Page 7 of Disciplinary Action
There were a million reasons why Gideon shouldn’t call an ambulance, and almost every one of them had to do with the fact that he had a teenage prostitute in his bed. He didn’t even know the kid’s name. This was the kind of scandal that ruined people in his profession, but he didn’t love his job enough to watch the boy die. “You need help.”
The boy glanced up at Gideon with huge eyes. “Please, don’t. Just give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be better. I promise,” he swore, voice weak.
The boy’s teeth had stopped clacking, and he no longer shivered. But he was pale beneath his tan, his skin clammy. “Ten,” Gideon countered.
“Fine. Ten,” the boy managed.
As the minutes ticked by, Gideon combed his fingers through the boy’s chestnut colored waves, his head cradled in Gideon’s lap, his breathing evening out a bit at a time. He was beautiful. His eyes were a mossy green, almost yellow at the center, and he had impeccable bone structure, like a sculptor had carved him from stone. He looked young. Earlier, he’d pegged him at around twenty-one, but now, he seemed much younger. If he worked for Hillary, he was at least eighteen, but that was a small comfort now that he’d made the boy ill.
The boy. He couldn’t keep calling him that. “What’s your name, little bird?”
“Cal,” he managed, forcing his lids open enough to look at him.
Gideon wondered if that was truly his name or if he’d remembered the false identity he’d created for himself. “How are you feeling now?”
“Better.”
Relief flooded Gideon. “Good.”
He gently transferred Cal to the mattress and rose once more, returning five minutes later with a peanut butter sandwich. The boy pulled himself into a sitting position, eyes lighting up at the food. He made a grab for the sandwich, but Gideon held the plate out of reach. “No peanut allergies, right? I’d hate to save you from slipping into a diabetic coma only to have you die of anaphylaxis.”
“No food allergies of any kind,” Cal promised, snatching the sandwich from the plate and scarfing it down in three bites. Once he finished, he sat back with a satisfied sigh, handing the plate back to Gideon. “This is a really nice place,” he said. “What do you do?” His eyes went wide. “Am… Am I allowed to ask you that?”
Gideon smiled. “Yes, you’re allowed. I’m a professor of childhood and adolescent development.”
Cal looked him up and down. “So, not saving Gotham City from evil?”
Gideon laughed. “I’m afraid not.”
Cal glanced around at the furnishings. “Being a professor must pay well.”
Gideon arched a brow. “Maybe I come from money.”
Cal scoffed. “Not with those hands.”
Gideon frowned, looking at his calloused hands. The boy was right. He’d worked his way through high school doing construction just so he could afford community college. He would have had to work all the way through college and grad school if he hadn’t met Grant. He shook the thought away. “You don’t like my hands?”
Cal blushed. “I didn’t say that. I just meant those are the hands of somebody who worked for a living. Rich people don’t work with their hands, not like that.”
The kid was right. “Know a lot about rich people, do you?” he asked, tone conversational.
Cal sighed. “More than you could ever know.”
It was clear the boy came from money…or had. The tailored clothing, the expensive haircut, well past its last needed trim. Perhaps his family had disowned him for being gay. Or maybe they’d just fallen on hard times like many American families. Gideon didn’t know the boy’s circumstances, but it was clear he was far from where he’d started. He had that look that street kids had, hunted and hungry. Gideon remembered it well. But it wasn’t wise to get too familiar with any of these boys. That was how feelings became involved, and Gideon had walled that part of himself off years ago.
“All better?” Gideon asked instead.
“What? Oh, yeah. I can get going. I’m fine now.”
The boy started to rise, turning as if to hide the dejected look on his face, but Gideon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not why I asked. Get back here.” Cal stopped moving but stayed seated on the edge of the bed like he might flee at any moment. “Lie down.”
The boy’s brows knitted together. “Why?” he asked, his suspicious tone pulling a chuckle from Gideon.
“Because I’m not done with you yet.”
A shadow fell across the boy’s face. “I don’t know if I can handle anymore punishments,” he hedged.
“No more punishments, little bird. Just company.”
