Page 44 of Refraction

Very good. Tucker grinned, stupidly pleased. “Got it in one. His name is Stu. He’s a good man. Gargor was bright pink, by the way, and I’m allergic to fire ant bites. I get terrible blisters, worse than normal ones.”

“Gargor?” Calvin giggled, the sound light, pleased. “A pink yeti. See, if you’d said pink I still would have said that was a lie. And it’s good to know you have some friends, tiger. You and your… and Marge make it sound like you’re a hermit.”

“I have guys from college. I see them sometimes.” He saw Stu play at SXSW last year, and Daniel had been there with his new wife, the blonde with a mole on her cheek. “Everyone is busy, and I live out of town.”

“Well, at least they’re someone to call. You know? And it seems like you’re pretty busy too. What do you call Marge? Your agent? Your… what? Aunt? You must use something more personal.”

“When I was a little boy, she was Gigi. I had a granny and a pappy, a mee-maw and a papaw and a Gigi.” It didn’t slip out very often—when he was really frightened, when he was trapped, when he needed someone to save him—but she always came when he called. Always.

“Gigi. That’s adorable. And that’s a lot of grandparents. I bet that was nice.”

“My granny and pappy were fun as hell. My dad’s folks are very religious, very stern. I see them very rarely.” Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time. Four years ago? Five? Daddy had a vast family, and Momma growled about them all, so he didn’t worry on it much. “What about you? Do you get to see your people?”

“I don’t really have people.” Calvin shrugged. “My dad’s a little out there, and my mom is… also pretty out there. I got tired of talking about the weather. Or maybe they did.”

“Makes sense.” It was sad, but it was what it was. No one made a person take a test before they became a parent.

Parents are just fuckups with babies, Tuck.Lord, it was like his granny was right here.

“It’s your turn, honey.”

“My turn… oh.” Calvin waved down the server and got the check.

“Okay. So… number one. That thing you do—rubbing your very sexy, manly, scratchy stubble down the length of my desperately needy erection does not drive me wild. At. All.” Calvin got hold of his eyes and kept them. “Number two, I definitely do not want you to fuck me tonight. Number three, sometimes when I look into your eyes, my heart pounds so hard it reverberates all the way down my spine, and I feel like you are seeing straight into my soul.”

The world went sharp and crystalline, just like a bell had rung and left nothing but Calvin behind. “You make things so clear.”

All he could hope was that Calvin heard him, what he meant.

“I… I know. I think that’s amazing.” Calvin tugged on Tucker’s fingers and flattened them across his chest. “See?”

He felt that heart pound but good, the sight of Calvin’s pulse matching it. “I want to take you home and love you until I can’t remember doing anything else, honey.”

“Yeah. Please.” Calvin let go of Tucker’s hand long enough to pull out his wallet, stuff some cash in with the bill, and grab his coat.

“I’ll buy the next one.” He stood, grabbed his coat, his cock so hard the pit of his belly tugged.

“Deal.” They were still bundling up as they left, Calvin wrestling with that big scarf as he held the door. “Fuck, it’s fucking cold.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t notice. He was burning up inside, balls to bones.

He thought he remembered there being crowds of people on the way to dinner—bright lights, a tall tower—maybe he dreamed all that, because he didn’t see any of it on the way back to his studio.

All he saw was Calvin, every time he glanced over, like a touchstone.

They stopped walking, and after a pause Calvin leaned into him. “Tucker. This is you, right? You have keys?”

“I do. Yes. Keys. Sorry, I was watching you move.” He dug in his pockets and got the door open. “Come on, honey, ’fore you freeze.”

“Watching me move.” Calvin shook his head. “You’re such anartist.”

Well, yeah. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but for this moment at least, the only work of art on his mind was Calvin.

“True story.” He bundled them up the stairs and then up into the studio. The scent was familiar—linseed and charcoal and home.

Calvin pulled off his scarf and moved into the center of the room, looking around.

He’d moved the table in front of the middle window so he could stand and watch. The canvases stood everywhere, thrown here and there like tossed playing cards as he finished them. The walls were covered in white paint and graphite, where he scribbled thoughts, random ideas. There were pockets of these—a demon peeking around the bathroom door, a hamburger with legs by the light switch, Calvin’s face near the bed to watch his dreams—but in a week, they would be everywhere.

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