. You need anything? I can bring you a sandwich or something.” He worried about her. He never seemed to see her eat.

  He wasn’t going to today either. She waved him off. “You’re so sweet. Thank you. I’m fine.”

  “If you’re sure….”

  She nodded, and he grabbed his coat. Okay. Food. Nap. Clothes. In that order.

  First, though….

  Looking forward to tonite?

  Sorry, I was stroking off thinking about you. What?

  Oh, that was cheating. He really didn’t want to spring wood right now. Of course, he’d bet that was a damn pretty sight.

  Butthead.

  I have my outfit all picked out and I am doing my hair and it’s hours early. But I’m not eager or anything…

  I’m wearing jeans. He had a pressed white shirt. That would look decent.

  You’re a cowboy. Cowboys wear jeans. Is your shirt starched too?

  Yessir. Of course. His momma had raised him right.

  I am not wearing jeans

  Yeah, he’d figured that.

  I’ve decided not to wear pants at all

  No?

  That might be entertaining. This whole thing was supposed to sell his paintings. Although…. Yeah, the shock value would totally be worth it.

  Nope. And that’s all I’m telling you. Are you wearing a hat?

  Yessir. His good black felt. It made him feel strong, powerful.

  Mmm. I’ll change into it for you after the party.

  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 HELP him, 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.

  “Good. I do own my crazy, but I missed you. You look incredible. You taste incredible too.” Calvin took his beer right out of his hand, had a sip, and handed it back. “Are you having fun?”

  “You know, this is weird. It’s better now.” Now he could just breathe, let the novelty of Calvin occupy him, and just be.

  “I like that. I’m glad I can do that for you.” Calvin slipped an arm through his. “Get me a glass of wine? A
nd then show me something. Something you’re proud of.”

  “White or red?”

  “White, please.”

  They made their way over to the bar together, arm in arm. Tucker figured it was mostly Calvin who was turning heads, but it could have been the both of them together; they had to be quite a sight. Fancy cowboy and punk-goth—contradictions all over the place.

  That suited his happy ass down to the bone. Contradiction was his stock in trade.

  “Glass of white wine, please, sir,” he asked the oh-so-neatly dressed bartender.

  “Sauvignon blanc.” The bartender handed the glass to Tucker with a smile. “Love your work.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He nodded and smiled, then handed Calvin the glass. “Don’t you let me leave without making sure you get tipped, you hear?”

  The guy nodded to him. “Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

  Calvin sipped his wine. “Oh, very nice. Thank you, Mr. Bartender.” Calvin winked at him, and Tucker caught the guy blushing.

  He chuckled softly. “You are good at that.”

  “Good at what? Saying thank you?”

  “Yes. I like that about you. You make eye contact, you look, you mean it. I like that.” It was important.

  “You make being polite sound like it’s difficult.” Calvin leaned into him a little.

  “No, just rare and wonderful.”

  Calvin pressed up and kissed his cheek. “You’re rare and wonderful. And thank you for ordering wine for me. That’s wonderful too—the way you take care.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” He wanted to take Calvin somewhere, go dancing, do something so much more real than stand here and make nice.

  “I know.” Calvin smiled at him. He rubbed Tucker’s arm. “You really don’t like this, do you? You feel… stiff. Tense.”

  “I really don’t. I worry.” He worried about how they were judging him, his soul, his nightmares and his fantasies and his dreams, all splayed out for purchase. It made him feel fake as shit, made him feel cheap. He did it, because it was a necessary evil, but he didn’t want to.

  Good thing he understood the adage “life’s not fair.”