Play It Again, Charlie (19 page)

“We should clean up, if we're going out.” Charlie allowed the words to rush out. He did not reach out to let Will's hair slip through his fingers, but Will's head came up as though he had.

“I'm a mess, huh?” Will pulled softly at a few strands. “Maybe a shower?”

“Maybe,” Charlie agreed seriously.

“It doesn't have to be sushi.” Will didn't budge.

“Sushi's fine.” Charlie
did
say fine a lot. No wonder nobody believed him. “I've been craving sashimi,” he added, lying and meaning it at the same time. That constriction was back in his chest, his stomach suddenly all butterflies again. Sushi seemed like a bad choice, but he didn't take it back.

“So. I'll meet you out front, then?” Will's whole body fluttered, and then he nodded and jerked into motion.

Charlie turned and followed him, watched as he opened the door and struck a pose with his arms out. “The calla lilies are in bloom again!” Will announced, and then he was gone, reciting in a quieter voice as he crossed the courtyard.

When Charlie got to the door to close it, he could see Will on the stairs, still acting like some black and white starlet, though now for the benefit of the Pilates instructor who lived behind Grayson as she came down the stairs. Denise seemed bemused. Charlie didn't blame her. Understanding Will was just one of his problems. He thought about the other as he closed the door and looked at Sam, though his cat wasn't going to have any ideas about what Charlie was supposed to wear.

On a date.

With Will.

Charlie picked at the sleeve of his shirt while Will was busy talking to their waiter. It wasn't flirting, since with Will that seemed to involve a lot of touching, and thankfully Will wasn't being the guy who inappropriately touched the service staff. He was mostly illustrating something with his hands, as usual, and Charlie blinked as he realized that Will was talking about his
flowers
with the waiter and that Will knew the waiter's name.

“Anyway,” he wound up, gracefully indicating Charlie to bring him into their conversation, “now we're just waiting to see if they do okay.” Charlie really wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, but their waiter didn't seem to think anything was strange. He was young, in his early twenties, Asian, and wearing a sports jersey under his waiter's apron.

“My uncle swears by composting,” their waiter, Bobby, informed them, and then he straightened up and tapped his notepad. “Anything else?”

Will turned to Charlie, who said nothing, then turned back to Bobby. “Guess not.” He shifted as Bobby headed back toward the kitchen with their order and then nodded at Charlie's soft drink. “You sure you don't want a beer or something?”

“I'm sure.” At least he hadn't said he was fine. “I'm driving,” he reminded Will, and Will made the same face he had when Charlie had said that earlier. It was not a happy face. He hadn't bothered with the usual arguments at least, no “
but it's just one drink
"s. Only a thoughtful, frustrated frown and then a question.

“Safety first?” he had wondered, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “I can drive, if you want to have a beer or some sake.”

Charlie took a sip of his soda and thought that Will had been honest; it wasn't the kind of place where dressing up was required. Not that he had. He'd washed up and put on clean jeans and a collared shirt, though he hadn't bothered with a tie. Will thought his ties were boring, anyway. Something that should have been funny, since Will's clothing tended to be simple if Charlie ignored the glitter.

Will had changed into the T-shirt, unbuttoned dress shirt combination that he seemed so fond of. The tee black, the dress shirt white. His freshly washed hair was starting to fluff and spike up on its own as it dried.

There were families eating at the other booths around them and a large group already getting drunk in the private section in the back.

Charlie looked after Bobby, then at Will, who was fidgeting with the wrapper from Charlie's straw.

“Come here a lot?” He'd seen the place and was pretty sure he'd been here once or twice before for lunch. It was good, but mostly he remembered it for being the place that was right next to one of the few gay bars this side of the bridge. Will had obviously known that. He'd waved to two guys smoking in the far end of the parking lot, who had waved back.

“Bobby's nice.
And
he's a good waiter. Way better than I ever was.” Will folded the wrapper into a snake and then flicked it to the side. He looked across at Charlie through his eyelashes.

“I'm sure he is. I didn't mean anything.” Charlie picked up his drink again for something to do. Will watched that with that same expression on his face, the not-happy one. He'd ordered a beer for himself, had almost ordered a bottle of sake, too, but had stopped when Charlie had chosen soda.

He probably thought Charlie was too uptight. He could have ordered one beer; he wouldn't have had to finish it.

“You used to be a waiter?”

“At least five, no, six times.” Will tallied up his experience on his fingers. “Six. But once was at the same place twice. The tips were good there.”

“You seem like you'd be good at it. Friendly,” Charlie explained, when that made Will stare at him. After a pause, Will ducked his head. “Did you stop once you graduated... or got certified?” He wasn't sure what they called it at a beauty school.

“Mostly. Also when I got bored.” Will sipped at his water, and Charlie nodded. He was about to ask how long it took for Will to get bored, but Bobby reappeared with a glass and a bottle of Sapporo. Will beamed at him and then slid a look in Charlie's direction. “Last chance for a sake bomb, Charlie,” he offered, but he shook his head at Bobby before Charlie could respond to that. He took an appreciative drink while Bobby was still there, then leaned back once he was gone.

Charlie had to speak when Will licked a bit of foam from his lips. “You don't have to stop because of me. I didn't mean to make you feel awkward.”

“I don't feel awkward.” Will had another drink to prove it but pushed his glass to the side as he leaned back. “I just thought it might help things.” Charlie instantly assumed his tension and nerves were that obvious, but Will put a hand out. “I mean, a few might make this easier... smooth the way. It is called social lubrication for a reason. Oh, am I supposed to talk like that? You're cute when you're embarrassed, but maybe that isn't
date talk
, huh? What is date talk, personal facts and figures? ‘Reading from top to bottom', my name is William Gregory Stewart, the second, and I do hair, that sort of thing?”

Hearing Will talk about lubricant in a family restaurant was nothing to hearing him say out loud that this definitely was a date. Charlie reached out and took a small sip from Will's glass. Far from looking offended that Charlie had taken his beer, Will was grinning.

William Gregory Stewart, Charlie remembered abruptly, mentally sounding it out.

“Or maybe it is.” Will changed his mind, then pulled the bottle and the glass to his side of the table. “But no more for you.” He waved a finger at Charlie, completely failing at looking stern. “Not unless you want me to drive your drunk ass home.”

“That won't get me drunk,” Charlie defended himself automatically, though Will was obviously teasing him.

“We'll just wait and see, won't we?” He bobbed his head. “I'm prepared to walk around the parking lot with you, Charlie. Hold your hair back.”

“Well, thank you, but that won't be necessary.” Charlie didn't bother to keep the exasperation from his voice.

“Okay,” Will said, sighing dramatically. “But just so you know, there's no expiration date on that offer.”

“The next time I get plastered, I'll try to remember that.” Charlie rolled his eyes, and Will frowned. Charlie thought he had gone too far for half a second, but Will seemed more considering than pissed off.

“Do you? Get plastered, I mean. You had a beer, that night in your apartment.” Will bit his lip, moved on. “It's cool if you don't. I was just wondering.”

“Sometimes.” Never around Jeanine again if he could help it. It took effort to look back at Will after Will brought up what happened the other night. “I haven't for awhile.”

“Safety first,” Will repeated quietly, not asking this time. Charlie met his stare, his shoulders tensing at the frank curiosity there. That's what the conversation was supposed to be, admitting things, getting to know one another. But Charlie wasn't sure he wanted to talk about that now. Not yet. He let the pause go on, and after a small moment of obvious hesitation, Will's gaze fell. When it came back up, it was bright again.

“You look good,” Charlie remarked too abruptly, then he winced when Will's eyes widened. He took another drink of soda. The condensation made his hand damp. “I meant to say that earlier.”

For someone who should have been used to compliments, Will seemed frozen. He finally lifted a hand to pass over his hair.

“It's frizzing. I didn't get a chance to do anything to it.” He peeked over after apologizing for less than perfect hair. It was Charlie's turn to put his head back.

“I wouldn't have minded waiting,” he said instantly, then he stopped, because that hadn't sounded like he'd meant it to. “I mean— ” And how many times did he say
that
around Will? “Whatever you want, but I think it looks good.”

“I suppose when you've seen me with dirt in my hair, it doesn't need to be stunning.” Will patted his hair. “But trust me, Charlie, this is not good.”

“You're the expert.”

“Yes, I am. Licensed and everything, and don't you forget it.” Will practically puffed up on the word “licensed.” “So when you come to terms with your need for a trim and want me to cut your hair, you will be in good hands.” Charlie dropped his eyes to study Will's hands, neat and clean and expressive. He wouldn't have calluses, so his hands would feel soft. Probably as soft as his hair.

Charlie brought his attention back up. “I thought your sister made you get that license.”

“Insisted. She was a total pain too.” Will reached for his beer, though not before shooting Charlie a knowing look. “I made her be my dummy during State Board just to get her back. Eight hours she had to be still and silent and let me play with her hair. I gave her
curls
.” He toasted the memory with his beer. “Just because I was living with her, she got all bossy.” Will pursed his lips. “You two would probably get along.”

Charlie scowled and opened his mouth. He'd never bossed Will around, not even when it would have been useful.

“A good bossy,” Will amended the last part at what had probably been Charlie's hurt expression. “I
like
bossy, Charlie.” Will felt the need to emphasize his point before moving on. Charlie swallowed. “She wanted me to have the training to fall back on if I needed it.” Will shrugged. “Turns out, I'm
amazing
with hair. In fact, she should be calling me soon for a free haircut.”

“You do her hair for free?” Charlie asked, though he had a few questions about State Board too, whatever that was. Not the free-haircut part. Favors for family members must be a universal concept. The rest, the bossy remark, he thought it best to just ignore for now. “She lives close by?”

“Forty minutes on a good traffic day, from this side of the Bay. I never get much farther than that.” Will shifted, then straightened and lifted his eyebrows to recite in a monotone. “No one lives any nearer than town. No one will come any nearer than that. In the night. In the dark.” He coughed abruptly at the end, noticing Charlie's stare, and then flapped one hand, embarrassed. Charlie didn't say anything, but Will frowned and ducked his head for a moment, and Charlie had the feeling he'd been quoting to himself again. “Habit,” he explained, looking back up. “When I... . Anyway, my sister's couch. My sister's couch has to be close, in case I ever need it.”

“Her couch?” Charlie didn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Will had another drink, a bigger one, but nodded. He peeked up again, over the rim of the glass.

“It's a comfortable couch.” He exhaled, then tried a smile. “Folds out into a bed and everything, though usually I don't bother. Where's our food? I'm starving.” Charlie must have been staring, because Will leaned his head to one side. “What? I'm hungry. You worked me hard today.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you're even old enough to be drinking?” He thought about asking for ID, just to make a point, but Will gasped and splayed a hand across his chest.

“Flatterer! I'll have you know I'm twenty-two.” He paused, as though expecting Charlie to challenge that. Charlie snorted, and Will stuck out his lower lip in a familiar pout. “You should know better than to ask a lady her age.”

There were several possible things to say in response to that, not just that Will was hardly a lady. Charlie lifted one eyebrow. Will immediately caved with a slow flutter of his hands.

“I'm still on the right side of thirty,” he said and then picked up his glass to mumble into his beer, “barely.” Charlie's mouth twitched.

“You're a baby,” he reassured Will without straightening out his smile, and Will still looked offended. Then amused.

“And how old are you, grumpy pants?” he demanded with a smirk and then stopped when Bobby reappeared with a tray. Charlie wished he'd had a drink to blame for his warm face. Bobby
was
a good waiter, because he either didn't notice or acted like he didn't.

“Old enough,” was all he answered as Bobby set down a few plates. Bobby didn't seem surprised when Will asked for more, though the table between them was pretty full. Will ordered and then looked over.

“Starving,” he said again, the second Bobby was gone, and he cracked apart his chopsticks. “What does
old enough
mean?” He didn't blink for several moments as Charlie helped himself to wasabi and ginger. “Forty?”

“Not yet.” Charlie sighed at the first spicy mouthful. For someone who was starving, Will had almost forgotten the food in front of him. It made Charlie slow down, swallowing carefully before he could speak. “Is that a problem?” He wasn't sure if that was too old, or not old enough, if Will had been serious with all his daddy talk. The cane made him look a lot older, or so he'd always thought. But Charlie really wasn't in his twenties anymore; it wasn't like he could pretend he was.