Page 20 of Lace

“Okay.” Grinning wide as he opened a folder, he began with “Don’t get mad, but?—”

“Really?” Caleb made big eyes at him.

If he noticed, Mitchell ignored it and raced on. “I kind of filched this off what you were wearing last night. I just drew it up quick, so it’s not final, but this is what I’m talking about. A fashion show that gives guys an alternative to jeans and T-shirts and stuffy suits. Something dressy, fun, but still masculine. Like what you had on last night. A skirt, but not. And definitely not girly.”

“It was a kilt,” Caleb replied, past caring if he sounded anything other than exasperated.

“It’s a skirt unless you don’t wear anything underneath, and honey—you might have the legs for it, but something that short, you want to be wearing something under it. In public, anyway. I’ll go out on a limb and say your Levi would be perfectly happy with just the kilt and boots.” He chuckled.

Caleb winced. How much did that hurt—being reminded that Levi had said just about that exact thing, and Caleb had heard it only as an invitation to fuck. He glanced down at the picture Mitchell was holding up and stopped.

It was good. It wasn’t a copy of what he’d had on. It was inspired by it, maybe, but paired with a turtleneck sweater and traditional Scottish tartan on a scarf across the model’s torso, the kilt made from a combination of leather and tartan, and the pants rife with buckles down the outside of one leg, it was that one step up. The fashion in the statement he’d wanted to make.

In fact, he wanted the outfit, just as Mitchell had drawn it up.

“Okay,” he conceded, tracing his fingers longingly over the outlines of the drawing. “What else you got?”

Mitchell grinned again and Caleb began to see the appeal of the other man’s fresh, excited expression.

“Then you’ll do it?”

“I can’t say. It isn’t my decision, but if you’ve got good designs, and we can figure out who’d pay money to see them, then maybe I can talk the Council into it.”

Tingles of excitement danced along Caleb’s nerves.What if… Not that one fashion show could change the world, but it had the potential to make things different for him. At least for a night.

“The beauty of it is,” Mitchell was saying, “there’s practically no overhead for you guys. I have to put the show together, make all the clothes, and set up the venue inside a limited budget. That’s the assignment. Part of that is that I’m begging the Council to let me use the Student Centre in exchange for them using the show to raise money for the Christmas party. I figure we’ll sell at least some tickets to people who are more into helping out the kids than they are into fashion. Gets me an audience and you the money. I’ve got a guy who will build the catwalk for me, and I’m going to focus on a few pieces that have to be made. The rest will be found clothes, so it’s kind of a fashion-meets-student-budget kind of thing.”

It actually sounded like a half-decent idea, and also, cheap, which was what the Council needed. Besides, things like tiny leather kilts didn’t fall off trees. Caleb got some of his clothes from places where he knew there would be people actually interested in what Mitchell was showing him.

“I’ll talk to them,” he said, leafing through the rest of the drawings. The majority of them were more finished, and Caleb stopped at one in particular. Most of the looks played off the theme of the kilt—a short, tight jacket stopping at the waist on one side and continuing down into tartan pleats on the other, or pairing a more traditional look with something unexpected on top. But the showpiece that caught Caleb’s eye pulled the entire collection over into the realm of cross-dressing.

There was no denying his knees went a little weak at the sight of the drawing and the image he had in his head of what it would look like on. The skirt—and it was a skirt—went far beyond what could any longer be called a kilt, the top was sheer and fitted, with ropes of peals draped around the model’s neck. The wholething was designed to show off slim hips, wide shoulders, and a bit of strong, male leg. In boots. Really good boots.

“You like that one?” Mitchell asked.

“I want it.” Caleb covered his mouth with his free hand. Shit, that was not supposed to be common knowledge. He glanced up to find Mitchell smiling at him.

“Hoped you would. Kind of designed it with you in mind, actually.”

“You did?”

“Sure.” Carefully, he retrieved the folder. “Yours is not such a big secret, you know. Even when you try for pedestrian and boring, well…” His smile deepened. “Let’s just say you aren’t either of those things. Not even in blue jeans.” He gave a little shrug as he tucked the folder safely away. “I needed inspiration.” Now he looked up and focused all his overly blue-eyed attention on Caleb. “I chose someone I look up to. Someone not afraid to be who I wish I could be. Doesn’t hurt that you’re also stunning and have a perfect build for just about anything. So if you think my showpiece would look good on you…well, I thought so, too. That’s how I designed it.”

He didn’t even give Caleb a chance to assimilate any of that. He just turned and walked away, waving over his shoulder and calling back, “Let me know what they say. I need to know by the end of the week if I have to make other plans.”

Seven

“Stunning?”

Caleb stared after Mitchell even once he’d disappeared into the throng of milling students. And not afraid to be…what? Caleb shivered. Afraid to be. End of. Maybe some people who knew to look could decipher his secret. He glanced down his body. There was nothing girly or remotely non-masculine about what he had on. Leather pants, tight T-shirt, and almost-knee-high biker boots. No. It was all very hard-core male.

And he felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin to cover up his own.

He slid both hands heavily down his front. He had an almost overwhelming urge to peel it all off. He turned and hurried towards the bathroom, and inside, glared at himself in the mirror. The navy highlights swirled through curls slightly crushed after his sleepless night, and his face looked naked without eyeliner or mascara. He had a stash of everything he needed to make himself presentable in Levi’s dorm room, but he’d felt so exposed this morning, feeling Levi watch him dress. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sit at the tiny desk and make himself up. He didn’t want to let the uncertainty betweenthem fester, but if neither of them broke open the Pandora’s box of silence, nothing bad could come out. He didn’t want to know whatwouldcome out, so he’d opted for flight instead.

He needed to get home—to get changed, or at least undressed—and for a little while remember what it was like in his own skin. He had time, would have the house to himself before his uncle got home.

“To play dress-up,” he muttered. There wasn’t ever going to be a day when what he was would be okay with the rest of the world. Best that he hide. Best that he ignore whether anyone even thought they knew the truth. Best that he didn’t think about Mitchell, about his fashion designs.

---