Page 43 of Refraction

Calvin leaned back and let the server put a huge burger down on the table. There was more food on that plate than he’d seen Calvin eat since they met.

“Zoe and I modeled butt-lifters.” Calvin had to have timed that on purpose. The server put Tucker’s food down in front of him and hurried off without a word.

He grabbed his spoon. “What’s a butt-lifter do? I mean… obviously it’s a thing….”

“Well, like Zoe said, it’s like a pushup bra for your ass.” Calvin gave him a sly smile and stood. Tucker liked the bright blue top he was wearing; it was tight, like just about every top Calvin seemed to own. Calvin turned around, and he got a good view of Calvin’s backside in a dark pair of slim jeans. “Like this.”

“Mmm.” His fingers twitched, the curve of that sweet ass calling his name. “Pretty, pretty.”

He’d never known anyone in his whole life that thought more about undershorts than his Calvin.

“Thought you’d like those.” Calvin sat down again and slid the burger off its bun. “You can take them off me later if you like. Pass the ketchup?”

“Yessir.” He spooned up a bite of his stew and ate, enjoying the way it warmed him up. That was the ticket. “They suit you.”

He liked the sweet surprise of the lace ones, he thought, but more than that, he was enjoying the novelty of knowing someone that cared about what covered his tush.

“Thanks. I usually get a bunch of freebie swag on these gigs.” Tucker watched Calvin cut off a bite of the burger and stick it in his mouth, watched him pull the fork from between closed lips. His eyes closed as he chewed like he was tasting a little bit of heaven. “Oh. Mmm. So good.”

He grinned and nodded. That was good to see. People should enjoy what they paid for, and Lord knew that Calvin had to not eat a lot for his job.

Calvin’s next couple of bites were less deliberate, and all the chatter fell away. It was a good kind of quiet, and Tucker decided just to let him eat. Finally, Calvin put his fork down and picked at their basket of fries. “What do you like? The skinny crunchy ones or the fatter soft ones?”

“I’m easy. I don’t love the ‘natural’ cut ones with the peels still on. Those are odd.”

“Well, you’re in luck, then. Here.” Calvin held out a fry for him.

“Thank you, sir.” He munched it, finding it light and crispy, salty, and really, really good. He blinked and grinned, feeling a little like he’d been mostly asleep and was suddenly awake. “Those are good. Better than the stew.”

“Oh yeah?” Calvin fished around and found one, then took a bite. “Wow. They are good.” Calvin waved another one in front of him. “Yummy. So how’s the studio? Did you paint? Was it good?”

“I did. I painted birds.”The feathers were starting to get under my skin, which was a little weird, but they washed off.“There are some fascinating visuals from the table.”

“You’ll have to show me. The visuals from the table and the birds too. Will you show me those?”

He was pretty sure Calvin just swallowed down half a dozen fries. There was some nice color in those cheeks now too. Hard to tell if that was the food or the beer.

“Of course. Most of the birds are still rough. I have to spend time with each of them after the first rush to make them come to life.” He stole another fry, chewing meditatively while he tried to remember whether he’d slept in his bed yet, and if so, did the sheets need to be changed, and third, did he have a spare set of sheets.

“I don’t care if they are rough. I want to see your process, if that’s okay.” There was still over half of a burger left on Calvin’s plate, and they’d barely dented the fries, but Calvin leaned back in his chair and groaned. “God, I am so stuffed.”

“Yeah, they’re good portions.” He took one more french fry, snarfed it down. “Can I ask you to spend the night with me tonight?”

The sweet smile Calvin gave him was enough to answer his question, but as usual, Calvin had to play. “Sure, ask me.”

“Honey, I would love to spend the night with you. Please come back to the studio with me?”

Calvin nodded at him. “I need to be with you.”

“Same here.” It was like an ache. Not a pain, not anything bad—an ache that seemed to be made better with the promise of connection.

Calvin reached across the table and tangled their fingers, the expression on his face warm and open. “Two lies and one truth.”

“Two lies and one truth.” He thought a second, then offered, “My first comic book hero I drew was a purple yeti, I’m allergic to bees, and my closest friend in Austin is a bass player who’s apprenticing to a tattoo artist.”

He didn’t figure it would be difficult for Calvin, but the games were fun, especially now that he understood that the lies were in the details.

“Sneaky. I don’t have any hints to go on. And I could believe any of them.” Calvin squinted at him. “Well. I kind of feel like, after seeing you try to draw a still life at agetwo—completely insane, by the way—that a yeti might be a possibility, but not a purple one. And I don’t see an EpiPen in your pocket, so I’m going with the tattoo artist as the truth?”

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