Page 27 of Teach Me To Sin
Before I can answer, he stalks back to his car and zooms away without waiting to see what I do next.
Colson
My phone buzzeswhile I’m naked in my kitchen, hunting through every cupboard in search of one last cheese and onion bagel. I use my hip to ward off Triss’ attempts to play as I scoop the phone off the counter. It’s an unknown number, but when I go to hitdelete, the message gives me pause.
He said you were coming today.
I stare groggily until a second text comes through.
This is your rent boy
Giving up on the bagel, I guard my genitals with one hand and type with the other as I wade through hyper dogs to the bathroom.How did you get my number?
I Googled it, old man. There are these things called websites?
Before I can even process the words, he fires off another thought. Is this how fast young people think?
Where are you? Alek said you were coming.
My already sour mood gets worse when he makes me double check my calendar notifications.His interview isn’t for four hours. Can I fucking shower first?
He’s stressing out. Like, a lot.
“For fuck’s sake.” Perching on the edge of the marble counter, I rub my tired eyes.My presence is not calming. Take him for a walk or something.
He doesn’t answer this time, and my phone screen is still blank when I get out of the shower. I haven’t missed wearing uncomfortable, stuffy suits since I quit my job. But today it’s like a costume in this weird theater of power and influence, so I dig out one of my best. Gray dressed to the nines everywhere he went, even to the farmer’s market or when we went antiquing. It drove me to distraction, but that man has the most commanding presence of anyone I’ve ever met. I still use the tailoring and fashion tips he gave me, which is why I own this beautiful charcoal suit with a sharp, wine-colored tie.
After styling my hair and lacing my shoes, I double check the address of the news station in downtown Seattle. I’m not sure a television interview is the best way to go about this, but Alek didn’t ask my opinion. He just told me where to be and when.
Since I have hours before I’m supposed to arrive, I stop at my favorite corner cafe for a leisurely iced latte and croissant. Sun sparkles through the folksy stained-glass art in the windows, throwing rainbows of color all over the concrete floor. I bask in the quiet as I carry my plastic cup and hot pastry to a table in the corner. The staff here knows that I don’t like making conversation beyondthank youandhave a good day, which automatically makes it better than anywhere else.
Leaning back in my seat, I savor the buttery croissant and check my phone. No more texts. I wonder if they went for a walk, or if Alek’s just sitting with his head in a corner, hyperventilating. I’m sure Benji’s already said something inappropriate to someone. They’re such a strange pair, but I can’t forget the way they kissed with something so much more profound and desperate than lust.
“Goddamn it,” I sigh, getting up and shoving my chair under the table. I order two more iced lattes and carry everything out to the car, feeling more annoyed with every step. I have no idea why I went and found Alek on the beach earlier this week. I’ve arranged my whole life around owing nothing to anyone, because I’ve proven I can’t handle the responsibility. But I had no say in this, any more than I have a say in the tides. My body did what it had to and dragged me along for the ride. I can feel it happening again, as I try to work out where to put the cardboard drink carrier so I don’t fling latte all over my car when I hit the brakes. This is bullshit–one cup holder was always perfect until today.
The studio doesn’t have any parking nearby, so I end up parading the drinks four blocks in the blazing sun, which just adds insult to my pride’s injury. The middle-aged receptionist stares over her glasses at the tray in my hand before looking at me. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for the filming area? I’m with Alek Simmons and Benji…something.” I hope to god Alek at least knows that boy’s last name, but something tells me even that wouldn’t stop him.
“What’s your name?”
“Colson Strickland.” I wait, fidgeting, while she checks her computer.
To my relief, she nods and sends a visitor's badge zipping out of the printer. Once it’s clipped to a red lanyard, she directs me to hang it around my neck. “Take this up the elevator to the third floor, then left to the end of the hall.”
When I reach the silent corridor upstairs and find a door markedfilming in progress, I tap a button on the wall with my elbow to request entry. The doors click loudly, so I nudge one open with my shoulder and stick my head inside. This room is dark enough to trip over something, which must be why the miles of snaking cables are carefully taped down. Three huge cameras sit idle, facing a brightly lit set with a news desk in front of a photoshopped cityscape that I vaguely recognize from my own TV. Next to it is a second set for more intimate interviews, with two couches and a fake sunny window backdrop that’s supposed to look cozy and inviting. I consider myself fearless when it comes to public speaking, but even my stomach twists uneasily at the hot, glaring stage lights and the shadowy bulk of the cameras.
I hear voices coming from an open doorway, so I pick my way along the back of the room until I step into a cramped space with some clothes hanging on a rolling stand, a sofa and chairs, and two makeup tables with tall mirrors. Alek is sitting stiffly on one of the makeup stools with his back to me, while a staff member powders his face with something that will presumably make it look good on camera.
Benji, slouched half-asleep on the sofa, rockets to his feet the moment he sees me and bounds over. “Finally.” He blinks at the coffees in my hand, then plucks one out of the carrier, swirls the ice, and wraps his lips around the straw as his big, bright eyes flick up to mine. “Fanks,” he offers without taking it out of his mouth.
“Take one to Alek.” I push the tray toward him, but he puts his free hand behind his back.
“You bought it for him.”
“I didn’t,” I say nonsensically. He raises his eyebrow at me with a small, mocking smirk. “When is your interview starting?” I ask to change the subject.
The humor leaves his eyes, and he glances away. “It’s just him doing the interview.”