Cast Off (23 page)

His phone beeped and he pulled it out.

But the text wasn’t Oscar canceling, it was Ian.

Let me know how it goes. I might be a little late tonight—want me to bring dinner with me?

Rick smiled a little and touched the screen. Somehow, he’d found a keeper who made him warm and gooey inside, who he didn’t mind seeing every day, who he missed when he was alone. Ian had sort of snuck into his life and heart. This was how it was supposed to be.

Thai or Italian would be great :)

A flash of blue fabric as someone slid into the seat across from him had him tucking his phone in a back pocket and looking up.

“Oscar.” The blue scrubs didn’t quite fall into his uniform fetish, but he did approve. But he thought he might be developing a suit fetish, especially when Ian wore them.

“Rick.” Oscar seemed to have trouble looking at him.

How did one bring this up?

“I’m so sorry.”

Oh. Maybe he didn’t have to bring it up at all. The relief that Oscar had broached the issue was still overshadowed by the disappointment that Oscar had been responsible for these photos. He didn’t like knowing he’d misjudged Oscar so badly. He still didn’t quite know how to respond.

“I was drunk and I saw you with that guy, and well.” Oscar sighed. “You were very up-front and clear when we met. We had some great times, and just because I wanted you to change your mind doesn’t mean I had any right to get upset when you didn’t. Then I saw you with that guy and I could tell you liked him. A lot. And I got mad. I’m really sorry.”

Rick frowned. Did people take voyeuristic photos and deliver them in manila envelopes as a spur-of-the-moment drunken mistake?

“Um, well.”

“And grabbing you—that was completely out of line. I should have contacted you earlier and apologized. I could lose my residency over shit like that, and I really appreciate you not making a big thing about it.”

This reasonable, logical man was the one he’d originally judged and found acceptable for his roster. But he was apologizing for grabbing him, which meant Oscar was talking about the night at Lettie’s, not photos from the weekend or even the petty vandalism.

He pulled out the sheets. “What about these?”

Oscar looked at the first one and his eyebrows just about flew up into his hairline.

“Okay, so you really like this guy. Why are you showing me this?”

“You didn’t take these?” Rick realized he’d rather be disappointed with Oscar than to have some nameless, faceless guy out there spying on him.

“No, of course not. Why would you even think that?” Oscar shoved the sheets back at him.

“I… I do like this guy. These arrived yesterday at my house, and after that blowup at Lettie’s, I thought… well, I didn’t really believe you were that sort of person, but you were the only one who’d gotten so emotional when we stopped seeing each other.”

Oscar gave a rueful laugh. “I guess we didn’t really know each other that well. My job is what I’ve wanted more than anything in this world.”

Rick nodded. That had been one of the reasons he’d thought Oscar would have been happy with their arrangement.

“When I saw you at Lettie’s, I’d just come off a thirty-six-hour shift, I hadn’t eaten in twelve hours, and stupidly downed two beers before the food came. It was a momentary lapse, which I recognize was so incredibly stupid. There’s no way I would have followed it up by stalking you and taking pictures, for God’s sake.”

No, there was no way Oscar would have jeopardized his career like that. Rick hadn’t been wrong, not at all, about Oscar’s character and the truth was evident in every word.

“I’m sorry for thinking that about you.”

Oscar patted his hand. “I’m sorry I gave you reason to think that about me. I just hope you’ll be happy with this guy. If you’re not, call me.”

Rick nodded, but there was only one keeper he was interested in. If he couldn’t make things work, he wasn’t going to be looking to replace what he’d discovered with Ian.

Oscar stood. “Be careful, though. Whoever took those pictures could be dangerous.”

He couldn’t think about that now, even if Oscar agreed with Ian. Stuffing the pictures back in the envelope, he was ready to leave too. He was going to find some fucking cheesecake for lunch. Maybe if he got fat, the damned creep would leave him—and Ian—alone.

He’d let Ian soothe him tonight; maybe he’d even give Ian a couple of pointers on stripping. After he made sure all the curtains were closed, of course.

I
AN
walked into the wine bar and spotted his coworkers. He didn’t want to be here, but Avery was a great coworker and a lot of fun. She was one of the editors who’d been on board since almost the beginning of
Errant
, starting as a freelancer. It was his efforts to bring in the advertising dollars that guaranteed her a full-time position, one of the few nonfreelance editing positions at
Errant
, and they’d bonded three years ago when she’d gotten the job. She’d never forgive him if he missed her birthday happy hour.

Still, he’d been meaning to check out this place. Rick had been drinking wine mostly, and although Ian often drank beer, if the atmosphere was good, he’d bring Rick.

Today, though, he’d grab a few munchies and a quick drink or two before leaving. For the first time in ever, he was eager to get home. Get home, grab a change of clothes, and then head to Rick’s. Somehow Rick had unbent enough to let him stay over—four whole nights in a row. It could be the stalker thing, but Rick didn’t seem overly concerned. Actually, this birthday thing was great timing. He didn’t really want to be in Rick’s face so much that Rick regretted the step forward in their relationship.

But Rick had invited him to come over after Avery’s party, and he wasn’t going to pass that up.

“Ian! You finally made it!” Avery raised a wine glass and gave him a one-armed hug. When she let him go, she swayed a bit but didn’t move far away.

“Happy birthday, Avery.”

Someone grabbed a handful of ass and he jumped. Leon slid around him, a wide smile on his face.

Leon looked a little unusual wearing his customary tight T-shirt and cargo pants while holding a large, bulbous wine glass filled with deep purple liquid. Judging by the ass grab and the unfocused look in his eyes, the glass in his hand wasn’t his first. It might not even be his second.

“Ian! I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“Leon, I hadn’t realized you were going to be here.”

“Yeah, Avery and I have become close. And not just because our desks are close.”

Leon and Avery made funny faces at each other and fell against Ian, laughing like crazy.

“How much wine have you guys had? I thought I was only about an hour late.”

An exaggerated shrug had Leon’s wine splashing out of the enormous bowl of his glass, barely missing Ian’s white shirt. Wasn’t a dress shirt today, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have it irreparably stained.

“This stuff is awesome! And it’s buy-one-get-one-half-off. A bargain!” Leon took a huge sip, and the dark wine left a tiny stain at the corner of his mouth, reminiscent of a Kool-Aid mustache.

Ian shook his head. “Just go easy on it. Getting drunk on red wine can be pretty rough.”

Dylan had stolen half a case of red wine from Finn’s when they were teenagers. Neither he nor Kurt had enjoyed the taste enough to get more than slightly buzzed, but Dylan had loved it. For a few hours. After puking purple fucking everywhere and dealing with a hangover like Ian had never seen since that day, Dylan hadn’t touched another drop of red wine.

“Puh-lease. I can handle my liquor.” Leon rubbed up against him like a puppy.

Avery’s attention moved away from the two of them—only natural since she was the birthday girl—and Ian flagged down a waitress. Even in a wine bar, he knew he could get a beer. It would be more fun to test out a variety of different wines with Rick, and he wanted to save that experience for another night with him.

“Leon, I’m really glad you’re making friends and fitting in. I like working with you, and I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Thanks, Ian. It’s a great place to work. And I like working with you too.”

He’d had a little bit of guilt for not inviting Leon to more events, but his friendship with Leon started just as his relationship with Rick had heated up. Even though Rick wanted their relationship to remain quiet for now, he was certain Leon would understand if he knew. Being forgiven for friendship absenteeism during the early stages of a new relationship was pretty standard. Leon could do worse than cultivate a friendship with Avery. She was a lot of fun to hang out with, especially after she’d realized Ian wasn’t attracted.

Avery called for Leon, who squeezed his ass again before leaving. Ian chuckled. He was certain Leon would be embarrassed by that in the morning.

Chapter 8

“
H
EY
, Ian, you got a minute?”

Ian looked up from his computer. “Sure, Leon. What’s up?”

Leon clutched a tablet to his chest. The kid’s entire wardrobe consisted of T-shirts, which may have been a fashion choice or it may have had to do with them being all he could afford, although Ian remembered a time when T-shirts were all he and his brothers would wear too. Then again, Leon was an attractive, well-built guy. The tight T-shirts might be an integral part of the mating plumage of the twentysomething gay geek. The pallor and dark circles under his eyes, though, wasn’t plumage so much as a billboard advertising too much wine and quite possibly a long night hanging over a porcelain bowl.

“Can you give me your expert opinion on these pages? This is the first time I’m doing a whole layout, and I’d like some input before I hand them over to Avery.”

“Of course.” Ian extended his hand for the tablet.

Looked like they were doing another of those old “where are they now” stories. Every couple of months or so, the editors scared up one of these nonsense stories for a slow Friday. Called them the Friday Lost Ones. Usually, it didn’t even matter if the story had any legs. The editors would massage the damn things to bring in the clicks and the advertisers. Ian didn’t much care about the stories appearing on the site, one way or the other, but these stories were always a little depressing. Some rising starlet was either homeless or a drug addict, or some average person who had a brush with notoriety was tarred with the brush of evil. And if a case couldn’t be made for a murderer, then the editors would try to convince the readers that evidence existed these poor schmoes were aliens or vampires or werewolves. Ridiculous. Most of the people featured didn’t even have the wherewithal to fight back, although the site was excellent at stopping short of actual libel.

The sensationalism was incredible, and Ian often worried how many readers took the stories as truth.

Leon had chosen an eye-catching font for the headline. Not the clichéd letters dripping blood, but the harsh slashes put one in mind of graffiti made by gouging letters into wood with a knife.

“Like Mother, Like Son?”

Ian didn’t think much of the title, but there was only so much real estate in a headline. Ignoring the rest of the copy, since Leon didn’t have anything to do with writing it, Ian took in the aesthetics of font, whitespace, placement of images and ads.

“Er, can I leave this with you for a bit? Come back and get it later?”

Lifting his gaze, he took in Leon’s now-greenish pallor.

“Of course.”

Leon ran from Ian’s office. He considered for a moment following to make sure he was okay, but Leon was a big boy who’d managed to drag himself into work, despite the copious quantity of wine he’d consumed the previous night. Leon would be fine—eventually.

When he bent his head back to Leon’s layout, a picture of a blond teenager caught his eye. The guy looked a lot like Rick. Weird.

Then the headline twigged something in his memory. Surely they hadn’t….

In a flash, Ian stood, shut his office door, and sat back down behind his desk to read.

Like Mother, Like Son?

Twenty-one years ago, Maria Svenson stabbed her cheating husband to death, shattering the peace of a sleepy Northern Ontario town….

The story continued, spelling out Rick’s story in the most sensational way possible. Each detail was like another ice pick to his heart, but the one that shook him most was the name of the son Maria left behind. Sandor Svenson, whose real identity, along with some other “shocking news,” would be revealed next week. Were Sandor and Rick the same guy? All signs pointed to yes, but why hadn’t Rick mentioned that he wasn’t Rick?

He was gutted. Completely gutted. And he had no idea what to do about it. Between the details and the photo, Ian had to assume his boyfriend, Rick Haviland, was none other than Sandor Svenson. He was torn between running to Avery’s office, demanding to read next week’s installment, tracking down the freelance shithead writer responsible for this travesty and beating him up, or calling Stephanie, his future sister-in-law, and having her threaten to destroy
Errant
with a lawsuit.