Brett (Boys & Toys Season 2 2) - Page 37
Whenever he smiles at me, his eyes sparkle, and I fall in love all over again. “I’m glad you think that, Brett, because … I’ve made up my mind.” He takes a breath, then lets it out proudly. “I want to move out here and start my very own software company.”
I stare at him.
That wasn’t what I was expecting.
“I mean, not right away,” he quickly amends. “I know it’s going to take a lot of work and many years. You don’t just … start a software company in a day. Maybe it’s a total pipedream. Maybe I … need to start with a smaller dream first and work my way up. I don’t know. I’m not being completely reckless here, but …” He laughs suddenly. “Or maybe I am. Maybe you’ve rubbed off on me. Maybe I need my safe little life to be shaken up.”
I take Skylar’s hands. “Are you sure?” I ask. “About moving out here? This city can be pretty daunting.”
“It’s less daunting with you in it.” He smiles. “I also have my sister and Emilio, who have already told me they have a spare room I can use, at least until I get on my feet. And while I’m building my life, I’ll be right here in the same city with you, just a short train ride and a hop over the bridge away.”
Our arms fold around our backs, and we get lost in each other’s dreamy eyes, pressed closed to one another in this moment we’re sharing. It’s like a slow dance without music.
“Who knows,” I point out. “Maybe in a matter of time, you and I might be sharing a place again, just like we were back in the day.”
He tilts his head, squinting. “But ... minus a lot of other guys?”
“Debatable.” To that, we both laugh. “Though, seriously, Skylar, you better know I’m going to support you in whatever you choose to do. Even if you’ve gotta rough it for some time while you figure yourself out. I’m your guy.”
He smiles proudly. “And I’m be yours, Brett.”
With that, he puts a kiss on my lips.
It’s the most perfect kiss I’ve ever known.
My arms wrap around him tightly, pulling my man into me. And on the rooftop of Piazza Place, in the middle of the gay heart of the city, two men find love buried in their tender, united lips.
I couldn’t be happier.
And unbeknownst to myself and Skylar—lost in our swirling world of happiness—something else is happening below our very feet, below even the first floor of the building, down in the big basement apartment … something which I would not find out until much later, when Dante finally reveals to me a little story of his own …
DANTE
Snap.
Flash!
“And that wraps up our shoot,” I tell my latest client, who is then quick to get dressed again in his regular clothes—a dress shirt, skinny black tie, slacks, and shiny dress shoes. After a little back-and-forth, he heads off, and I begin my tedious task of resetting the studio area, putting up each of my props right in their respective places on the wall or on the rack. Of course, what’s tedious to most is a total pleasure to me: the act of organizing, of things returning to their proper places where they belong, and of strict cleanliness.
“Last shoot of the day’s over,” I tell myself as I survey my pristine studio, admiring the orderliness. “And now, finally time to rest.”
After my long-ass day, I’m very much ready to slip off my clothes, take a well-needed hot shower, and put myself to bed.
But after getting completely undressed, I only make it halfway to the shower when I hear a gentle rapping on my door—which apparently my last client left a crack open.
“Hello?” comes a light, nervous voice.
If there’s anything that frustrates me more, it’s something unexpected interrupting my private time after a long-ass day of shooting. With just a towel wrapped around my waist, I head across the wide, open space of my apartment, circumvent each load-bearing pillar, until I’m at the front entryway.
I stop in place.
Standing at that doorway is a young man with a buzzed head, which makes his bright blue eyes shimmer with a striking, deceptive innocence. He could be a sweetheart … or the devil in disguise. His black-and-white graphic t-shirt fits his slender, long torso exquisitely, outlining two small pecs and tapering to a tiny waist, his jeans cinched by a belt with a shiny silver buckle that reads “BOY”.
My heart dances with a mixture of shock and desire. Who is this young man?
“Hi,” the young man greets me. “I … I heard you do, um … photography?” He clears his throat as his eyes drop to my chest. “A certain … type … of photography …?”
Under normal circumstances, I might answer the young man quickly, getting to the point, telling him my business hours, and dismissing him until a scheduled time we’ve both agreed on. Hell, I would not even entertain a consult with someone until I know they’ve been properly vetted and worth my time—of which I seem to have less and less lately.
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