Chapter Excerpt
“What are these—Berlutis?” Brandon asked.
He had seen the man striding through the lobby at Arboretum Plaza, sometimes alone, often with a group of other well-dressed men in tow.
The man carried himself with a confidence that jarred against his approachability.
Brandon had noted the way he leaned in to listen, smiling and nodding, his earnestness out of place amid all the swagger.
And now he sat on the stool in front of Brandon, his left foot propped up on the valet box, as Brandon hunted through his satchel for the right shade of brown to match his Italian leather derbies.
“Maybe.” As if too modest to admit to wearing two-thousand-dollar shoes, the man flashed Brandon the same smile he’d given his colleagues, indulgent and self-assured. “Should I tip extra?”
Brandon ran a one-man side hustle shining shoes for suits in the lobbies of various corporate buildings around town.
He set up a portable station with a printed sign advertising his prices.
It had proven surprisingly lucrative. There was nothing a dude making bank liked more than to look down on someone performing a menial service.
Sometimes Brandon thought it was more about that than the actual shoe shine, but if they paid their twelve-fifty plus tip, what the fuck did he care?
“Honestly, I’d be happy if you tipped at all.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Wait, people don’t tip? For this kind of personal service?”
Austin was the kind of place where you could reinvent any old-timey occupation by donning a fedora and slapping on a hokey name like Harry’s Haberdashery or Dan’s Mustache-Oiling Cantina.
“I’m big on personal service.”
The man colored slightly. Brandon made out as if he hadn’t seen. He snapped the top off a tin of medium brown, releasing a whiff of harsh solvent.
He used his side gig to pay for supplies, mostly armature wire and solder.
That was the only way he could justify the expense of his weird creations.
He figured it didn’t count if he wasn’t dipping into the money he earned from his real job as a delivery driver for SIPStation.
Lugging five-gallon water jugs into office break rooms wasn’t exactly thrilling work, but the hours were flexible, and he could fit his shifts around other pursuits.
More importantly, the job was reliable enough to cover his third of the rent.
“Can I tell you something?” the man asked.
“Sure.” Brandon dipped a rag-wrapped finger into the espresso-colored contents of the tin and began massaging polish into the toecap of the man’s shoe.
“I’d usually never do this.”
Brandon looked up coyly. “What, chat with a stranger on his knees?”
It was a bold move. He couldn’t be sure, but he had his suspicions, and he had a pretty decent radar most of the time. He’d find out quickly enough. Either he was right, or he’d completely tank this particular transaction.
This time, there was no mistaking the man’s blush. “Ah...” He laughed awkwardly. “You’re a funny one.”
That was the moment Brandon knew. A straight man would have hightailed it by this point. He shifted the shoe on the box so it turned outward, opening the man’s stance in order to reach the stiff leather counter behind his heel. “So, what is it you usually never do?”
“Get my shoes shined.”
“Why today?”
The man paused, glancing at the trickle of people coming in through the revolving door then back at Brandon. “Because I’ve seen you here a couple times and finally plucked up the courage.”
A slow smile spread across Brandon’s face. “Is that right?”
The man cleared his throat, and Brandon realized he was nervous—endearing for someone so assertive.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“We talking first and last?”
“First for starts.”
“Brandon.”
“Nice to meet you, Brandon. I’m Mike.” He held out his hand, and Brandon took it, noticing at the last second the smudge of brown polish on his thumb. But Mike didn’t seem to care. He grasped Brandon’s hand and gave it a firm shake as if they’d closed an important business deal.
You don’t get a handshake like that without practice.
The gesture was so macho Brandon almost laughed, yet the way the man’s hand swallowed Brandon’s own was an incredible turn-on. Mike held his grip just a fraction too long, his fingers slipping suggestively across Brandon’s palm when he released him.
Brandon sat back on his heels and met Mike’s gaze, fearless. “Do I even bother finishing up here, or was this just an excuse to ask me out?”
“Hmm.” Mike’s eyes sparkled in amusement. “I think I’d like you on your knees a little longer.”