Page 52 of Break the Rule
“Isn’t she great? Her name is Betty. Drives like a dream.”
“If your dream is driving around in something that looks like a wind-up toy car. I didn’t even know they made cars in that color.” He squints at Charlie’s car which, under the harsh street light, appears kind of piss yellow.
“Did we meet up to insult my car? It’s fine if we did, just wanna get my expectations straight.”
“I can’t imagine there was ever anything straight about you.”
He’s got on an all black hoodie now, the sleeves tugged down over his hands and the hood pulled up to try and shield him fromthe chill in the air. Loose pieces of pale hair stick out, his eye makeup sparkling when he steps beneath a beam of light.
“Where’s your skirt?”
“I didn’t know if it was safe to wear it walking to the bus this late at night,” he answers with a shrug. The bulge in his hoodie pocket suddenly makes sense. “Addy’s car is at the mechanic, so she’s borrowing mine to get to work and—” but he cuts himself off sharply.
“And—” Charlie prompts curiously.
“That’s all,” he replies. He takes two steps closer to Charlie, tipping his face up defiantly in a way that makes Charlie want to drop to his knees. What the fuck is it about this guy? Something about his delicate, soft features and that gorgeous makeup a sharp contrast to his fierce glare is doing something to Charlie.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you felt like you had to take your skirt off. Santa Leon is great but I get it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m queer too.”
“Okay, it’s not a contest.”
“I didn’t say it was.” Charlie fidgets with the bracelet in his pocket. “You shouldn’t have to be ashamed of who you are was all I meant.”
“I’m not fucking ashamed,” he retorts, butting up into Charlie’s personal space. He withdraws a hand from his pocket and pokes Charlie. “Don’t play the savior.”
“I wasn’t,” Charlie protests.
“You were. Boo fucking hoo. Well, you can stop it now. Being aware of my surroundings at night because I know damn well that how I dress triggers people who are uncomfortable with my gender presentation doesn’t mean I’m ashamed. It means I don’t have a fucking death wish.”
“I didn’t—” Charlie starts then stops.Shit. Maybe he did. He didn’t mean to though.
“You did,” he asserts, pulling his hand back. “Don’t say shit like that again. And don’t fucking feel sorry for me.”
“You’ve got a lot of rules, you know that?”
“No one made you come,” he retorts, shoulders hunched in on himself. Like a flash, Charlie sees another canvas. No dress this time. Nothing fancy. Just the man standing before him, ripped jeans, a dark hoodie and those goddamn eyes, brighter than the moon.
He doesn’t even need to close his eyes to see it. So many shades of blue. Celeste, eggshell, sapphire. Then something darker. Harsher. Ocean cavern. He can almost taste the paint—bitter, metallic, sharp. His fingers itch to smooth across his canvas the way they wish they could smooth across the man in front of him. He wants to touch him, but he’s not sure what might happen if he did.
“You can leave, you know.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Charlie asks.
He mumbles something unintelligible and shrugs his shoulders, looking like he’s trying to all but disappear into his hoodie. His discomfort is palpable, and Charlie acts without a second thought, withdrawing the bracelet from his pocket.
“You left something at my house,” Charlie whispers.
This is going to ruin his chance. He was going to use that bracelet as an excuse to get this guy back to his house, to try and shoot his shot for one more night. But something about him makes Charlie know he’d feel like a dick if he did that.
“Is Ella your name?” Charlie asks. He won’t press for more, but he wants this at least.
