Page 41 of Bobby Green
He could keep his lies straight because they were the same lies he’d been telling since August—but he’d never feltbadabout the lies until now. This wasn’t a lie to put a pretty face on an ugly truth. It wasn’t a “don’t worry about me” lie. It was a lie to get her off his back, because he didn’t want to talk to her, even about everyday, ordinary things.
He’d rather talk to Reg. Hell, he’d rather talk toanyof the guys at Johnnies—but really, he’d rather talk to Reg.
Ethan was standing, stretching, then paying and tipping his artist. Bobby noticed him but was still staring at the picture, wondering if he could put a hammer and a saw in the dragon’s claws, because those things were apparently a part of him that weren’t going away.
“You want some ink?”
Bobby smiled at him, his pretty face and warm brown eyes. Today had been hard work—but tomorrow? Tomorrow, being skin to skin with this sweet guy doing penance in ink? Felt a little like payday.
“Can’t afford it,” he admitted. “Sending money to Mom, helping Reg fix his place—”
“Oh my God!” Ethan stared at him, enraptured. “You’re helping Reg fix up his house? That’sawesome.”
Bobby had to laugh. “You been there?” Of course he had. Bobby was getting the feeling Reg had hooked up off camera with as many guys as he’d fuckedoncamera.
“Yeah. Me and Reg hang sometimes when his sister’s feeling okay.” Ethan’s face fell. “Families. Sisters. They can fuck you up, you know?”
Bobby regarded him steadily, because he knew Ethan had been kicked out of the house, but he didn’t know particulars. “No sisters,” he said in apology. “Only Mom.” He thought of his father and Veronica. “But yeah. I’ve seen it get dire in other ways.”
Ethan nodded. “Your mom? She’s okay?” This answer seemed to matter to him, and Bobby wondered if maybe his mom hadnotbeen “okay.”
“She’s tired,” he said after a thinking moment. “And sad. I wish I could give her more.” He half laughed. “I’d fuck a lot of guys to get her the hell out of Dogpatch.”
“Hunh.”
“Hunh what?” Bobby searched his face, looking for clues.
“Just… you didn’t say anything about getting your girlfriend out.”
Bobby regarded him steadily. “No. I guess I didn’t.”
Ethan blew out a breath and smiled sadly. “Well, I am not the person to judge. None of us at Johnnies are. It’s just….”
That pause went on so long Bobby could hear the buzz of the tattoo needle in it, and the long, slow exhalation of the twentysomething woman getting her girlfriend’s name tattooed on her shoulder.
“What?” he finally asked.
“Living a double life—it’s not… it’s not good for you. I mean, last guy I know who did it tried to kill himself.” Ethan blew out a breath. “Last two guys, really.”
Bobby recoiled. “Oh Jesus. No!” He grimaced. “I mean, no on the killing myself. But yeah. I see your point. It’s not good.” He shrugged then. “I visit her about every two weeks. Used to be one week, but after I started at Johnnies….”
“Got busy,” Ethan agreed. “Especially with waiting tables—”
“And fixing Reg’s bathroom.” Bobby grimaced, absentmindedly touching the poster again, because the dragon was cool. Ethan was stroking the smooth metal frame, so maybe Bobby wasn’t the only one who liked to touch. “I think I’m going to bail on the visit this weekend so I can finish that. I don’t like the idea of leaving it open while I’m up in Truckee.”
“Well, that’s a real nice thing,” Ethan said admiringly. “And ooh—man, I hope you make your money soon. That’s an awesome tattoo. Can you imagine it, mouth over your nipple, the body just riding down your ribs and curling the tail around your belly button?”
Bobby actually shuddered. “Oh damn,” he breathed.
“Oh yeah.” Ethan shook his head. “I hope you get a chance to get that,” he said wistfully—and then winced, probably because his own tattoo hurt. He sighed. “We got a long day tomorrow….”
Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Time to go.”
Ethan took him back to Johnnies to get his truck, and after he hopped out of Ethan’s little hybrid and started the truck with a familiar rumble, he had a thought.
That should have felt like a date.
Thatshouldhave felt like a date.
