Bad Influence (19 page)

The man offered one glass with something like a little bow. “David Beauchamp. You have to tell me who dared put that mark on your very pretty face so that I can turn his into minced hash.”

Silver let a half smile form on his lips as he gave David Beauchamp a closer inspection. Despite a few calluses on the palm of the hand holding out the champagne glass, Beauchamp wasn’t a fighter.

“We can’t risk
your
pretty face on that, can we?”

Beauchamp laughed. “Good comeback. That surely deserves a toast.”

“No thanks.”

Jamie was sure to be lurking around somewhere, and Silver didn’t want a scene over underage drinking.

“You’re going to make me drink alone?” Beauchamp played the disappointment exactly right, hugging the edge of serious and teasing.

“I’m guessing that doesn’t hold you back much.”

Beauchamp laughed again. “I can’t strike out completely. Please tell me you’re here by yourself.”

“No.”

The guy shot him a look of disbelief, light blue eyes wide with fake hurt.

“I’m here with a friend who has stuff in the show. And his boyfriend.”

Beauchamp grinned, and Silver knew why the guy had such confidence. It was the kind of grin that could carry you into stuff you really knew better than to get involved in.

“Then my evening is definitely improving.” Beauchamp finished off one of the champagnes and rested a free hand on Silver’s shoulder. A light enough touch that it didn’t have to mean anything, except for the caressing thumb he felt through the thin cotton shirt.

It was fun to be flirted with, by someone who didn’t want anything but…fun. Silver edged back just enough to signal Beauchamp to lay off a bit. Though maybe it would be nice for Zeb to see Silver wasn’t so broken and repulsive that a hot rich guy wouldn’t hit on him.

“Beach. How are you doing?” The familiar voice had Silver turning fast.

“Go fuck yourself, my friend.” Beauchamp’s voice was perfectly pleasant. “I’m busy.”

“Silver, nice to see you.” Gavin turned to him, looking gorgeous in package-hugging slacks and a thin green silk shirt that did the same for his torso. He was so wasted on that stompy little cop.

“Hey.” Silver moved so he was between them, between two hot guys who were both focused on him, wishing Zeb would show up at that exact moment.

“Silver?” Beauchamp tilted his head like he was mocking the name.

“Beach?” Silver said with the same emphasis.

Beauchamp laughed again. “I really like him, Gavin. We should take him out.”

“So do I. Which is why we won’t.” Gavin plucked the extra champagne glass from Beach’s hand.

“Or because Sergeant Boyfriend won’t like it.”

Silver watched them. He’d figured Beach was rich, but he didn’t know that he was Gavin kind of rich. Silver might owe Gavin big time, but it didn’t mean Silver had to take orders.

“So, Beach, what do you drive?”

“Hmm. What do you say we let you do all the driving?” Beach’s gaze paid careful attention to Silver’s crotch.

Gavin gestured at Silver’s cheek with a champagne flute. “What happened to you?”

Silver didn’t really want to go all pity party in front of Beach, so he sketched it as roughly as he could. “I had to go back home for my birth certificate. My father decided to give me a little something extra.”

“Fathers, huh?” Beach said, shaking his head like assholes as birth parents was a minor inconvenience.

Gavin had glanced down as Silver spoke, now he raised his eyes, and the look in them gave Silver a chill. “No. Not like us.” He said to Beach, “Silver’s father threw him out when he was a teenager. He’s been on his own since.”

“The
since
moves us to legal territory though, right?” Beach gave them both that grin and brushed against Silver’s arm.

Gavin glared. “Two words, Beach.” He leaned in to mutter, “Fort Carroll.”

“All right. You’re going to use that against me forever, aren’t you?” Beach raised a palm and champagne glass in wide-eyed surrender, as if Gavin had just threatened his balls. “Sorry, Silver. Your loss.”

“Did you get what you needed?” Gavin asked Silver.

“Yup. For all I care, Doctor and Mrs. Barnett can rot in hell. I never need to talk to them again.”

Beach’s joking manner fell away. “Doctor? What kind?”

“Dermatologist,” Silver said, wondering what the fuck that had to do with anything.

“Where’s his practice?”

It sounded like Beach knew old Thomas. But a guy with Beach’s money wouldn’t have to go to some little mini hospital in Shrewsbury to get a mole examined.

“It’s in some clinic. Mid Coast Health.”

“Really.” Beach’s eyes lit up. “Be a shame if the good doctor found himself locked out of his own office.”

“What?”

“I own it.” Beach shrugged. “Own a bunch of health care corporations. Even if I can’t break his current lease, there’s a lot an administrator can do to make him wish I had.”

Maybe Silver didn’t like the idea of people trying to run his life—which had seemed to be the most popular job opening in Baltimore since he’d called Eli from jail. But Gavin’s anger and concern, plus the offer from some random guy to ruin Silver’s asshole father, felt kind of good. Felt like belonging somewhere. Like those few seconds with Zeb earlier, it felt like home.

“Thanks, but I’m all right. Got all I need from him.”

“And a little more.” Gavin’s voice was tight.

“Little more what?” Jamie barged in, manhandling his champagne flute like it was a beer bottle. He glanced over at Beach. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite asshole.”

Beach put a hand over his heart as if he were gravely wounded. “Sergeant Boyfriend.”

“I thought I was your favorite asshole,” Gavin murmured. For a second, there was silence, but Silver felt a flash of heat just from watching them look at each other.

“Uh.” A flush stained Jamie’s cheeks almost as red as his hair.

Seeing Jamie get so very owned made Silver forget his cheek until his smile hurt.

“Well, yeah.” Jamie was back to himself. “Here, brat, hang on to these.” He passed Silver his champagne flute and the one plucked from Gavin’s hand. “Let’s go talk about that.” He tugged Gavin away.

Beach tucked a hand into his pocket in a not completely subtle effort to rearrange his gear. “My my, that was enough electricity to—did he growl?”

Silver wasn’t sure where that low vibration had come from. It was like one of the polarization bonds he’d read about in the science book.

“Well, damn. Now I really need to get laid. And as it’s been made perfectly clear that you, sweet thing, are off-limits, I’m going to have to settle for something else.” Beach’s gaze shifted to a woman in a short black dress. More specifically, the way it clung to her ass. “Any port in a storm.” He winked and strolled away, the swagger completely hiding his slight limp.

Silver searched for a place to dump the champagne glasses, but the waiters all seemed to have vanished. And of course, having a table or something to put stuff on would ruin whatever vibe the windowed walls and chrome floor was trying to create.

“Thought that wasn’t your thing.” Zeb stood in front of him, arms crossed in so much righteous indignation it strained the seams on his sport coat.

Which was a shame, because he looked pretty cute with the sleeves rolled up over tan forearms. The full, soft mouth would have added to the cute, if it wasn’t pinched in a frown.

Silver flicked his gaze at the champagne glasses in his hands then pushed them both out at Zeb. “Here. Save me from myself.”

Zeb was startled, but his hands shot out to grab the glasses.

Too late, Silver thought he should have dumped the champagne on Zeb’s head. “You know what? After today, I am so completely over having anyone tell me who I am or who I’m supposed to be. Fuck. Off.”

He crossed the reception room and pushed open the door that took him out onto a wraparound balcony overlooking the harbor. He wasn’t alone there—other people had snuck out to enjoy a cigarette in the heavy air. As he moved along the railing and rounded a corner, he half-expected to trip over Jamie and Gavin interlocking some body parts, but eventually he found a spot to be alone. Mostly because the view was blocked by some other building. It was almost a perfect hideaway, except for the glass wall behind him. Thunder rumbled, first only a vibration, then loud enough to get people’s attention.

Good. The rain should drive everyone else inside, though Silver hoped people stuck around long enough to drink and buy more of Eli’s pictures.

The storm blew up fast. From partly cloudy to early sunset in minutes. The wind lifted his hair, sweeping cocktail napkins off the balcony to spin away into the street four stories down. It was a great place to watch people from, see them hurry into buildings or cars, though the trash was more interesting. The wind kept picking up plastic bags and sending them up like kites.

He didn’t have to worry about where he’d sleep or if the roof on Tyson Street had a new leak. And for a few minutes, he didn’t have to worry about whether he was living up or down to people’s expectations. When lightning backlit a cloud to the south, he glanced down at the metal railing and decided not to worry about that either.

He leaned forward against it as the first hard drops of rain fell, letting them sting against his sore right cheek.

“Hey.” Zeb’s voice.

With almost anyone else, Silver would have turned and put his back against the railing, feeling safer facing a person head-on. But if Zeb was going to hurt him some more, Silver would just as soon not let Zeb see his face.

“Hey,” Silver offered in answer.

Zeb put his hands on the railing to Silver’s right. Lightning flashed, and Zeb’s fingers tapped off the seconds till the thunder. He raised his hands for a second then settled them again. Maybe his righteousness exempted him from lightning strikes.

The hands flexed and gripped the railing. That scar hadn’t been there before, the ragged one extending from the webbing next to his pinky, over the next knuckle and then over the back of his hand. And his left index finger was missing a little piece. On his right hand, two of the fingers had swollen knuckles, and the tips leaned, like they’d been broken and taped together.

Silver remembered the skin smooth and straight, the tips and nails teasing the inside of his thighs, palm sliding across his belly, a grip on his hips to hold him flat as he tried to buck up into a hot, wet mouth. The way those hands had trembled, half pushing him away on the first thrust inside Zeb’s body.

Maybe it wasn’t his eyes but Zeb’s hands that showed what he was feeling. Right now they were hesitant, stalling, opening and closing on the top rail, tapping lightly.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” Zeb said at last. “It’s been a long day. A lot of emotions raked over.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I’m not perfect.”

Silver leaned sideways to face him. “Surprised you can admit it.”

“You know that better than anyone.” Zeb’s hand made it halfway to Silver’s face and fell away, but his eyes stayed focused on Silver’s. “I thank God I got this chance to see you again. To apologize. And I thank you for hearing me out. I guess anything else is a little too much to expect.”

Zeb glanced away.

The rain sliced sideways, and Silver wiped it away from his cheek and ear and eye. “What does that mean?”

“If you want, I’m gone. I’ll find a job somewhere else. Let you get on with your life in peace. You won’t ever have to see me again.”

“Did I say I wanted that?”

“Not in words. Specifically.”

“You expected a nice-to-see-you-again blow job?”

“Of course not.” Zeb’s eyes were dark, but there was very little light coming from behind the glass at this end of the balcony. Only the flicker of a fake candle on a table barely as wide as one of the mini quiches the waiters had handed out. Maybe the dim light was what made the lines around his mouth so stern. “Though was there some other message I was supposed to be receiving based on the way you acted when being tutored?”

The heat in Silver’s cheeks should have turned the rain to steam. He shifted back to face the street. “Must be losing my touch.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Silver didn’t need to look to see Zeb’s wry smile.

“Jordan.”

No smile in Zeb’s voice now. It was the voice that had sent him away. Silver watched the tiny river in the gutter and waited him out.

“Do you want me out of your life?” Zeb said flatly.

Silver spun to face him. “No. I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?”

He had to decide now? What if it was the same thing he’d wanted at sixteen? Zeb. Zeb and a house and a dog. To be able to touch Zeb in public and not have to worry. To know when he had a nightmare, he could roll over into Zeb’s warm body. What if Silver spilled his guts with everything he wanted and Zeb laughed? Or worse, shook his head patiently and explained that he might have loved Jordan then, but he could never love who Jordan was now?

He couldn’t say any of it out loud.