Chapter 4
Trevor
There’s light coming in the window when I wake on Friday. Not a good sign.
I curse, grabbing my phone off the nightstand only to realize it’s dead. Checking the cord, I find the plug hanging halfway out of the wall socket. Cursing again, I nudge it flush, and my phone starts to charge.
Tugging on jeans, I make my way down the hall to the kitchen. The microwave tells me it’s half past seven.
I close my eyes for only a moment before hustling into gear. I’ll likely be late for my class.
And I missed my morning with Red.
The apartment is quiet as I get ready, only doing the bare minimum to be presentable. My uncle is still fast asleep, his hours at the tattoo shop allowing him to be a late riser.
Dressed and backpack in hand, I grab my barely charged phone and head out.
The hallway outside of my class is quiet as I walk down it, the clock on the wall showing four past eight. I steel myself before opening the door.
I’ve only taken a single step inside when the professor stops talking. He looks pointedly from me to his watch. “Mr. Slade. So nice of you to join us.”
He says it as if I have a habit of being tardy for his class, when this is the first time. But I know better than to give him any attitude. “Sorry I’m late.”
He waves a hand toward the available seats, which I take to mean I should sit the fuck down so he can get on with it.
I open my backpack as quietly as possible once seated, but I don’t miss the professor’s prolonged glare as he resumes speaking.
Nor the way his eyes trail down to the tattoos on my neck, visible thanks to the crewneck I shoved on in this morning’s haste.
It’s easy to see the disapproval in his eyes.
It’s the very reason I’ve taken to covering up as much as possible in his class.
I’m not ashamed of my tattoos, but I’m pragmatic enough to recognize I won’t win against a professor of this college when it comes to defending myself against his preconceived notions of my character.
He has the power to flunk me if he chooses.
I don’t want to give him a reason to make that choice.
The two-hour class lasts a veritable lifetime, but I pay close attention throughout. When we’re dismissed, I’m grateful to make it out the door without being called to the professor’s office.
The sun is bright when I step outside the building, the day warm for being nearly smack-dab in the middle of winter.
I look off toward the nearby parking lot, knowing I should be on my way home to get some classwork done before work tonight.
I didn’t bring my materials with me, not having had the time to plan for it.
But my feet take me in the opposite direction anyway, toward the library.
There’s very little chance I’ll run into Red this time of day. Our paths never crossed before when I’d come here to study after my class. It was only a change in my routine that had the two of us bumping into each other in the first place.
But I still make my way up to the third floor to check our table.
It’s empty, as I expected. Apart from one small sticky note.
A laugh puffs out of me when I read the word “Mine” scrawled on the yellow surface. Cheeky little fuck.
I grab the piece of paper, folding it carefully in half once and then twice before pocketing it.
Maybe I’ll catch him on Monday.
The bar is loud tonight.
It’s always busy during my shifts, but ever since the owner started advertising half-priced drinks, we’ve gotten a slew of additional business, mostly from the college crowd.
I check IDs as people enter, having to turn away a couple twenty-year-olds who didn’t realize we’re a twenty-one-and-above establishment, unlike some of the bars closer to campus that serve food and mocktails for the underage crowd.
The only food here are the garnishes for the drinks.
Music pumps through the space, the makeshift dance floor occupied by the twenty-somethings as the regulars jostle for position near the bar. The pool tables are both in use, as are the dart boards.
The door opens to another gust of cool air. And I freeze as familiar blue eyes stare at me in shock.
I regain my composure faster than Red, who trips over his foot as his friend bumps into his back. Said friend steadies him before looking around curiously.
“IDs,” I say mildly, holding out my hand.
Red shakes himself loose, his eyes wide as he pulls out his wallet. His gaze makes a full circuit of my body, holding for a long time on my exposed arms and neck, before he slips his license free and hands it over.
I take my time looking at his picture and then his name. “Isaac Newport,” I say softly, flicking my eyes to his. His cheeks are bright, freckles standing in stark relief. “Twenty-four years old.”
“You work here?” he asks, seemingly having recovered his ability to speak.
“I do.”
“You weren’t at the library earlier.”
Oh, was I missed?
Isaac sets his jaw stubbornly, as if realizing what he let slip. My smile only grows.
“Unintentional,” I tell him, handing his ID back.
The friend looks between the two of us. “Wait… You’re Library Guy?”
I raise an eyebrow Isaac’s way.
“Small world,” the redhead mutters, glancing anywhere but at me.
“Trevor,” I offer to the friend.
He shakes my hand heartily before passing me his license. “Todd. Nice to meet you. So can you recite poetry anywhere or does it have to be in a bookish setting?”
Isaac’s head whips his friend’s way, mortification written across his face. “Todd.”
Todd looks at him with wide eyes. “What?”
Clearing my throat, I catch Red’s gaze and speak over the music. “‘People destined to meet will do so, apparently by chance, at precisely the right moment.’”
Isaac licks his lips, the rings surrounding his irises nearly black in this light. “Emerson.”
My own lips twitch as I pass Todd’s ID back.
“Nice,” the friend says, nodding his approval. “I’m gonna get a drink while you two catch up.”
“I’ll be right there,” Isaac tells him.
Todd saunters happily over to the bar. The crowd parts around him, more than one admiring stare on his person.
Isaac’s eyebrow is raised when I look back his way. “He’s off-limits.” His tone is hard, that fire in his eyes a notch hotter than usual.
“Is that so?” I ask slowly. “And why’s that?”
Isaac seems to realize he’s painted himself into a corner because he doesn’t answer.
I don’t push it, simply hold out my hand. “It’s nice to officially meet you. Isaac.”
He accepts my palm, his gaze skipping up my arm before he tears his hand away. “Well, uh…”
“Go on,” I tell him, notching my head toward his friend.
“I don’t need your permission,” he bites out, immediately shutting his eyes in an extended blink. “Sorry, I…”
“No, you don’t,” I agree, fairly certain he’s simply thrown at finding me here when he wasn’t expecting it. And he’s lashing out. Because, for whatever reason, Isaac doesn’t want me getting close to him. “Have a good evening, Red.”
He puffs out a breath I can see in the fall of his chest before nodding once and walking off. His friend passes him a drink he wrinkles his nose at, but he takes a small sip, eyes darting to me before he turns away.
The two get lost in the crowd before long, but I keep an eye out for bright red hair as I man the entrance to the bar.
Neither Isaac nor his friend seem to be drinking heavily.
They hang out near the pool tables for a while, chatting, Isaac looking at his phone now and again with what appears to be frustration.
Todd is animated as he talks, body and arms moving wildly.
Isaac saves his friend’s drink from spilling more than once.
I wonder, ever so briefly, at Isaac’s off-limits declaration. Did I get it wrong? Is it his friend he has feelings for?
I dismiss the thought as quickly as it forms. I don’t see it. The two are close, yes. But nothing about their interactions leads me to think Isaac is harboring deeper feelings.
After letting in a group of women who are decked out for the evening, I feel a heavy presence behind my shoulder. I swivel on my stool, finding Isaac standing there without Todd.
He lifts his chin, arms crossed with his drink in one hand. “You have a shit-ton of tattoos.”
I try to keep my amusement to myself. “I do.”
“How, uh…”
“Far do they go?” I fill in.
Isaac’s eyes flare wide, surprise there. “How long did they take?” he asks pointedly.
I rub my mouth to hide my smile. “Years. My uncle did most of them. He’s a tattoo artist.”
“Ah. Did they hurt?”
“Of course,” I answer. “But pain is relative, don’t you think?”
His eyes skip from my clasped hands to my chest above the deep V of my t-shirt, and then up to my throat. His own bobs. “How so?”
I shrug a shoulder. “If you expect the pain, it makes it easier to handle.”
Isaac’s brows draw in. “Still hurts.”
“Sure.”
He shakes his head a little, jolting before uncrossing his arms and retrieving his phone from his back pocket. He scowls at the screen and shoves the device away.
“Need to take that?” I ask.
“Considering it’s my dad, no.”
Isaac sucks down the rest of his drink, eyes casing the inside of the bar.
My hum is lost to the music, but I raise my voice some. “And what sort of pain has your dad caused?”
Isaac’s eyes dart back to me, wide once more. “This isn’t…therapy hour.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “That’s a really personal question.”
“If it’s off-limits, just say so.”
He flushes, eyes sweeping the bar again, perhaps looking for Todd. “He’s just a dick. End of story.”
I assume he’s talking about his dad. “I doubt that’s the end of it, considering he’s calling.”
Isaac huffs. “He wanted me to meet him for dinner to impress a family-oriented client. For the record, I never agreed to go. He just…makes demands and assumes I’ll follow like his good little employees do.”
I snort. “Has he met you?”
A grin flashes across Isaac’s face, there and gone again fast. He glances away, and I follow his gaze to the dance floor, where Todd is now swaying to the music like a tall blade of grass in the wind, his arms above his head and his eyes closed.
“Ah, crap,” Isaac says. “He’s gone sentimental.”
“Pardon?” I ask around a laugh.
He groans. “He has two drunk settings. Soft and sentimental or weirdly flighty.”
It takes me a second to sort through that. “He’s drunk after one-and-a-half cocktails?”
Isaac peers at me, a challenging lift to his brow I’m guessing has to do with me keeping tabs on him and his friend. “Yes, he is. He’s an absolute lightweight, which no one ever expects considering…”
He waves a hand toward Todd, as if encompassing his entire being. The guy is taller than Isaac with a lean but fit build. He’s not wafer thin, which I think is what Isaac is getting at.
“Considering his better-than-average stature?” I guess.
Isaac scowls at me. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Red… To me, you’re all small.”
He tries to hold on to his feigned outrage, but the flick of his eyes down my body betrays what he really thinks about that.
Shaking his head, he lifts his drink to his lips before remembering it’s only ice.
A sigh follows. “I guess this is better than chasing him down the street when he decides he just has to have waffles at one in the morning.”
“I take it that’s happened before?”
He shoots me a look. “More times than you could possibly imagine. Lumi is better at wrangling him than me.”
“And Lumi would be?”
“Christ,” he mutters. “I keep forgetting you don’t know all this. Lumi is…” He taps his fingers together, seemingly searching for the right words. “Let’s just say she’s the most badass bitch you’ll ever meet. And before you go getting any ideas, she’s off-limits, too.”
“That’s assuming I’m into women.”
Isaac’s gaze sharpens on me. “You’re not?”
I shake my head once, turning as a few individuals come through the front door. Isaac waits as I check their IDs, letting the group pass.
He clears his throat once we’re alone again. “But you are into men?”
“I am. Which you knew.”
“I assumed,” he says, biting his nail, his eyes flicking over to check on Todd periodically. “But you can never really tell.”
“My sexuality isn’t a secret, Red. You only had to ask.”
But he didn’t without a little prompting. Because he doesn’t want to appear interested. And yet… Here he is. Talking with me while his friend is all alone out on the dance floor.
“So where’s Lumi tonight?” I ask, since it seems a safe topic of conversation.
“Belt testing.” At my expectant look, he explains, “She has a black belt in Judo.”
“Badass indeed.”
He nods idly before hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “I should probably get back to Todd.”
“Sure. Do you want this back?”
Isaac watches curiously as I pull a small, folded paper out of my pocket. When I open it to reveal the word “Mine” written in his own handwriting, shock flashes across his face. His eyes meet my own, two blue flames, as he rolls his lips together. “No,” he finally says. “You keep it.”
With that, Isaac rejoins his friend, and I slip the possessive claim back into my pocket.
Consume me, piece and peace.