Page 41 of Naked Coffee Guy

Mac had gotten ballsy in the operation, since it was working so well. They all had pockets stuffed with money and a stash of other people’s belongings still waiting to be sold. But Mac wanted more, and Benji’s house on the top of the hill was his golden ticket.

“No one answered when we went to the front door. We watched it for an hour, and no one came. I got it in my head that it was abandoned, because it didn’t make sense to me that someone who lived in a house like this would ever leave it. The other guys told me to keep waiting, that we should case it for a few days. But I didn’t have a lot of patience and talked the guys into breaking in that day. We were inside for only ten minutes before someone’s voice came on over the intercom, telling us to keep our hands where they could be seen until the cops got there. Those fuckers all ran, but I was too scared to leave.”

“So what happened? Were you arrested?”

“Nah,” he laughed, “no one called the cops. Instead it was Benji and a few of his bodyguards. They scared the shit out of me, though. The bodyguards were huge, especially to a twig of a kid like me. They pushed me around a little, threatened to break a few limbs, but then Benji called them off. He asked where the other guys were, then commended me for staying when I could have escaped. ‘You have guts, kid,’ he told me. He asked about my story, if I had parents or anything. Something in me said to tell this guy the truth, so I did. I admitted I was in the system, but I’d been on the run for the past two years. I told him how I made my money. I also told him I was tired of running, which was the first time I ever admitted that to anyone.”

Mac pauses, and I see something shift in his face—a shadow so brief, I almost miss it. “That’s when he offered me a job and a place to live, and I’ve been under his wing ever since.”

“So, all this is because of him? He gave this to you?”

Mac’s expression darkens as he shoots me a sharp look. “I earned this on my own,” he says.

“Sorry, I just—”

“No, I’m sorry,” he says, taking my hand, “I’m not going to say that my connection to Benji hasn’t opened doors. Without him, I’d probably have found adult ways to swindle people out of their money.” He laughs then. “I guess I have, since I sell homes in this inflated housing market. But it’s all legal, so there’s that. But as far as my money goes, I earned it. I hit the books and got my license, I did my time as an agent and built my clientele, I invested in all the right things and learned the art of flipping houses, and I bought out a brokerage and built it up until it became what it is today. I used Benji’s contacts to connect with the right people, but I did the work.”

I believe him, but I’m having a hard time understanding how any of this is “new” to him, as he told me last night. “You’ve been with Benji for years, though.”

“I lived in a small room in the back of his house, one meant for staff. I was a worker first, not a son, not even a ward. I was an employee. He made sure I went to school and graduated, but outside of school hours, I was working. I see now it was kind of a training regimen. He was keeping me in line by keeping me busy. I was too tired to get into trouble or to even fight it. I knew I couldn’t fuck this up, because where else would I get this close to this kind of money?”

“You didn’t think of stealing from him again?”

“Think of it? Sure. But I was too chicken shit to actually do it. I got to know his security detail really well and knew it was impenetrable. There was no way some smart-ass kid would be able to get past that. And for what? I had to work my ass off, but I also recognized there was future potential.”

He looks around, then back at me. “I bought this house a few months ago. The car, it’s also new. I’d been holding off for a while, even though I’ve been making good money. But when you grow up an orphan, that identity sticks to you. It felt fake to have things as nice as this when I also know there are kids like me still out there on the street, just wishing they could be here. But when you’re rubbing shoulders with some of the richest people in this country, you have to be a part of the culture. Plus, I’ve never had nice things, and suddenly I could afford them without anyone’s help. So I bought a house, a car, and built up my wardrobe of rich fuck clothing, and now I’m playing the part.”

I rub his chest, my hand brushing against his beard. His hand covers mine, and I clasp his fingers.

“I get it,” I say, “I wasn’t always this rich either.” I look up and flash him a grin, and his eyes laugh with mine. “For real, though, you know my story. You met my dad.” I lay my head against his chest, lulled by his heartbeat. His fingers caress mine, and I continue. “I was homeless for a year, drugged out of my mind. If someone had it, I was on it. I didn’t have money, but there were other ways…” I pause, not sure he wants to hear this. But then I realize we’re sharing truths here, and I might as well share mine. “I made my money through rich, old, horny men. You wouldn’t believe what these old guys will pay for a young piece of ass. It’s probably why I hate money so much, because these guys were willing to drop a few hundred for an hour as if it were nothing, and I was barely scraping by.” I utter a sharp laugh. “Well, I was actually wasting it on blow. Food, though? Shelter? Not a priority. I’d sleep in the gutter if I could get a good high. I was lucky to have my car, and lucky I was never arrested. But some fucked up things happened to me out on the streets, stuff I’ll never forget.”

“So, what changed?” he asks.

I realize that he’s still here. He’s not repulsed by what I shared. I haven’t even told Claire this much; afraid I’d shatter her vision of the world we live in. But Mac holds me as if I’m precious—fragile—as if he’ll keep me safe.

I’ve always been my own savior. But for the first time, I wonder what it would be like to trust someone else with my life.

“Finn,” I say, “my best friend’s son and my unofficial nephew. When Claire got pregnant, she called me. I was coming down off a bender and had to fake sobriety really quick. But once I saw that kid, it’s like the whole world opened up. I realized there was so much more to this life, and that if I wanted to be a part of this kid’s world, I could not be the person I was. So I got help. I detoxed, entered a recovery program through state funds, moved into a sober house, got a job, and eventually moved into my own apartment.”

I pause then, and I’m so tempted to tell him that I know he sold the building. I want to lay out all my feelings about it now, to just admit that this is why I disappeared that first night, and what I’ve struggled with ever since. I lift my head and look into his eyes, watching the sunlight dance off the gold flecks in his blue eyes.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, then kisses me lightly on my nose.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to say them. I realize it doesn’t matter, that in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t important. He played such a small part in me losing my home. Besides, look where I am now.

In Mac’s bed. Happy and safe.

I am not in danger, nor would I ever be. I was never going to be homeless, as long as I have Nina and Claire in my life—and now Mac, if things are going the way I think they’re going.

Definitely not casual.

“I’m thinking we need to get out of bed before I turn into a jellyfish and stay here forever.”

“I like the stay here forever part,” he teases. He whips the covers aside. “But I’d also like to get out of this house and go do something.”

“Yeah, let’s blow this dump.” I nudge him out of bed, then follow him straight to the shower where we spend another forty-five minutes before we finally make it out the door.

Chapter Sixteen

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