how to really enjoy it. Just one friend to another, fucking his brains out.
In the doorway leading to the back patio, in a yard enclosed with tall trees and an abundant, well-tended garden, Liam balls his hands up into fists inside his cargo pants pockets and bites his tongue, ignoring the lingering looks he’s getting from Yasha. Conversely, the ones he’s also getting from Jacen don’t bother Liam at all, but he doesn’t quite consciously realize that.
“Yeah, well, he’d look good in a paper bag,” Jacen mumbles, being coy in a way that suggests whatever talk Liam just walked in on is one that might raise some eyebrows if the details became known.
“He isn’t grotesque, that’s for sure,” Yasha adds in agreement.
“Whatever. I’m, um—” He thumbs back over his shoulder before leaving; nearly jogging through the house and taking the steps two at a time just to get away that much faster.
Brushing his teeth five times in a row, washing the crap out of his hair, scrubbing his body with a loofah for twenty minutes before moisturizing and redressing in normal clothes, Liam takes his time in what he thinks of as the detox phase of his job. An hour and a half after leaving Yasha and Jacen, Liam descends the stairs once more in search of food and a comfortable chair.
Aggravatingly, Yasha is still there, talking quietly outside with Jacen, though now there are drinks in front of them both and a bowl of fresh cut vegetables. Trying to ignore them, Liam throws together a half-assed dinner out of leftovers and claims the recliner in the living room, turning on the news and zoning out.
Every now and then, he finds himself trying to make sense of the low murmuring filtering through the windowpane. Sometimes, when he turns to glance out back, he sees one of the two men nodding or otherwise gesturing toward the house, like they’re talking about Liam. It’s unsettling to say the least.
Probably your imagination
, Liam tells himself.
Or your arrogance. Thinking everything’s always gotta be about you.
He wonders how the meeting with Della went, and why exactly Yasha is there. Wanting to ask Jacen what’s going on, Liam tries to be patient. Not for the first time he laments the fact that he doesn’t have more good friends that aren’t in his line of work, to talk to about normal things, like the weather, sports, and politics. Even with as long as Liam has been in the service industry, he is sure that he’ll never get completely used to it, how everything becomes a lie, a game, a mind-fuck, a charade. It makes honesty, purity, directness become that much more cherished.
And there’s so little of that going around, it makes Liam nauseous.
His phone rings. Grumbling, he digs it out, sends up a little prayer that it’s nothing urgent, because fuck it, he’s tired and not in the mood.
It’s Della.
“Son of a
bitch
,” he complains, whining. Clearing his throat and letting his head fall back against the cushions, he answers. “Dee. What’s up, darlin’?”
“William, I’m going to be stopping by your place for an impromptu meeting with you. We’ve got some things to discuss and I’d rather handle it now than wait ’til tomorrow when I’ll be in the office again. You around? Will you be there?”
“Sure, I’ll be here,” he says cheerfully, rolling his eyes and making a face.
Not good. This does not bode well at all.
“Cool. Gimme twenty minutes.”
“No problem.”
Jacen picks up a carrot stick and drums it against the tabletop. Through one of the windows, mottled with shifting shadows from the palm trees and high bushes, he sees Liam, or at least the back of Liam’s head. Liam is sitting in front of the television, relaxing, as he should be.
Yasha, sipping spring water, follows Jacen’s gaze to the object of his thoughts. “You’re right that he’s not me. But he’s not so different either.”
Jacen frowns. The tap-tap-tapping begins to drive Yasha insane. The carrot stops
In the doorway leading to the back patio, in a yard enclosed with tall trees and an abundant, well-tended garden, Liam balls his hands up into fists inside his cargo pants pockets and bites his tongue, ignoring the lingering looks he’s getting from Yasha. Conversely, the ones he’s also getting from Jacen don’t bother Liam at all, but he doesn’t quite consciously realize that.
“Yeah, well, he’d look good in a paper bag,” Jacen mumbles, being coy in a way that suggests whatever talk Liam just walked in on is one that might raise some eyebrows if the details became known.
“He isn’t grotesque, that’s for sure,” Yasha adds in agreement.
“Whatever. I’m, um—” He thumbs back over his shoulder before leaving; nearly jogging through the house and taking the steps two at a time just to get away that much faster.
Brushing his teeth five times in a row, washing the crap out of his hair, scrubbing his body with a loofah for twenty minutes before moisturizing and redressing in normal clothes, Liam takes his time in what he thinks of as the detox phase of his job. An hour and a half after leaving Yasha and Jacen, Liam descends the stairs once more in search of food and a comfortable chair.
Aggravatingly, Yasha is still there, talking quietly outside with Jacen, though now there are drinks in front of them both and a bowl of fresh cut vegetables. Trying to ignore them, Liam throws together a half-assed dinner out of leftovers and claims the recliner in the living room, turning on the news and zoning out.
Every now and then, he finds himself trying to make sense of the low murmuring filtering through the windowpane. Sometimes, when he turns to glance out back, he sees one of the two men nodding or otherwise gesturing toward the house, like they’re talking about Liam. It’s unsettling to say the least.
Probably your imagination
, Liam tells himself.
Or your arrogance. Thinking everything’s always gotta be about you.
He wonders how the meeting with Della went, and why exactly Yasha is there. Wanting to ask Jacen what’s going on, Liam tries to be patient. Not for the first time he laments the fact that he doesn’t have more good friends that aren’t in his line of work, to talk to about normal things, like the weather, sports, and politics. Even with as long as Liam has been in the service industry, he is sure that he’ll never get completely used to it, how everything becomes a lie, a game, a mind-fuck, a charade. It makes honesty, purity, directness become that much more cherished.
And there’s so little of that going around, it makes Liam nauseous.
His phone rings. Grumbling, he digs it out, sends up a little prayer that it’s nothing urgent, because fuck it, he’s tired and not in the mood.
It’s Della.
“Son of a
bitch
,” he complains, whining. Clearing his throat and letting his head fall back against the cushions, he answers. “Dee. What’s up, darlin’?”
“William, I’m going to be stopping by your place for an impromptu meeting with you. We’ve got some things to discuss and I’d rather handle it now than wait ’til tomorrow when I’ll be in the office again. You around? Will you be there?”
“Sure, I’ll be here,” he says cheerfully, rolling his eyes and making a face.
Not good. This does not bode well at all.
“Cool. Gimme twenty minutes.”
“No problem.”
Jacen picks up a carrot stick and drums it against the tabletop. Through one of the windows, mottled with shifting shadows from the palm trees and high bushes, he sees Liam, or at least the back of Liam’s head. Liam is sitting in front of the television, relaxing, as he should be.
Yasha, sipping spring water, follows Jacen’s gaze to the object of his thoughts. “You’re right that he’s not me. But he’s not so different either.”
Jacen frowns. The tap-tap-tapping begins to drive Yasha insane. The carrot stops
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