Page 132 of Stabby Little
"He didn't look old enough to be there."
"What did he look like?"
"Dark hair. Bright blue eyes. Pointy nose. Same height as me. He scoped out everyone in the premises and danced next to me and Becca."
"Did you learn his name?"
"It sounded like Wally. Or Rawly."
My blood turns to ice. "Are you sure?"
"That's what the bouncer called him. I think he paid the bouncer to let him into the club because he definitely didn't look old enough to drink. He was on the sidewalk right before someone nabbed my ID. I didn't see him the rest of the night."
40
OLLIE
Saturday, June 20th
"Thanks for lettingme spend the night."
I twist my fork into my pasta carbonara and bring it to my lips. The creamy linguine and delicious pancetta washes over my taste buds. After I swallow, I finish it with a sip of the red wine Grant bought.
When I called Grant's personal cell number he gave me last weekend, I told him I wanted to sleep over like old times. I told him I could bring a sleeping bag and pillow, just like I used to do as a boy, so he didn't need to prepare a bed for me. He told me that was nonsense—he'd prepare the guest bedroom if I wanted to come.
I set my fork down and stare into Grant's eyes. He prepared dinner for both of us and put tons of effort into it. But... he's distant. There's something off. I thought I heard him hesitate on the phone, but I chalked it up to him being tired. Now that I'm in his house, I can't deny he seems tired. Or something else.
You're overreacting. After last weekend, you're worried Grant will reject you. Take a deep breath and calm down.
Grant sip his wine. "It's no problem."
"I thought about our day together all last week." My confession comes out garbled, but I can't control myself. I've been in love with this man since forever, and he was hard when we cuddled on the sofa.
Hard.
I figured Grant was strictly into women, but the evidence of his arousal changes things. Hell, if there's any chance he's into me, I need to jump on it. I refuse to let this opportunity slip out of my fingers like sand.
Of course, I'm also nervous as hell that Grant will shut down… I've heard that's what happens with straight men when they experience their first bisexual awakening. It freaks them out and they pump the brakes. Add our age gap to the equation and the fact that I'm his son's best friend, and things are extra complicated. But I pray he pushes through his discomfort.
Grant issues me a nod. "I did, too. I enjoyed reading to you."
"I also loved the pajamas you gave me. I wore them three nights ago when my friends and I had an animated movie marathon. I received nothing but compliments. They want Miles's aunt to make them pairs."
Grant offered to let me keep the onesie before I left his house. I told him no, I should leave it here in case Miles ever wanted it. Grant assured me Miles would never wear it; he describes it as a fluffy monstrosity. I threw it in my backpack and took it with me.
When I wore it during movie night, I felt like I was wrapped up in Grant's arms. A powerful sensation of safety washed over me, and I felt so Little. Nothing could hurt me in my pink onesie, not my abusers, not the Diavolo brothers, not Roy. My onesie enshrined me in a cocoon of protection, one not even the most malevolent forces could penetrate.
Grant takes a sip of wine. "That's good. It's sat in Miles's room for far too long. I'm glad someone's using it."
"Tell me about your life," I offer. Grant isn't very talkative tonight. "What have you been up to these past seven years?"
He goes silent. "I work odd jobs. The occasional gig here and there."
I prod further. "What industry?" Twisting my fork into my carbonara, I bring another bite to my mouth. "Surely, there must be people you work these odd jobs for."
"Multiple industries. Sometimes, I interview people who assist my bosses. Other times, I seek answers from individuals who don't want to give me them."
I furrow my brow. "That's… vague. I'd have a better chance of reading my father's mind than figuring out what you do for a living.”