Page 16 of Flare

“Yes. Yes, we are, but I’ll ignore your blasphemy. You look a little flustered, my friend.”

I sighed. “Only becauseyou know damn well what those types of guys are like. What thosestoresare like. Everything costs a fortune and it’s all about how you look. I hate all that shit. I don’t belong. I know it and they know it.”

Rafe’s expression softened. “You’re a good-looking man, Beck. There’s no reason for you to feel out of place.”

“Yeah right. Tell that to all the fuckers through my entire school life.”

“They were stupid kids, Beck.” Rafe swallowed hard, remembering, because that’s how we’d met—Rafe standing for me against a bunch of high school bullies and in the process becoming my best friend and staunchest ally. I’d returned the favour when his arse-wipe family had a problem with him coming out and he practically lived at our place during his high school years.

I snorted. “Well,henoticed.”

“Who? This Rhys guy?”

I nodded.

Rafe glared. “Then fuck him. There’s plenty of nice guys out there.”

“I don’t want to date. I haven’t got time now that I’ve got Jack.”

“Jack’s just a convenient excuse. You haven’t had a boyfriend for years.” Rafe pulled his chair closer to the desk so he could put his feet up on it instead of my chair.

“Do you have to?” I rescued my marking from under his heels.

He grabbed the top sheet off the pile, began to read, and winced. “Holy shit. I hope this guy’s not looking to make a living from this pile of flowery crap.” He let the paper sail from his hand back to the desk, and I booted his chair.

“I’ll have you know that pile of flowery crap was some of the most beautiful poetry of the nineteenth century. Ralph Waldo Emerson was to his generation what the Beatles were to theirs.”

“Ah, the Beatles.” Rafe’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d admit they had anything in common with your beloved nineteenth-century poets. I’m shocked, Beck.”

I snorted. “Don’t be. They have more in common than you think, including a weakness for the odd psychotropic enhancement.”

Rafe’s mouth turned up in a sly smile. “See, I’ve always said the arts were nothing without science.”

“Oh my god. Get back to your science cave. I’ve got a second-year lecture to give in ten minutes, and I need time to mentally prepare for all the ways a bunch of barely twenty-somethings can completely butcher William Butler Yeats and the beauty of the English language in under an hour and without drawing breath.”

CHAPTERFOUR

Rhys

“You’re spying, you tart.”Kip rested his chin on my shoulder and followed my gaze through Flare’s kitchen window to the yard out back.

“Shhh, and don’t let them see you.” I spun around and steered him out of sight.

He laughed and leaned back against the countertop, folding his arms. Dressed in silver trousers, a simple black shirt, and one of my new black bolero-style jackets with a swathe of silver embroidery across the shoulders, yoke front and lapel, he looked jaw-dropping stunning, like fucking moonlight on water.

“On second thought—” I grabbed him by the belt and tugged him back to the window. “Can you read lips? Because I’m damn sure Jack just managed to fuck up big time with Drew on his very first day, but I can’t make it out.”

Kip took position at my back again, both of us peering around the edge of the curtain. The two teenagers stood facing each other in Flare’s scruffy six by ten metre paved back yard—Jack’s hands shoved deep in his school pockets, his eyes darting anxiously back and forth along the fence line, while Drew stood with hands on hips staring up at him withI dare youcarved in angry lines on his sweet face.

A year older and several inches shorter than Jack, Drew was a hundred times more street savvy and well used to standing up for himself. His slender frame and androgynous features—framed by pretty dark waves, big brown eyes, and full lips—all drew a fair amount of unwanted attention. His slow transitioning brought all the arseholes out of the woodwork both at home and at school.

“Whoa.” Kip blew a warm breath past my cheek. “Drew looks mighty pissed. What happened?”

I shrugged. “They were already in some kind of stand-off when I first looked, and then Jack said something I couldn’t make out and Drew’s lips and hands got really busy while Jack turned beetroot and shut up.”

“Mmm.” Kips arms wrapped around my waist from behind as we continued to watch.

The first time he’d done that to me, I hadn’t heard him coming and totally freaked, barely managing to stave off a panic attack by a whisker and blaming it on the element of surprise. I could’ve told him not to do it—I rarely hugged—but for reasons I couldn’t really explain, I didn’t. And Kip was always careful from then on, to make sure I was aware of him. In Kip’s world, that kind of affection simply meant you were his friend, and Lord knew touch was a rare commodity in my life.

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