The Geek and His Artist (2 page)

Jimmy sat back and stared at the seat in front of him.
Did he know I was watching him?
Heat crept up Jimmy’s cheeks at the thought. He’d always figured the artist guy hadn’t even known he was there. He was generally pretty invisible in school except to his few close friends—unless someone needed help with homework—and had just assumed he’d been equally invisible to his artist. But if not, if his artist had seen him….

Jimmy closed his eyes in mortification. There was
no way
he’d be able to face the cafeteria after break. He’d felt safe watching when he was sure his artist hadn’t known he was there.
What must he think of me?

“D
UDE
,
COME
on! I know you don’t have to do your homework yet. You’ve got two fucking weeks!” Ronnie, his best friend, whined from the other end of the phone line. “It’s
The Hobbit
for Christ’s sake. I know you’ve only seen it once.”

Jimmy sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll go. But I can’t drive. Mom’s working tonight.”

“No, that’s cool. Sean’s driving. We’ll be there in twenty!” And before Jimmy could say another word, the line went dead.

Jimmy groaned and rolled to a sitting position on his bed, sending a slightly mournful look at the bottle of lotion on his bedside table. But even
he
realized how pathetic it was to spend the night in his room beating off instead of hanging out with his friends. He could always fantasize about his artist later. He snatched up his keys, wallet, and “got precious?” hoodie and headed downstairs.

Sean and Ronnie showed up ten minutes later, not twenty, but Jimmy had expected it. He’d already guessed they were on their way when Ronnie called, knowing he’d go. Jimmy called to his dad that he was going out and when he expected to be back, and when his dad’s reply sounded vaguely affirmative, he headed out to the car.

“See? Isn’t this better than beating off to some hot guy’s picture?” Ronnie teased.

Jimmy just flipped them off as he climbed into Sean’s ancient Volkswagen Rabbit behind Ronnie. “Fuck you, man. Just fuck you.”

“Nope. I don’t play for that team. Sean, on the other hand….” Ronnie paused to wait for Sean to punch him. Right on cue, without even looking, Sean’s right hand left the gearshift long enough to form a fist and connect with Ronnie’s left arm. “Right, forgot, he doesn’t either. Guess you’re out of luck.”

Jimmy had long since gotten used to Ronnie’s teasing. “Beating off to pictures of hot guys is better than your bullshit, any day.”

Ronnie snorted. “And yet you’re here.”

“Yeah, I don’t have any new pictures or vids tonight. Only picture in my room is the one of you, which just makes my dick shrivel.”

Sean laughed, earning himself a punch from Ronnie this time. “Fuck you, man.”

“I thought you didn’t play for my team?”

Ronnie gave up and flipped on the stereo. He hit a few buttons and My Chemical Romance drowned out Jimmy’s laughter.

W
ITH
TICKETS
,
ginormous buckets of popcorn, and huge cups of soda in their hands, the three of them waded through the sea of people toward theater seven. Jimmy led the way, his six-and-a-half-foot frame easily making a path for them. They paused at the bottom of the stadium seating tiers to look for seats.

“Shoulda taken the next show,” Ronnie muttered.

Jimmy shrugged. “We’re here now. How about up there?” He pointed to the row three from the top. “Higher than we usually like, but….”

“Yeah, well, some of us aren’t used to the thinner air up there.”

Jimmy snorted, too accustomed to Ronnie’s height envy to take offense. Ronnie, who was one of those guys who couldn’t gain weight to save his life, was cursed with also being short. He also had one of those young faces that put one more in mind of a devious fairy than a hot guy, and Ronnie never failed to bemoan the fact. His dark hair refused to be tamed, sticking up in no less than five different places, and his equally dark eyes twinkled, letting you know in no uncertain terms that he was
always
up to no good.

By contrast, Sean cleared six feet, though only by one inch. His sandy brown hair, honey-colored eyes, and warm, lightly tanned skin would have been gorgeous—if Jimmy didn’t think of him firmly as a brother. And Sean wasn’t gay. He was also Ronnie’s antithesis in that he kept quiet. He made his comments now and again, and Ronnie never questioned Sean’s opinion on something, but Sean was usually content to let Jimmy and Ronnie carry the brunt of the conversation.

Jimmy started up the steps, leaving Ronnie and Sean to follow. About halfway up, he glanced over into the audience and stopped dead, causing Ronnie to run into him.

“What the fuck, man?” Ronnie grumbled.

Jimmy ignored him for a moment, too busy staring at blue flannel and blond hair. Then the green eyes belonging to his artist turned his way. His artist’s eyebrows went up, and the guy’s lips spread into a small but beautiful smile.

Without even meaning to, Jimmy smiled back, but before he could say or do anything more, Ronnie elbowed him in the back, hard. “Move, man!”

“Sorry,” Jimmy mumbled, cheeks coloring. He looked back at his artist, who gave a small nod that Jimmy unconsciously returned, then forced himself to move.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Ronnie asked when they’d taken their seats.

“Nothing,” Jimmy said, stuffing his face with popcorn to avoid talking.

“Bullshit. See something that got your dick hard?” Ronnie asked, sitting up and craning his neck, obviously trying to see the people in the row Jimmy had stopped at.

Jimmy scowled. “Do you always have to be so fuckin’ crude?” He shook his head. “No wonder you can’t get a girl.”

“I can get a girl if I want.”

“Planting a video camera under her bed is stalking, asshole, not ‘getting a girl,’” Sean pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m not even interested in them and I know
that.
” Jimmy laughed when Ronnie elbowed him.

Ronnie scowled. “It was just a fucking joke. Even Bailey laughed. Fuck you both.”

The lights dimmed then, and Jimmy turned his attention to the previews, though his eyes kept straying to the middle of the theater, no matter how hard he tried not to let them. He couldn’t see much, but every so often, the screen lit up enough for him to see blond hair.

When the last of the previews ended, the cell phone warning had played again, and the dancing Coke cup had finally cleared the screen, Jimmy managed to get himself to pay attention to the movie.

Two-plus hours of elves, wizards, dwarves, and a dragon with a bad attitude were enough to keep Jimmy fully occupied. But as soon as the credits started rolling and people stood, Jimmy’s mind turned firmly back to the middle of the theater. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from where he’d last seen his artist. A moment of patience rewarded him, and the blond head turned toward him.

And to Jimmy’s shock—though why it should shock him, he couldn’t explain—his artist raised a hand and waved. Jimmy waved back, then regretted it when Ronnie stood on tiptoes and said
way
too loud, “Ooooh! He’s the one that got your dick hard!”

“You’re a real asshole some days,” Sean said, poking Ronnie in the side. “That’s not something to fucking shout.”

Ronnie seemed to realize just how loud he’d spoken. He winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Luckily, it didn’t seem like his artist had heard Ronnie’s comment. Unfortunately, several others did, and Jimmy caught a few really disgusted looks thrown his way. That was one of the few times he really hated his height. He’d have liked very much to disappear into the crowd, but that was difficult to do when he was taller than most of those around him—including the row of people behind them.

Jimmy jerked one shoulder in a half shrug, trying to ignore his hot face. “I’m used to it.”

By the time they got out of the theater, he’d lost sight of his artist. Jimmy kept looking everywhere, but there was no blue flannel to be seen.

When they stepped outside into the cool air, Ronnie held a hand up. “Sorry, man. That was uncalled for. I sometimes forget some people give a shit when I don’t.”

Jimmy blinked at Ronnie. “It’s okay, man. Buy me a frap at the bookstore.”

Ronnie nodded. “Only because I was a bigger asshole than usual. Let’s go.”

The Waterfront in Homestead was an open-air shopping complex that, most of the year, was nice to walk through. Unfortunately, in late December it wasn’t quite so pleasant. But Jimmy and Ronnie traded barbs as they walked, Sean laughing at both of them, and they managed to ignore the near-freezing temperature for the short distance to the bookstore.

Still, the warm bookstore was welcome. Jimmy sniffled and made a beeline for the Starbucks in the corner. “Forget the frap. I need something hot.”

“Like that blond guy you were eyeing?” Ronnie asked, but at least this time he was a little less crude and a lot quieter.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Dude, I think he’s got a crush!” Ronnie said to Sean.

“Grown men do not have crushes,” Jimmy nearly growled.

“You’re not grown yet,” Sean pointed out.

Another eye roll. “I’ll be eighteen in two months. I’m close enough. Now shut up and get me a white chocolate mocha.”

“Yeah, cause that’s what ‘grown men’ drink,” Ronnie said, sniggering.

Jimmy ignored him, plucked the latest issue of
X-Men
off the comic book rack, and sat down at one of the tables.

Sean followed Ronnie to the line at the counter, and Jimmy did his best to simply read the comic. Except before he got through three frames, he caught the color blue out of the corner of his eye and looked up. Sure enough, on the opposite end of the café, his artist sat at a table, talking with three other guys. Well, they were talking. His artist simply stared in
his
direction.

The guy’s friends were all dressed similarly to him. Two of them had spiked hair and skateboards leaning against their legs. The other had a shaved head and plugs in his ears. One of them—a skinny guy with blue and purple spikes—snapped his fingers in front of his artist’s face. The guy turned his attention back to his friend, nodding at something one of them said.

“He’s stalking you,” Ronnie said in his ear, plunking a cup down onto the table in front of him.

Jimmy glared. “He is not. I don’t think he even really knows who I am.” He took a sip of his drink, then regretted it when it almost burned his tongue.

“Yup. Crush,” Sean said, grinning. Jimmy punched him and Sean grinned wider.

“Go say hi to him.” Ronnie turned to look.

Jimmy shook his head. “No.”

Ronnie scrunched his eyebrows up, puzzled. “Why not?”

Jimmy turned his attention to his friend. “Why not? He’s surrounded by his friends, for one thing. For another, he probably thinks I’m some kind of nutcase, watching him. Besides, he’s probably straight.”

“He’s been watching you. I don’t know any straight guys who’d be caught dead doing that.”

Jimmy did not appreciate Sean’s logic. “No.” He refused to admit half of it had to do with the fact that he was pretty sure by now that his artist knew he’d been watching all these months. Or at least for some of it. How the hell was he supposed to explain without sounding like a stalker?

“But—”

“Let it drop,” Jimmy growled, and Ronnie, for once, obeyed. “So. Is your family going to your grandparents’ in Texas this year?” Jimmy asked, turning to Sean and effectively dropping the subject.

S
IMON
STOWED
his skateboard behind the broken lattice under the front porch, then climbed the steps into the apartment building. He paused outside the door to listen, and when he was sure the snores he heard weren’t from the TV, he twisted the knob carefully and slipped inside. He glanced over at the La-Z-Boy in the middle of the room, but when the man in it didn’t move, he eased the door closed.

He’d long since learned how to throw the locks silently, and he did so now, then made his way across the living room, deftly avoiding the spots on the floor that creaked. He didn’t breathe until he was in his room with the door closed. His heart still refused to slow until his Converses were off and under the bed, though within reach—
always
within reach. Even if his father—whom he thought of as The Bastard—woke up now, it would look like he’d been there all evening.

Once he was in his room, Simon was almost always left alone. The Bastard didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore—which was just fine with Simon—and thus stayed away. It was the only minor positive about him. It allowed Simon to sneak out of his window, grab his skateboard from under the porch, and go hang out with his friends in the evenings. If Simon timed it right, The Bastard never knew he was gone.

Simon learned the hard way when he could sneak out, how to do it, and when to get back. But even that lesson hadn’t been quite as bad as trying to ask permission.

Simon sighed, went over to his desk, and dug through the top drawer until he found what he was looking for. Frowning, he pushed his hair aside and pulled the hearing aid off his left ear. He’d been annoyed to no end when the batteries had died halfway through the movie. He could hear fine in his right ear, but it was hardly the same as having the surround sound, even as limited as his hearing was on his left.

He finished replacing the battery, then set his hearing aid on the bedside table before flopping onto his bed. He listened carefully when he heard the TV in the living room shut off, then the footsteps outside his door. The Bastard paused, and for show Simon threw one of his Converses so he made noise. The footsteps retreated again.

Finally sure he was alone for the rest of the night, Simon relaxed. He stared at the ceiling, but instead of cracks through the plaster and peeling puke-green paint, he was seeing six and a half feet of gorgeous male. His geek, named for the variety of T-shirts he wore with comic book logos, spaceships, dragons, and—Simon’s favorite—the “got precious?” sweatshirt.