The Virgin Manny

by Amy Lane

  “It was my fault.” Channing pushed away his plate, which was a shame because he still had some of Nica’s best work left to eat. “I—I have a business in San Francisco. I’ve been running it from here with a laptop, mostly, but I… even if I want to sell it and move back here so Sammy doesn’t have to change his life, I still have to be there for a month or two. Sammy—he heard me talking, I guess, and he just lost his mother, and….”

  “And he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Tino guessed.

  Channing shrugged and leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. “The first shoe was pretty brutal as it was.”

  Tino suddenly felt outclassed and over his head. “I’m sorry,” he said inanely. “You have plenty on your plate. It was nice of you to ask me over”—he conveniently forgot that he’d finagled the invitation—“but I should leave you to—”

  “He likes you,” Channing said baldly, standing up as Tino did so they were facing each other.

  “That’s flattering.” Tall. Oh dear heavens, the man was just… tall. Tino grabbed his water glass and took one last swig, because his mouth had just gone dry. “But—”

  “He likes you, and you said over dinner that you were working at Panera to get through school.” Channing, who had appeared to be sane for pretty much the past two hours, was looking at him with an unholy gleam of connivance in those blue-gray eyes.

  “I am.” Oh yeah, time to back off the edge of the cliff before Tino got sucked down into the childcare job at the bottom of the abyss. “I need that money. I cannot possibly afford to take a childcare job, even if I worked both—”

  “I’ll pay off your student loans,” Channing stated, so flatly, and with such desperate firmness, that Tino found himself hovering over the chasm, his feet suspended in midair.

  “Uhm, do you have any idea how much—”

  The figure rolled off Channing’s tongue: Tino’s student loans, plus a decent chunk of change at the end that would help Tino buy a dependable car, get an apartment—even a new laptop to help him get started when he found a job.

  Tino grasped the top of the chair and leaned on it, not sure he could hold himself up. “Real—”

  “Yes, really, Tino. I need help. I’m not too proud to say it—Sammy is the last part of my sister that I have, and I need help clearing this transition with him. I cannot do this alone.”

  Tino swallowed and counted the spots floating like fish in front of his eyes. “But Sammy’s father—doesn’t he—”

  “Yeah,” Channing said, voice grim. “He does—but we can’t let him. He was not good for Sheryl, and I’m fighting one hell of a legal battle to keep him out of Sammy’s life. Please….” Channing’s shoulders slumped, and he used his thumb and forefinger to rub his eyes tiredly. “Please—I’ll draw it up in a contract, half now, half when the summer’s over. Just think about it, Tino—no student loans. A free-and-clear start.”

  “How… how does anyone have so much money?” Tino asked, appalled and admiring in spite of himself.

  “The money?” Channing muttered, sounding indifferent. “That was easy—I started out rich and made more. The money isn’t important. Sammy? That’s our goal right now. Can you help me make my goal?”

  Tino shook his head and went to take a step backward. “Uh, my mother told me no candy from strangers?” He tried a helpful smile, but Channing followed him, and he didn’t smile back.

  “This isn’t candy,” he said, eyes piercing and deadly. “This is your future—wrapped all pretty with a bow. No loans—”

  “But 24-7!” Oh God, his chest compressed just thinking about it.

  “Weekends off, plus use of the car,” Channing hammered home. “It’s not indentured servitude, Tino—”

  “Well it’s not a notch on my resume!” Tino objected. “What, I’m going to start looking for work in September and show people—”

  “Your letter of rec from Channing Lowell,” he said, eyes flinty. “Ask around—in fact, go home and Google me. It’s worth its weight in gold, Tino, and it can be yours. Just help me out here—”

  “I have a degree in business!” Tino objected, feeling sorely let down. He’d hoped his big break would come in the corporate world, not delivering his sister’s dinner box—wait! “And I live in Rocklin!” he pointed out triumphantly.

  “You would live here,” Channing answered, gesturing around to the giant house. “Mirella goes home, but there are five unoccupied bedrooms here. Sammy has several day camps already scheduled—you’d be mostly taxi service, but if you want to take him to visit your family—”

  “This is crazy,” Tino muttered, taking another step backward, like Channing was the devil and he was escaping temptation. “You’re insane—you don’t even know me. I could be a child molester or a thief or—”

  “I’d check you out too,” Channing said, sounding almost bored. “I am a very good businessman, Tino. Don’t think I’m not. But right now, I want you to stop looking at me like I’m going to eat you, and think about it.”

  Tino blinked and put a hand to his heated face, aware that he’d seen very little but the breadth of Channing Lowell’s chest and his intense gray eyes for the past ten minutes.

  “I don’t think you’re going to eat me,” he muttered, sort of wishing Channing Lowell would eat him, just gobble him right up.

  “Good,” Channing said, the challenge in his eyes lightening up a fraction. “Because I want you to feel comfortable here.”

  “I haven’t said I’d do it.” Tino crossed his arms in front of his chest, like his youth was the problem—his narrow chest and rangy shoulders were far too exposed and he was tempting this probably straight man into perdition.

  Channing laughed, and it wasn’t Tino’s imagination. The laugh was vaguely predatory, and this time, as he raked Tino with his eyes, Tino was aware of a half-mocking sort of assessment.

  “You’ll do it,” he said, sounding insufferably smug.

  “Why?” Tino threw back, determined not to take another penny from Channing Lowell if he bought all his sister’s dinners for a year. “Because I’m poor? Because I’m young? Why am I going to—”

  Channing took one more dangerous step forward and Tino’s shoulders bumped against the wall. That thunder-mountain of a chest and those deadly eyes were advancing on him and he had nowhere to go.

  “I’ve told you,” Channing rumbled, sounding angry for the first time, “that’s your chip, and not my mindset. And you’re not going to take the job for the money, or the car, or even the letter of rec, although that’s all I’m offering.”

  His heat and his mild aftershave and even his deodorant filled Tino’s senses, and he was having trouble breathing. The full presence of this man was pressing down on Tino until he felt trapped like a rabbit with no place to go.

  So, like a rabbit, he held himself very still. “Then why?” he whispered, wondering when he’d be able to catch a full breath. “What makes you so irresistible?”

  Channing’s full lips quirked into a smile. “I don’t know, Tino, you tell me. You’ve been staring into my eyes all night, and touching your lips, running your fingers through your hair, touching your cheeks. I’ll be honest—I’m flattered as hell. But you need to be honest with yourself. What exactly do you want from me that you are not going to get from Panera, no matter how long you work there?”

  Tino’s breath caught, and for a brief, suspended second, there existed only the two of them, Tino’s rough, ragged breaths pumping his chest in and out against Channing’s brick wall of a chest that rose and fell evenly.

  “Uh….” Channing lifted his thumb to rub it back and forth over Tino’s lower lip—and that was all. “Uh….”

  “Think about it,” Channing whispered. He lowered his head enough that his breath brushed Tino’s temple. “Just think about it.”

  “Nungh….”

  Channing backed away, dropping his hand, breaking all contact, and Tino felt absurdly hurt. No kissing? No plundering? No forsakin
g his chaste values as the world’s oldest virgin in the heat of Channing Lowell’s predation?

  Apparently not.

  Channing bowed at the waist and gestured past the dining room to the living room and the main exit, and Tino glared at him.

  “Good night, Tino. You left your sister’s card. I’ll e-mail her the contract for you to look over, and get some information from you so I can run a background check, because I’m not stupid. After that, you have two days to give me an answer.”

  Tino gaped at him. “But… but….” But you were going to kiss me!

  Channing winked. “I promise, taking advantage of people isn’t my style. Not that it’s off the table, but I’m very sincere. Sammy’s well-being is my top priority.”

  “But….” What if I wanted you to kiss me, dammit!

  When Channing spoke next, his voice dropped silkily. “I promise you, young Mr. Robbins, if you ever come asking me for extracurricular activity, I’m not going to turn you down. But it has to be your choice. Right now I’m just offering a job. A very good job.”

  Tino opened his mouth and closed it again, and opened it and closed it—and then found himself, still speechless, being hustled toward the entryway and outside to his car. He was actually in the car, in the balmy spring night, making his way back to his parents’ house near Stanford Ranch, when he managed to wonder if he even said one intelligible thing after Channing Lowell’s last promise.

  Or was it threat?

  Or did it matter?

  Because Tino was not going to see that man again!

  Having Your Cookies

  ARTHUR Macklemore was six feet five inches of amiable furry red teddy bear. He wore his bushy hair back in a ponytail and had a sweet smile underneath an enormous auburn beard; an occasionally wicked sense of humor; and the biggest, clumsiest hands Tino had ever seen on a human.

  He also had a slight learning handicap and was having a hell of a time making a ham-and-cheese panino.

  Tino took a deep breath and remembered the time Arthur had stayed to close when he’d gotten to the store at ten that morning. The big guy hadn’t complained and had done a steady, decent job of it, and Tino had really needed the help. Well, Arthur needed his help now.

  “Okay, Artie,” Tino said, trying not to think of the line of customers forming at his back. “You assemble the sandwich with mustard, ham, swiss….” He continued on and tried not to look at the foul-smelling thing next to the panini press. He wasn’t sure what Arthur had put on it, but he was betting Thai dressing and pickles figured large.

  Arthur listened and nodded, then folded the press. “Thanks, Tino,” he said, every syllable carefully enunciated. “I’ll eat the one I screwed up on.”

  Tino looked at it in horror. “Oh my God no!” His voice cracked on the no. “We’ll just call that a learning experience and I’ll take it home for my sister’s idiot dog.”

  Arthur smiled shyly. “Thanks, Tino. I got it now, I promise. No more trying to poison the customers.”

  Tino smiled slightly and patted his arm. “I trust you, big guy,” he said and ran around the partition and shucked his gloves so he could don another pair. They were really picky about clean hands when you went back and forth between the register and the grill.

  “Tino!” said a familiar voice. “We’re here to get a cookie!”

  “Sammy! I’m here to get you a cookie!”

  Tino grinned at Sammy, torn between a genuine happiness to see the little snot and horror that he was there at all—particularly with his dangerously handsome uncle behind him.

  “And I’m here to take you on break,” Channing said, looking at Tino with a sardonic glint in his eye.

  “I, uh—”

  “Tino!” called Katy, the disturbingly blonde floor manager. “After this customer, you’re on break.”

  Tino stared at her, and then at Channing, who was smiling at Katy and winking. Oh, so fine. Katy gets a smile and a wink, but Tino? He gets a break when he wasn’t planning on it and a conversation he’s been avoiding for three days.

  “Are you getting us a cookie?” Sammy said, lower lip threatening to make an appearance.

  “Yeah, sure, little man—what cookie did you want?”

  “We’ll take two of each kind,” Channing said smoothly. “We can have a sampling party. And three glasses of milk.”

  Tino was going to do it—he was going to ask who the third glass was for—but Channing caught his eye. “I’m sure Tino wants to join us on his break.”

  “Thanks,” Tino said, going for gracious. He smiled at Sammy. “That sounds like fun.”

  It didn’t. Tino’s sister had gotten the contract in her e-mail pretty much before Tino had gotten home from Granite Bay that night, and she’d forwarded it to Tino—and then gave him the third degree. When she found out that Sammy’s mother had died, she got unexpectedly sad.

  “Aw, man—Tino, she was the nicest lady. She was like Mom, you know? Like she was doing all this stuff for her kid that she thought was supposed to be good for him, but then he’d just need a hug and she’d drop everything and just give him that. I liked her so much. She told me that I saved her life every month, because just as soon as she thought, ‘Oh no, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t even think of what’s for dinner,’ that’s when it was dinner box night. I mean, she was probably making it up to make me feel good, but—”

  “Still nice,” Tino said, thinking it was true. Poor Sammy—Tino’s mom and dad were such an integral part of his life. He couldn’t even think of waking up at Sammy’s age and not having them both there.

  But aside from giving his parents an extra hard (and probably extra creepy and disturbing, given that he was twenty-two and grown) hug that night, his only action on Channing’s contract had been inaction. He hadn’t returned the e-mail, asked any questions, or refused the position. Nada.

  Oh—except one thing. Tino had Googled the man, and had been reluctantly impressed.

  Channing Lowell really did start out rich, but then he’d taken his education seriously. Harvard Business School for his MBA and his Business Law degree, and then he’d moved to San Francisco to capitalize on the dot-com industry’s gentrification movement.

  And right there, Tino thought, Aha! Scumbag! because everybody knew that those were the people who were outpricing affordable housing for the people who lived in the city not making a zillion dollars, and that’s where the “Channing Lowell is a good human being” thing took over.

  Because that wasn’t the kind of developer he was. In fact, Channing Lowell had been responsible for some of the only affordable housing developments in the city over the past few years. He’d taken the dilapidated apartments and, instead of letting them fall down and evicting the tenants, renovated them and kept the tenants living there at a standard cost-of-living increase. The surrounding businesses were charged more in rent—because they were making more money—but the residents? They had benefited as nobody else had been able to after the crash. He’d done the same for run-down neighborhoods—his operating theory seemed to be that citizens not struggling to keep a roof over their heads had more money to spend at the businesses in their neighborhood, which created more income, and so far he’d been making a profit. No, not front-page-of-Forbes profit, but more than enough, Tino had to admit, to pay for one struggling college student’s loans without batting an eyelash.

  Honest money would be paying Tino’s loans—but Tino was still reluctant to sign.

  With a sigh, he maneuvered the tray of cookies and milk around the counter and to the corner of the dining area, where Sammy and Channing were camped out. Channing had brought one of those design coloring books with colored pencils, and Sammy was so deeply engrossed in staying between the lines that his little tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth.

  Sammy didn’t look up as Tino set the tray down, and Channing set a chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookie down by his elbow and a glass of milk in his sightline. He waited for Tino to take his own glass of milk and
then split up the remaining cookies and laid them carefully on the tray.

  “You never replied,” Channing said, carefully selecting a cookie and dipping it into his milk.

  “I had finals. And work,” Tino temporized. “Busy.”

  “Pick a cookie,” Channing ordered, and Tino found himself grabbing half a peanut-butter cookie out of reflex.

  He dipped it in milk and shoved half of it in his mouth, grateful that he didn’t have to answer Channing’s disapproving glower. Then nervous because he couldn’t answer Channing’s disapproving glower. Then freaked out because he had to answer Channing’s disapproving glower.

  “Mm thobby,” he said through a bite of disintegrating cookie. With an effort, he swallowed the whole bite and tried again like a man. “I didn’t know what to say,” he muttered reluctantly. “It looks too good to be true.”

  “It’s not,” Channing told him flatly. “But it is too good to pass up. Seriously, what is it here that you can’t stand to leave?”

  Tino looked around, and then looked over to the grill, where Arthur was just about ready to—“Shit, Arthur, no!”

  The entire restaurant began to fill with toxic steam as the panini grill sputtered and shorted out.

  Tino led the way and set Channing and Sammy up outside, then helped the other customers find seats in what had been the almost deserted patio. He covered his mouth with his shirt and went back inside to get a nearly inconsolable Arthur, who was being berated by a coughing and vicious Katy.

  “You stupid retard,” Katy snarled. “What were you thinking?”

  Arthur’s face contorted, and even through the thick smoke, Tino could see him fighting not just to breathe but to put the words together to defend himself.

  “Thai sauce,” he said miserably, his eyes spilling over. “It was making the bread icky.”

  “Well whose fault was that?” she snapped. “Jesus, we can’t put you on one fucking station—you’re pretty much fucking useless!”