The Right Words (10 page)

I had to laugh. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but I wasn’t sorry for anything other than I wished it were my hands running all over my hot Latin client. This was certainly going to be an interesting couple of months if night one was any indication. I took a deep breath and peeled my body from the door. I needed to clean up, lie down, and pray for sleep.

My prayer was left unanswered. Lying on a strange bed after a day that had been far from average with a doozy of a twist at the end made it practically impossible for me to quiet my overactive mind. Sometime before the sun rose, I gave up trying. My best bet would be a short nap at Brandon’s before heading over to his store to help out on a busy Saturday. I diligently locked the studio door, shivering in the cool early morning before making my way cautiously down the narrow stairs outside the garage. The sky was still a deep indigo liberally dotted with brilliant stars, but I was sure I’d get a glimpse of the sun long before I made it back to LA.

My first stop should definitely be for coffee, I mused as I rubbed my eyes and fumbled to get the key in the ignition. I froze when I spotted two silhouettes walking from the direction of the main house toward the street. It was Michael and Jovan. Fuck. I was trapped again. If I turned on the engine I’d be spotted, but the alternative of sitting in the shadows like a creepy stalker didn’t sound much better. I was too tired to think clearly.

I watched Michael walk alongside Jovan, expertly wielding his crutches down the driveway, his dark head bent in concentration. They passed my car and stopped in front of a Jeep parked twenty feet away. Jovan opened his trunk while Michael stood nearby on the sidewalk. He laughed at something his companion said and smiled when he returned to his side. I felt a pang of ridiculous jealousy.

What an idiot. I put my fingers back on my key just as Michael leaned in to kiss his mouth. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t an overly passionate exchange but it wasn’t a peck on the lips, either. Geez, I needed to pull myself together. I was sinking to new lows if my swelling dick was any indication. I needed to get a life. And get laid.

I turned the ignition without thinking, surprising the men from their lip lock. Jovan stepped back while Michael cocked his head inquisitively in my direction. I offered a slight smile and a casual wave before putting the car in drive. My heartbeat sounded loud enough to drown out the Rihanna song blasting on the radio. I turned down the sound and peered in my rearview mirror when my curiosity got the better of me. There was only one man standing by the Jeep now. Michael. Even in the shadowed dark, I could tell his gaze was fixed on my departing car.

BG
OODS
WAS
always busy on Saturdays, which was partially due to its stellar Melrose Avenue address in fabulous West Hollywood. The other reason the store was so successful was the man behind the name. Brandon Good was an attraction all his own. The guy was a genius. I watched him fawn over, joke around with, and sometimes even strong-arm his impressive clientele into making supremely stylish and expensive accessory purchases for their homes. He was a skilled salesman but moreover, he was a gifted people person. He genuinely was interested in hearing about his customers and their jobs, friends, and love lives.

“Sugar, I’m telling you, buy the aquamarine pillows for your boudoir. Your eyes just pop next to that gorgeous shade, and I’m sure your man will go crazy finding some way to keep you in that bed.” His vocals went from his normal midrange to a highly effeminate tone laced with a strong dose of sass as he sold home goods like lingerie. I rolled my eyes, careful not to let the middle-aged man with the potbelly, dyed jet-black hair, and designer loafers see. He was giggling like a schoolgirl over Brandon’s brazenness.

“Oh sweetie, if only! Sadly, I’m single. I may be the teensiest bit older than you, but you are a breath of fresh air. Please let me buy you a drink.” The man leaned into Brandon and leered at him. Personally, I would have had a difficult time not gagging, but Bran once again proved himself to be a true professional.

“I cannot tell you how flattered I am. Really. But I’m taken. You, however, have an opportunity to beautify your personal space and make it a haven worth having a gentleman caller over. Honey, trust me, these pillows are what you need. Who knows? They may change your life. Let’s start with four of the Euro-size.”

He swiftly made his way back toward the register with a stack of aquamarine pillows so tall I was nervous he’d bump into one of the displays I’d finished for him a few minutes before.

“Luke will ring you up, sugar. Here is my business card. I want to know how well those pillows worked for you and how else we can spruce up your sanctuary. You take care now.” Bran exaggerated every syllable and camped up his hand motions in an almost comical affectation as he bid adieu to his enamored client, who kept his eyes glued to Brandon’s ass as he sauntered away.

I avoided making eye contact with the lecherous geezer while I rung up his two thousand dollar purchase. Who paid that kind of money for pillows? Brandon obviously had figured out the answer to that question. He knew who his clientele were and how to please them. I knew he didn’t do the campy act for everyone. That was reserved for those who responded best to it. And in his opinion, that was older gay men with a thing for hot young things, or straight women of all ages.

“Damn, I thought he’d never leave.” Bran sighed deeply as he returned to the register. He picked up the lip balm he kept on the back countertop and applied it liberally while rolling his expressive hazel eyes.

“I don’t know how you do it. He spent a fortune on pillows and is half in love with you. Chances are pretty good he’ll be back for more just to see your pretty face.” I shook my head in wonder and stopped immediately as I recognized the gesture as being one I noticed Michael frequently make over the past week.

I couldn’t stop thinking of him. In my head I kept hearing the sounds of hot sex and seeing the kiss I’d witnessed just hours ago. The fact Michael caught me ogling his lip lock with Jovan was bound to make Monday morning very uncomfortable. As if I weren’t already enough of a basket case as it was. Why couldn’t I have managed to find a simple design job like the one I thought I was signing up for?

So Michael wasn’t what I assumed. What I needed to remind myself of was that nothing had actually changed. Nothing. I worked for him. Period. That was the extent of our relationship. Fantasizing about the handsome soccer player wouldn’t do me any good. Plus he had a crazy ex, he was in the closet, and was in a liaison of some sort with the insanely attractive Jovan. I needed to let it go.

“The minute I lock that door tonight”—Brandon made a show of pulling back his sleeve to check the time—“which will be in thirty-five minutes… you are going to bare your soul. Something is on your mind, boy, and it’s time to talk to mama.”

I burst out laughing. Bran always knew how to make me smile. I grinned widely at him and had opened my mouth to speak when the front door flew open accompanied by the jingle of jewelry and a profusion of bright colors heralding the entrance of none other than my real mama. My smile fled, replaced by a familiar wish I had been born with the ability to become invisible.

“Where is my baby?” Her voice boomed across the hip store, making me cringe in embarrassment.

“Here I am!” Brandon waved his arms over his head before running to greet my mother the way I probably should have.

I stood back and tried to summon the strength to deal with the hurricane that was Mara Preston-Livingston. She and Brandon embraced like lost friends in the middle of the store while bemused customers looked on. I swallowed hard, closed my eyes briefly, and sent up a prayer for strength before painting a smile on my face and stepping around the desk to greet her.

“Hi, Mom.”

Brandon peeled himself from her ample bosom and rushed to the aid of a customer checking out a table of tasteful knickknacks nearby. He pinched my arm discreetly as he passed me. It was his way of asking me to be nice.

“Darling!”

Mara swept me into her arms, practically squeezing the life out of me. I would smell like her favorite perfume until I showered. She had a thing for Dior and was not a spritzer. Like Brandon, Mara didn’t do anything in small measures. She pulled me away and held me at arm’s length to give me a good once-over. I knew what was coming before she even said a word.

“Lucas, you are too skinny.” I waited a heartbeat for the next comment. “Honey, you need to eat!”

“I’m fine, Mara. Um, how are you? You look great.”

She beamed at me. This was our customary greeting routine. I think her smile had more to do with being pleased I hadn’t forgotten my part. I took a moment to truly see her and realized I spoke the truth. She did look great. A little eccentric by most women’s standards, but Mara never gave a hoot what anyone else thought. She did everything her way. Including silly things like insisting I call her by her first name.

Mara was only an inch taller than me, but she seemed to tower above me. She was heavyset and draped herself in sweeping colorful clothing to offset her size. Today she wore a long, flowing fuchsia dress with a bright orange scarf. Her jewelry was both her signature and her weakness. She always looked like she simply couldn’t decide what to wear, so she wore everything she could. Large amethyst chandelier earrings swung playfully at her ears, brushing against her scarf. Strand after strand of beads were roped around her neck, and her arms were fairly laden with colorful bangles. Of course her fingers were also well adorned. Especially the ring finger on her left hand. Being Frederick Livingston III’s wife came with a privilege of wearing a diamond the size of a doorknob.

Under the rainbow colors and the jangling jewels, it was easy to see Mara was a beautiful older woman who had been stunning in her youth. Her platinum hair was dyed now to match the hue of her younger days, but everything else about her was what nature had given her. Living in an era (and frankly, living near Hollywood) where many women of means had a plastic surgeon on speed dial, my mother’s greatest brag was she’d never gone under the knife for beauty’s sake. She had lovely high cheekbones, a perfect straight nose, and pretty, twinkling blue eyes. Flash aside, her over-the-top personality gave most everyone who came in contact with her the feeling they’d met someone special.

Logically, she would be any gay man’s dream mother. But things were complicated between us.

“Thank you, pumpkin. Sweet Brandon told me I might find you here. And since you haven’t been returning my calls….” She let her loud voice trail off. Hopefully she gained some satisfaction in letting the entire store know what a lousy son I was.

“I’ve been busy. Sorry.” I bit my lip and wondered how to deal with her now that I was captive. Should I suggest we get a quick coffee? Or make small talk standing in the middle of the store? My mother wasn’t someone who was easily managed, however. She came and went when she chose. I took a deep breath and decided to go for light conversation. “I got a new job in Orange County.”

“Oh? Tell me all about it! Where is the house? Newport Beach? Laguna? Is it a beach house or one of those awful mausoleums built on the cliff side overlooking PCH?” She gave a shudder of distaste. Her jewels jangled with her movement, and I couldn’t help but be fascinated by how pretty I thought her amethyst earrings looked next to her brilliant orange scarf. She’d always been able to pull off intriguing combinations with flair.

“It’s in Corona del Mar. Between Laguna Beach and Newport Beach. It’s… awful.” I chuckled. “An original 1950s ranch that’s never been updated.”

“Wonderful! That sounds like a challenge, doesn’t it? Do you have a contractor already on the job?”

“Um, no. My client wants to subcontract so….” My voice weakened, knowing what was coming next.

“
What?
Who does that? Why? Who is your client? Oh dear. Lukey, darling. You don’t have to take a job like that. Let me help you. Please consid—”

“Mom, stop! It’s fine. It’s good. My client is an athlete. He was injured recently and—”

“What sport?”

I admired her oversized Louis Vuitton bag as she crossed her arms. I was stalling, knowing she was about to make a big deal about nothing.

“Soccer. Anyway, he wan—”

“That’s not a real sport. Not in the United States.”

“Oh my God! Here we go. Mara, soccer
is
a real sport. My client may have some different ideas on how he wants to tackle his remodel, but….” I held up a hand when I saw she was about to cut me off again. “Don’t interrupt me—this is still a good job. It pays well, and I’m doing just fine. So please just be happy for me, okay?”

She didn’t say anything for a long, uncomfortable moment. I took a brief glance around the shop and saw that other than Brandon, who was deep in sales mode with a customer near the back, there was no one else around. Thank God. Why was everything so exasperating with her?

“I am happy only when you’re happy, Lucas. You aren’t happy. I’m your mother. I worry. I’m sorry, but that will never change.”