by Jaime Samms
“He’s shy.”
“All the more reason for them to like him. Rex and his boys will take him under their wings. Look out for him.” She smirked. “Gotta love the regular crowd around here. Thank God they don’t get rowdy.”
Jed grunted, and they worked again in silence. He served a few customers, but was working on autopilot as he tossed his attention back to the closed office door between every drink.
“Jed.” Fingers snapped in his face. “Dude. You there? Earth to Jed.”
Jed blinked, and Johnny’s grinning face came into focus. “What?”
Johnny blinked. “Thought I might have a beer? You working or just staring off into space?”
Jed rolled his eyes. “Your usual?”
Johnny grinned a crooked, toothy grin at him. “Saw your little dude go in there. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Jed stared into the beer fridge for a moment, trying to focus and remember why he was there. He didn’t know why he was so nervous about this. It was ridiculous.
“Come on. Spill.” Johnny tossed a peanut, and it clinked off a beer bottle, snapping Jed out of his stupor.
He grabbed the bottle and turned around as he pried the lid off. “Ira’s interviewing for a job.”
“And you’re nervous for him.” Johnny smacked the bar. “That’s adorable.”
“Watch it.” Jed clunked Johnny’s brand down on the bar in front of him just as the office door opened. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” Johnny slugged back a gulp of his beer and nodded to Ira and Kearn as they emerged.
Jed hurried to greet them, eager for the suspense to be over. “Well?”
“Relax,” Kearn told him. “I’m sure he’ll do fine.”
“I’m going to start with bussing tables,” Ira told him.
“Bussing! Kearn, come on.”
“No, it’s fine,” Ira whispered. “It was my idea. I want to learn from the ground up. Gives me a week or two to learn where everything is, where to find things, get familiar with the menu and the pace of things.” He patted Jed’s arm, the awkward gesture earning a loud awww from Johnny. “Once I ease myself in, I can start taking tables.”
“You’re sure?”
Ira nodded. “I start on Monday. So that’s good.”
“That’s great.” Jed hugged him tight. “It’s awesome.” He shot Kearn a grateful look over Ira’s shoulder. No more dancing. No more Cedric. “This is great,” he said again, a little more quietly in Ira’s ear.
At least, he hoped so.
Ira wiped down the last standing table and tossed the soiled cloth on top of the dirty dishes in the bin he was using. Carefully, he hooked the edge of the dish bin on his belt to avoid aggravating the growing bruise. He’d banged the heavy tub against his hip a few times too often. Glasses clinked as he picked four up by their rims and carried it all into the kitchen. He gave Jed a wink as he passed, and a quick shake of his booty. Jed rewarded him with a throaty growl under his breath.
Things were going much better than he’d anticipated. Wages for a bus boy weren’t all that high, so he hadn’t expected the part-time hours Kearn had offered to make up for the lack of dancing. They didn’t. He was tempted when Mitch kept calling him and offering gigs at some of the places he’d once danced at on a regular basis. But the edge to Mitch’s voice gave him pause.
He’d danced with a lot of guys who doped up to get through it, and he recognized the signs. Part of him wanted to pull Mitch away from the guy who was dragging him down that path. Part of him didn’t want to get involved. He just didn’t know what to do.
Things were better for him. His commission had been successfully delivered, and the customer had been so happy with his work he’d not only paid immediately, but also recommended him to a miniature collector group. He’d already had a few emails from people looking for custom items to supplement their collections. While the miniature work wasn’t his favourite, it was more lucrative than the fantasy art, especially the kinky stuff he didn’t think he’d ever find an actual market for.
It was okay. He didn’t mind some of his work being for his own pleasure, just to create the images that swam in his head constantly. The less risqué stuff he’d find a way to market, eventually. And with things looking up for him, he felt like he should reach out and help Mitch. He suspected Mitch wouldn’t take his help. But that wasn’t an excuse not to try.
“How many more out there?” Herschel asked as Ira began emptying his bin.
Ira glanced back in the direction of the swinging door to the rest of the bar. “Maybe two tables? They’re both on coffee and ice cream, so I think you’re probably done for the day.”
Herschel snorted. “We’ll see. Landon was off today. You know what happens when he’s off.”
Ira shrugged. “He doesn’t set foot in this place?”
“Au contraire, my friend. He carouses until an hour before closing time, then brings his lost boy back here and begs me to feed him.”
Ira blushed.
“Don’t fret, precious. Jed only does it with the important ones.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?” Ira muttered.
Herschel patted his shoulder. “Jed isn’t like the rest of us. He’s a one-guy kind of . . . guy.”
Ira glared at him. “You had better be too. Or one-girl kind of guy, anyway. Liesel really likes you.”
“I knew it!” Herschel snapped his fingers at him. “She planted you!”
“No.” Ira grinned at the way Herschel held out crossed fingers, like he was warding off a vampire. “But she talks to me. Don’t fuck with her. She’s a good girl.”
To Ira’s surprise, Herschel’s goofy grin faded. “Yeah. I know.” He began to scrape methodically at the grill with the cleaning brick. “Never really knew anyone like her, ya know?”
“I can relate.” Ira thought about Jed’s gaze on him as he’d cleaned that last table. He shivered at the remembered feeling of Jed’s attention following him until the kitchen door had swung shut behind him.
“Jed, you know he’ll bend over backwards to help a dude out. He’s like that. Kind of his thing,” Herschel said.
“People keep saying that.” Slowly, Ira loaded the dishwasher. “That he’s a natural protector. Likes to be the hero and all that.”
“He is.”
Ira pulled the lid of the washer down with a clang and turned on Herschel. “I don’t need a hero. I can look after myself. The sooner you all get that into your heads, the better.” He grabbed his bin and a new cloth and slammed back out into the main room. Almost immediately, he felt Jed’s gaze, itching between his shoulder blades.
“That’s it. I don’t need this shit.” The constant attention irritated him. Unreasonably. He knew that at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t squelch the aggravation stirring up his resident razor-winged nerves every time he felt Jed’s gaze on him.
Returning to the kitchen, he dropped off the dirty dishes and told Herschel he was going on a break. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he pushed out the back door of the building to the patio area. A few dry leaves blew across the deserted concrete pad, catching on the legs of the picnic tables. Only one of the heaters was on, situated at the far end for the smokers, but at the moment, no one was out here. Ira tucked himself into a corner out of the wind and found Mitch’s last message. His fingers flew as he replied.
Can you meet me after work?
After a few seconds, the little dots appeared, indicating Mitch was replying. His message sprang up a second later.
Where?
At the Hen and Hog? Want to talk.
Work?
Talk in person, k?
When?
Off in half hour.
C u then.
The rest of his shift, Ira managed to avoid Jed by helping Herschel clean the kitchen. No one called him on it, and the guys all shared their tips with him, the same as always.
“How you likin’ the job?” Herschel asked as he hung the po
ts Ira had scrubbed on the hooks over the counter.
Ira shrugged. “It’s good.”
“Just good?”
“Doesn’t pay as well as some I’ve had.”
“So I hear.” Herschel shot him a sideways look. “But you’re not plannin’ on . . . well . . .”
Ira waited, but Herschel only shifted his feet and looked uncomfortable. “You’ve never met a male stripper before?”
“Jed says you aren’t a stripper.”
“Whatever Jed says, then.”
“You mad about something?”
Ira busied himself tidying the dishwashing station in silence.
“Anything you want to say?”
“Like what?”
“Dude—”
“Ira.” Kearn poked his head in the kitchen door. “You got someone here to see you.”
“Oh.” Ira glanced at the wall clock. It was almost ten minutes past the end of his shift, and he looked at Herschel.
“Go on. Thanks for the help.”
“Sure.” Ira dried his hands, removed his apron, and hurried out to the front room. Mitch was sitting at the bar with a beer in front of him. Jed stood nearby, arms crossed, face stony.
With a frown, Ira motioned for Mitch to join him at a table on the lower level. He didn’t get any argument, and Mitch was soon seated across from him, twirling his bottle round and round in the condensation ring.
“How are you doing?” Ira asked after a few minutes had passed in silence.
“Look, I came to see if you want a few gigs, man, that’s all. Bernie likes your style. We can get you work.” He glanced around the room, specifically at the bar where Ira noticed Kearn had joined Jed behind the counter, studiously not looking in their direction. “Beats this place and the goon squad over there.”
Ira couldn’t help it. He bristled. “They’re good people.”
“You wash their dishes. Seriously? You can make so much more dancing.”
He could. It was true. But at what cost? Jed would never say it out loud, but Ira had heard it in his whispered words about Ira getting this job. “This is great.” He was genuinely pleased Ira had got the job at the Hen and Hog. He didn’t want to share Ira, even if all the other guys got was the visual.
“Tell me about Bernie,” Ira said, ignoring the dig.
“What do you mean?”
“Is he good to you?”
“Huh?”
“Mitch. Don’t be dense. He takes some of your tips. What do you get out of the deal?”
Mitch hunched forward, leaning his elbows on the table, and dragged a finger through the sweat from his beer bottle. He shrugged. “So what? Part of the deal, ain’t it? You had a manager.”
“I had a guy who took half my earnings and tried to pimp me out.”
Mitch didn’t look at him.
“You don’t have to do that shit. You don’t owe him anything.”
“He gets me jobs.”
“He puts you on display for guys he’d sell you to if you let him.”
Still Mitch said nothing.
“Do you let him?”
“Ain’t your business.”
“And what happens if you get caught?”
“What I’m doing is legal.”
“And Bernie? If he gets caught—”
“That’s his problem. Look. Did you get me here just to lecture, or do you want a job?” He slouched lower over the table and rubbed at his arm. His leg jiggled enough that the slap of his running shoe on the hardwood set up a rhythmic tapping.
“Neither. I just wanted to see you were okay. You sounded . . . edgy . . . on the phone the other day. I was worried.”
“Well, don’t. Don’t need your worry.”
“What does he give you?” Ira asked.
“What?” Mitch’s brow furrowed and his leg froze, midmotion. He stared.
“What does Bernie give you that makes it okay?”
It started with a minuscule shake of his head until Mitch was practically vibrating in his seat. “No,” Mitch rasped. “Not talking about this.”
“I had a guy like Bernie once,” Ira whispered, running his own finger through the moisture beading on the table’s varnish. “They don’t just go away when you’ve had enough of their bullshit.”
“He doesn’t own me.”
“I bet he thinks differently.” Ira met Mitch’s gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything.” He swallowed hard, tapping the case of Mitch’s phone lying facedown next to his elbow. “You have my number though. And if you need to—”
“I don’t.”
“But if you do. Call. Text. Do whatever. He can only own you if you let him, and it’s easier to believe you have to let him if you’re alone.” Steeling himself, Ira reached across the inches-wide abyss and put his hand over Mitch’s. “You aren’t alone, okay? That’s all I wanted to say.”
It surprised Ira that Mitch didn’t pull back from his touch. He was trembling, but he turned his hand over and they touched, palm to palm. Mitch’s palm was clammy. His fingers rested for an instant against Ira’s wrist before he pulled away and stood. “Sure.” He pocketed his phone and downed the last of his beer. “Whatever, man.”
He didn’t look back as he hurried out the door. Ira didn’t get up or turn to see if Jed was still watching him. He pushed at the beads of water on the table and wished he’d known better what to say.
After a few minutes, he heard Jed’s heavy tread on the steps coming down from the upper level, and he sat back in his seat.
“Can I sit?”
Ira motioned to the chair, and Jed pulled it out, sat, and leaned back as well. He didn’t say anything.
“He’s been calling me for a week or so,” Ira said at last.
“And?”
“He wants me to dance.”
“He does? Or Bernie does?”
“I thought Bernie. But now I’m not sure. Mitch is unhappy. Maybe he wants someone who has his back. I’m not sure.” Or maybe he and Bernie both were in some kind of trouble they thought he could help them with. Ira wouldn’t put it past Cedric to mess with anyone he thought would get him closer to Ira.
“What will you do?”
Ira shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t look up when Jed stood. When Jed’s lips caressed the side of his face, he managed a faint smile, but he still couldn’t look at him.
“I have to finish my shift. You going to wait?”
“I think I’ll walk.”
The breath Jed sucked in sounded almost like a sniff. “Be safe.” He squeezed Ira’s shoulder and was gone. When Ira stood a few minutes later to collect his jacket and change his shoes, Jed was nowhere in sight. Kearn was behind the bar, still not paying any attention to him, so deliberately it felt like Ira was in a hot, damning spotlight. He had his things and was on his way out the door when Kearn stopped him.
“Not much more you can learn bussing tables,” he said.
“No, I guess not.”
“I need servers.”
“Yes.”
“You can start serving at the lunch shift on Tuesday. Take a menu and a drink menu home. Learn them.”
“Sure.” Ira took one of each from the hostess stand. “Thanks.”
“Take the weekend off,” Kearn suggested, finally turning to look at him.
“I have a shift Friday and Saturday.”
“Take the weekend,” Kearn repeated. “Do what you have to do.”
“I—”
“We’re done here.” Kearn put down the cloth he’d been wiping the bar with, and retreated into his office. At the far end of the bar, Jed watched Ira. He said nothing, even when Ira waved goodbye.
“I’m being unreasonable, right?” Jed glared at the door where Ira had disappeared a few minutes before, just as Landon and his date of the day had entered. “I’m being possessive and smothering and just as bad as his ex-whatever-the-fuck-that-asshole-is.”
“You’re being you.” Landon put down his fork and wipe
d his mouth. Herschel had relegated his late-night meal to a piece of the apple pie they had left. “And that’s really all you can be. It’s his loss if he doesn’t appreciate it.”
“That doesn’t actually help,” Jed snapped.
Landon shrugged. “Call it like I see it, man.” He tossed a look at his current “date.” “Right?”
The young man shrugged and dug into his pie. “Sure, man.”
A frown crossed Landon’s face, there and gone again in a flash. He grinned and nudged the guy’s shoulder. “You almost ready to blow this joint?”
“Absolutely.” He looked up, eyes shining. “I’ll blow whatever you like, sweetheart.”
“Seriously?” Jed muttered, but Landon was too busy flirting to notice. “I shouldn’t have said anything to him,” Jed said to himself.
Landon patted his arm. “Don’t take it so hard, dude. He adores you. Let him be pissed for tonight. It probably isn’t even anything you did, and he’ll get over it.”
Jed hadn’t done anything. Not really. If Ira expected him to be happy that he was still thinking about dancing for Bernie, or whoever, for that matter, he was deluded. He didn’t want to be an asshole about it, but he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t care, either.
So it had only been a few weeks. They hadn’t had a lot of time to be together since Ira had started his new job. He’d had a lot of commissions come in, and Jed spent a fair amount of time on Ira’s couch watching Netflix, occasionally cooking for him, sometimes pinning him down to fuck him, taking care of him, and making sure he got enough sleep. It suited Jed, learning the care and feeding of his very own artist.
Sure, Ira vanished into his work for hours at a time, but when he surfaced, and they were together, he focused on Jed completely. It was intense. Ira wanted to get out of his head sometimes, and Jed was more than willing to help him do that. When it worked, it was glorious.
Jed had no idea why Ira was back to thinking about dancing. It hadn’t come up since the night Jed had first seen him on stage. And Ira clearly didn’t want his input on it.
The office door thwapped closed, and Kearn patted his shoulder. “Last call’s come and gone. Go home.”