Page 22 of Refraction

“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? And 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? Sayingthank 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.”

“I don’t see anyone to worry about. That couple over there is totally into that set. That woman in the blue dress? She was biting her fingernails when I walked in, and now she is blushing. And that guy in the gray sweater thinks you’re hot.”

“Marge insists the stubble makes the look, even if I’m in jeans.” Hot, huh? The idea made him grin.

“The stubble is everything, cowboy.” Calvin’s voice was smooth and dark.

Oh, he remembered the way Calvin moaned for him when he dragged his chin over that sweet cock. He leaned in, his blood beginning to pound some. “Oh, honey. You’re gonna make me ache. Be careful now.”

Calvin looked at him, a sly smile on his face. “Now you know how everyone in this room feels looking at your work. Slightly horrified, totally turned on, and hoping no one notices.”

“Butthead.” Still, he grinned like a damn monkey, didn’t he? “You want to see them all? The paintings, I mean.”

“I do. The paintings, I mean.” Calvin sipped his wine and took Tucker’s arm again. “And everything.”

“Anything you want to see.” Like there was anything Calvin hadn’t seen. They started withThe Corruption of Angels, the series beginning with the image of a lovely, lithe man having wings inked on his back by a demon, the huge curved horns tipped with silver.

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