until—”
“Nina? Benji? What’s going on out here?”
Oh fuck.
Without thinking, I turn and toss the coat at Cal. He stares at it for a second until I hiss at him to put it on so he doesn’t look like he’s ready to do battle in a gladiator coliseum. He does, smiling quietly to himself.
My mother opens the screen door to Big House and Mary and Christie pile out behind her. They’re looking at us curiously until one by one they see the gigantic man still standing next to the Ford. “Hello,” my mother says uncertainly.
Calliel takes a step and starts to smile, and we’re only seconds away from, “Greetings, Lola Green, born December 15, 1962 under a corporeal moon and take me to your leader” or some other fucking crazy bullshit.
“Uh,” I override him loudly. “This is just… a friend of mine. You know. Just… hanging out. And stuff.” He looks at me curiously, and I try to put as much murder in my gaze as I possibly can, but he seems amused, nothing more.
“A friend ?” Mary says, starting to grin. “Well, he’s certainly quite the specimen for a friend. ”
Oh goddammit.
“Yes,” Nina says, somehow picking up on the growing awkwardness. “I was just waiting for Benji to come home and he introduced me to his friend and nothing more. Nothing more at all is going on, so no nosy nellies.”
“What’s his name?” Christie asks.
“Blue,” Nina says, as he says, “Calliel,” while I say, “Cal.”
The three women on the patio stare at us.
I cough. “Calliel Blue,” I manage to say. “Everyone calls him Cal.”
“They do?” Calliel asks, sounding extraordinarily baffled. “I have not heard this before from—”
“What he means,” I say, interrupting him, “is that he has a lot of nicknames and Cal is just one of them. Or Blue. Or… whatever.” Yeah. Thatshould convince them.
“Really,” Mom says, sounding like she doesn’t believe a single word that’s falling from my mouth. “Hello, Cal. Or Blue. Or Calliel. I’m Lola, Benji’s mom. These are my sisters, Christie and Mary. I think you’ve already met Nina.”
He waves jovially at them (and everyone except for Mom starts waving right back), looking at me, begging with his eyes to speak. I shake my head quickly once and, unbelievably, he grunts at me, calling me ridiculous without saying the words.
“Cal Blue?” Mary whispers quite loudly, still waving. “That sounds like a porn name. He looks like he does porn too. Big bad ginger-man porn.”
“That’s not a porn name,” Christie scoffs. “Calliel sounds… Hispanic. Or Greek.”
I groan.
“I am not Hispanic,” Calliel assures her. “Or Greek.” Mary and Christie titter quietly at the sound of his voice, rough and wonderful.
He tries again. “I’m actually—”
“He’s actually Californian,” I say, as if that explains everything. To Mary and Christie, it seems to suffice; they nod as if that makes perfect sense. My mother is not buying a damn thing. Even worse, she’s starting to get that look on her face that means she’s going to start asking questions I have no idea how to answer. Making a decision, I walk over to him and take his hand in mine. Even though it can’t possibly be real, there’s a moment when our fingers connect, that feeling of skin against skin. An even brighter blue bursts across my vision. His palm feels calloused, his fingers soft and dry. My toes curl in my work boots. I look up at him and find him staring down at our intertwined fingers, wonder playing across his face. He raises his gaze to mine and smiles again. Fuck it all.
“Not what you’re thinking,” I say under my breath. “Don’t you say a damn word until I tell you to.” He nods, looking back down at our hands. He gives an experimental squeeze and then does it again.
Great. Fantastic.
I take a deep breath and look back to the porch. Mary and Christie watch us, dumbfounded. Nina looks like she wants to tackle us and kiss our faces off. Mom looks
“Nina? Benji? What’s going on out here?”
Oh fuck.
Without thinking, I turn and toss the coat at Cal. He stares at it for a second until I hiss at him to put it on so he doesn’t look like he’s ready to do battle in a gladiator coliseum. He does, smiling quietly to himself.
My mother opens the screen door to Big House and Mary and Christie pile out behind her. They’re looking at us curiously until one by one they see the gigantic man still standing next to the Ford. “Hello,” my mother says uncertainly.
Calliel takes a step and starts to smile, and we’re only seconds away from, “Greetings, Lola Green, born December 15, 1962 under a corporeal moon and take me to your leader” or some other fucking crazy bullshit.
“Uh,” I override him loudly. “This is just… a friend of mine. You know. Just… hanging out. And stuff.” He looks at me curiously, and I try to put as much murder in my gaze as I possibly can, but he seems amused, nothing more.
“A friend ?” Mary says, starting to grin. “Well, he’s certainly quite the specimen for a friend. ”
Oh goddammit.
“Yes,” Nina says, somehow picking up on the growing awkwardness. “I was just waiting for Benji to come home and he introduced me to his friend and nothing more. Nothing more at all is going on, so no nosy nellies.”
“What’s his name?” Christie asks.
“Blue,” Nina says, as he says, “Calliel,” while I say, “Cal.”
The three women on the patio stare at us.
I cough. “Calliel Blue,” I manage to say. “Everyone calls him Cal.”
“They do?” Calliel asks, sounding extraordinarily baffled. “I have not heard this before from—”
“What he means,” I say, interrupting him, “is that he has a lot of nicknames and Cal is just one of them. Or Blue. Or… whatever.” Yeah. Thatshould convince them.
“Really,” Mom says, sounding like she doesn’t believe a single word that’s falling from my mouth. “Hello, Cal. Or Blue. Or Calliel. I’m Lola, Benji’s mom. These are my sisters, Christie and Mary. I think you’ve already met Nina.”
He waves jovially at them (and everyone except for Mom starts waving right back), looking at me, begging with his eyes to speak. I shake my head quickly once and, unbelievably, he grunts at me, calling me ridiculous without saying the words.
“Cal Blue?” Mary whispers quite loudly, still waving. “That sounds like a porn name. He looks like he does porn too. Big bad ginger-man porn.”
“That’s not a porn name,” Christie scoffs. “Calliel sounds… Hispanic. Or Greek.”
I groan.
“I am not Hispanic,” Calliel assures her. “Or Greek.” Mary and Christie titter quietly at the sound of his voice, rough and wonderful.
He tries again. “I’m actually—”
“He’s actually Californian,” I say, as if that explains everything. To Mary and Christie, it seems to suffice; they nod as if that makes perfect sense. My mother is not buying a damn thing. Even worse, she’s starting to get that look on her face that means she’s going to start asking questions I have no idea how to answer. Making a decision, I walk over to him and take his hand in mine. Even though it can’t possibly be real, there’s a moment when our fingers connect, that feeling of skin against skin. An even brighter blue bursts across my vision. His palm feels calloused, his fingers soft and dry. My toes curl in my work boots. I look up at him and find him staring down at our intertwined fingers, wonder playing across his face. He raises his gaze to mine and smiles again. Fuck it all.
“Not what you’re thinking,” I say under my breath. “Don’t you say a damn word until I tell you to.” He nods, looking back down at our hands. He gives an experimental squeeze and then does it again.
Great. Fantastic.
I take a deep breath and look back to the porch. Mary and Christie watch us, dumbfounded. Nina looks like she wants to tackle us and kiss our faces off. Mom looks
Similar Books
