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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Wallflower (Rear Entrance Video, #2)
Copyright © 2013 by Heidi Belleau
Cover Art by L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm
Editor: Sarah Frantz
Layout: L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-62649-036-9
First edition
October, 2013
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-62649-037-6
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This gamer geek has a lacy little secret.
Art student and MMORPG addict Robert Ng has always been a loner, but he's recently made it his goal to make more (IRL) friends. Which is how he winds up working nights at Rear Entrance Video, shilling sketchy porn and blowup dolls as a favor to his roommate. The longer he works there, though, the more he realizes he’ll never be truly happy until he becomes the person he is online: his female persona, Bobby.
Bobby is cuter and funnier than Rob is, and a thousand times more popular with boys. Becoming Bobby IRL presents its own set of challenges, though . . . especially when you're sitting on the fence between two genders, only one of which has caught the attention of your seriously cute customer/classmate.
Dylan Ford is a six-foot Inuit comic book artist who always says what’s on his mind, and screw anyone who doesn't like it. As rough as he appears, though, Dylan has a soft spot for Rob. But will out-and-proud Dylan still want Rob if he's not all man?
About Wallflower
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Also by Heidi Belleau
About the Author
Rob breathed through the sun salutation, trying his damnedest to exhale out all the tension still clenching the muscles of his back and shoulders. It used to be that the weekly yoga class he took with his big sister could get him through anything: any stressor, any sadness, any frustration, any loneliness . . . but today, not so much.
Give it a chance, he coaxed himself. Inhale. Exhale.
Nope, totally not working. He couldn’t get the thought of tonight off his mind.
His first shift alone at Rear Entrance Video, and he couldn’t have felt less prepared—and more anxious—if he’d tried. Oh, he had plenty of experience after the last two months working shifts with Christian supervising; he knew how to work the rental system and count out the till, knew the layout of the store, knew his Jenna Jameson from his James Deen, could even recite the myriad benefits of silicone as a material for use in sex toys.
What he couldn’t do was picture himself working alone and one-on-one with a stranger—a customer, no less—doing any of those things. Especially not the “sexy” stuff. Which, of course, when you worked at a porn store meant pretty much everything, since even routine activities like filing took on new and terrifying X-rated meanings.
He startled when a hand touched the back of his left thigh—speaking of risqué. “Downward-facing dog,” the class’s willowy blonde instructor said, obviously repeating herself. She planted her other hand on his lower back to guide him down. His palms hit the mat and he let out a violent gust of air. “Ujjayi breath,” she reminded him, and although she talked as softly and as calmly as ever, Rob could hear displeasure there too, no doubt at the fact that he’d brought his distraction and stress into her studio.
“Child’s pose,” she said, louder, as she mercifully drifted away.
Now that one he could do, and gladly. He sank down, curling in on himself, letting his forehead rest on the soft fabric of the mat, his hair falling in a black curtain that shielded him from the outside world.
Child’s pose—that was the perfect name for it, because he wished he could stay this way forever. But of course he couldn’t, and before he knew it they were all putting their hands together and bowing as their instructor murmured, “Namaste.”
In the time it took Rob to pick up his water bottle and take a swig, his sister was already surrounded by a chatty group of lithe men and women all competing for her attention. Rob sighed, shook his head, and forced his sore thighs into a squat so he could roll up his mat.
Bernice had been the one to suggest the yoga classes, back when she’d been in her last year of high school and Rob had just been starting. Her rationale back then had been that it was an activity they could do together, where the socially awkward caterpillar and the social butterfly could find common ground. But Rob had always suspected a hidden motive of it being an activity that required Rob to get out of the house and be around people, even if all they were doing was waggling their butts in the air. Whatever her motivations, Rob had agreed to go along just to make her happy, and then later agreed to keep going because getting out apparently made him happy, too, and he wanted more of that. He’d committed to it. To her. To himself.
Give her way a chance. Mat under one arm and water bottle hooked around one finger, he squared his shoulders and walked over.
The circle of admirers didn’t shift, so Rob cleared his throat. Shook his bangs out of his eyes and cleared his throat again.
He could stand around all day doing this before any of Bernice’s beautiful crowd noticed him, but luckily a gorgeous muscular blond guy happened to shift a little on his bare feet, which made just enough of an opening for Bernice’s eyes to land on Rob from over the blond’s shoulder.
“Robby!” she said, and that was all it took for her friends to open up a space for him. He stepped into the circle with a shrug and a little half-smile. “You guys know my baby brother? How’s it going, Robby? I saw Alyssa had to correct your poses. You weren’t distracted s
taring at somebody’s butt, were you?” She winked and flashed him a big, bright, pinup girl smile to show she was just teasing. At that, everyone laughed, and Rob wheezed out a little “Ha-ha,” trying to hide his flush at the realization that he’d been behind a man in class today.
All this talk of butts and asses and Rear Entrances, was this seriously his life? Maybe he should stick to Kingdom of Elves for his socialization; at least there it was everybody else making all the crude commentary. At least there he had a screen to hide his blush behind.
If he were a more bitter person, he’d resent his sister for hogging all the beauty and charisma genes in the family and leaving him with nothing, but the truth was, he kind of suspected that she’d been born, heard her dowdy grandma name, and spent her whole life busting her butt to break that mould. So it wasn’t a matter of not enough charm to go around, just the cold reality of which of them wanted it bad enough to work for it. And Bernice had worked. Hard, all her life. Sure, when they’d been teenagers it hadn’t seemed like work when she’d pored over fashion magazines for the latest trends or spent an hour and a half in the bathroom every morning doing her hair and makeup, and it definitely hadn’t seemed like work when she’d gone out with someone or other every night. Now that he was older, though, he realized that what he’d seen as play and fucking around had all been a concerted effort to become a person people liked and wanted to be around.
Rob, on the other hand, had spent more than a few years convincing himself of the exact opposite: that he didn’t want or need anybody, no approval, no friends, nothing. That he was socially awkward and a loser, sure, but that it was better that way. Teenage Rob hadn’t had friends because he didn’t need friends. He was better off alone.
That had been before Emily Carr University, before Noah Hadley and his other roommates, definitely before Rear Entrance Video, and Rob liked to believe he was a changed man, at least as far as acknowledging his need for human companionship went, but he still had some catching-up to do.
Bernice shifted from one foot to the other. “So anyway, we were thinking of going for some smoothies. You in?” She and her friends all stared at Rob. Oh God, she was inviting him out. Again. Every week like clockwork she asked him to come out with her and her friends, and every week he panicked and refused, right back to being an insecure teenager again.
Okay, so maybe he had a lot of catching-up to do before he was a normal social human being like her.
They were all staring at him, Bernice hopeful, the others neutral at best, the gorgeous blond guy looking specifically unimpressed. Never mind Rob, this asshole obviously hadn’t gotten the memo yet that high school was over. Rob turned from him, focusing on Bernice instead: her open expression, her fresh skin, her bangs spiking up where her Lululemon headband had slipped.
“Thanks for the invite, but I . . .” Bernice’s face fell, and it almost broke Rob’s heart, knowing he was disappointing her, knowing that he was kind of disappointing himself, too. Maybe, given time, he could prove the blond wrong. Probably not, but stranger things had happened. Stranger things . . . like Rear Entrance Video. “I can’t. I promised to do one of my roommates a favor.”
That seemed to cheer her up a little: helping a roommate probably sounded a lot more normal and social to her than his usual excuses of “I’ve got a raid,” or just straight up “Not my scene.”
The circle closed around her again, unconsciously-or-maybe-not shoving Rob out as they suggested the best nearby smoothie places, argued over vegan options and independent spots versus franchises, debated the merits of organic fruit. Vancouver talk. Rob let himself fall back in a subtle retreat, raising a hand in good-bye.
“See you next week?” Bernice asked, tilting her head at him with an expression that was half hope and half sadness. She wanted better for Rob. She always had. It was just too bad Rob wasn’t quite ready to take that final step.
“Yeah, you know it,” Rob said, forcing some cheerful enthusiasm into his voice, and Bernice smiled at him one last time before she turned back to her friends.
A short trip back to the house for a shower and a change of clothes, and Rob was on his way, hopping the bus down to Davie Street before he could change his mind.
Not that he would change his mind, of course. His roommates were counting on him. Not just Christian, who was the reason they were all working at Rear Entrance Video in the first place, but the others too: Max and Noah and Austin, who had all taken time out of their hectic lives to help Christian manage his aunt’s store and depended on Rob to do his fair share, too. His . . . well, maybe it was presumptuous to call them “friends.” Rob didn’t have friends—not the way Bernice always had—but roommates on good terms, roommates he played video games and had midnight dinners with. Yeah, that. Whatever they were, Rob didn’t want to let them down. He wanted them to like him, to be happy with him, to think he was a person who could be trusted, a person worth inviting along and including. And if a few shifts of awkwardness at a porn store was the price of their approval, then so be it.
Yeah. Rob could do this. Hell, maybe he’d like it. Meet new people. Learn new things.
He rang for his stop and, when the bus pulled to the curb, hopped out the door. Quickly glanced away from an attractive middle-aged bear who flashed him a smile as they passed each other on the sidewalk.
God, it was just a smile, not a pickup line. He needed to get himself together.
He pushed through the front door of the shop and waved to Christian, who was sitting behind the counter, and Max, who was perched on it like some kind of skater-boy lounge singer.
“Hey Rob,” Christian greeted, and it heartened Rob to see that the gaunt, tormented look he’d been wearing the last couple months was finally starting to fade. He still had bags under his eyes, but that didn’t necessarily mean a bad thing. After all, if Rob had Max for a boyfriend, he’d probably be having his fair share of late nights, too.
“How’s it going, Nugget?” Max said. “Ready for your trial by fire?”
“Max, don’t be a dick,” Christian snapped, then turned a slightly feral grin on Rob. “Don’t worry, Rob, I got all the creepers out of the way this afternoon. Should be smooth sailing tonight.”
“Oh, you can schedule them now?” Rob’s tone was sarcastic as he slipped behind the counter and kicked his bag underneath it. He took his seat next to Christian, who immediately popped the till drawer for changeover.
Max threw a look over his shoulder at them both. “Yeah, didn’t you hear? Noon to one, Christian does creeper hour: creepy customers get all rentals half off. Gets ’em out of the way.”
“He’s joking, right?” Rob asked, playing along.
“Hmm.” Christian didn’t look up from the bills he was passing from hand to hand as he counted in his head. “I’d say so, but who knows what he gets up to when I’m not here. Maybe he just wants to hog all the creepers to himself.”
“You got me. Although truth be told, it’s all a ploy to get at the only creeper that matters: Sweatpants-and-boner Guy.” Max batted his eyelashes, putting his chin in his hands like a smitten teenage girl.
“He’s all yours.” Rob shuddered. Although ninety percent of their clientele were completely normal—drunk college students, groups of women looking for satin blindfolds and rabbit pearls, friendly dudes, shy and awkward types like Rob himself—there was that last ten percent, the ones with boundary issues, the ones without personal hygiene . . .
Sweatpants-and-boner Guy was an obese, middle-aged man—nothing wrong with that part, of course—who came in wearing baggy sweatpants that clung to his boner as he wandered the aisles licking and smacking his lips. He was completely harmless, but everybody who worked the counter wished he’d invest in some jeans or something, anything to even somewhat hide the chubby he always sported.
The cash register slammed shut. “Well, that’s it for me, I’m outta here,” Christian said. “Ready to go, babe? Rob, you’re gonna be okay here on your own?”
“
Yeah,” Rob said, pushing all of his insecurities down into the bottom of his gut. Just because he was being a ridiculous baby about all this didn’t mean he had to show it. “Go on, get out of here. I’ll call you if anything goes wrong.”
Christian dropped a hand onto Rob’s shoulder in that overearnest teacher way he sometimes did. “Nothing’s going to go wrong, Rob. You’ll be just fine.”
Jeez, had he been that obvious?
He shrugged Christian’s hand off, not quite confident enough in his lying ability to meet Christian’s eyes. “Sure, sure, sure. Now go.”
Christian cast him one more dopey, concerned look, then got up, took Max’s hand, and let Max lead him out the door. When the bell jingled their exit, Rob sighed with relief, slumping in his chair. Alone. Finally. Was it wrong to wish he’d be alone all night?
Considering they were trying to get the store up and running for Christian’s cancer patient aunt, who owned the place and had managed it before she got sick, yeah, it really was.
And in some cosmic and/or divine punishment for his selfishness, the doorbell jingled again—from the back of the store, this time, the titular Rear Entrance—and in walked the only customer higher (or was that lower?) on the hierarchy of creepers than Sweatpants-and-boner Guy: Charlie VIP. No last name on file, just “VIP,” probably because if you looked into his customer history he had a perfect rental record and had spent the price of a pretty damn decent new car here over the last year or so. Guess that bought a little discretion when it came to last names and phone numbers.
It wasn’t that he was rude or abusive, exactly, more just . . . incredibly uncomfortable to be around. “Evenin’,” he greeted on his way to the Fetish section of the store.
“Hello,” Rob mumbled to the counter, ducking his eyes behind his hair. He’s harmless, he reminded himself. He probably looks creepier than he actually is. He thought of himself, the way people treated him based solely on outward appearances. How they judged him. Not that he wasn’t a completely average Chinese Canadian teenage boy, from the cheap Hong Kong fashion right up to the shaggy K-pop haircut. But the way he spoke, the way he carried himself . . . people picked up on that, he had to assume, picked up on it and read doormat and nerd and loser and that’s what he was to them, whether he wanted to be that person or not. And eventually, what they thought of him had become the truth, a self-fulfilling prophecy that he couldn’t seem to escape.
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