Chapter 8
Eight
Logan
I’ve never realized how many stares Baby gets. I’ve never been out in public with him, so that does track, but even if I had taken a guess, it would have been nowhere near this extent.
Even girls look. He’s… nice looking. I’ve thought about this before.
He’s almost pretty, attractive in the same way the wildflowers my mom used to pullover and have me and my siblings pick are.
Dainty but not as polished as the flowers most people are used to.
It’s not quite the sort of pretty that I think girls are, but sometimes it’s…
more. But also not the kind of thing I’d expect to appeal to women.
And yet, they look. Because they have eyes and can’t help it.
I sort of get it.
But every time a guy looks at him, my brain accuses him of being a pervert who needs to keep his eyes to himself.
Like this guy. He’s in his thirties, maybe forties, and yet he’s staring at my baby-faced roommate’s legs, and all Baby’s doing is sitting here eating all my pretzel bites—completely unaware that he’s being checked out. It bothers me.
Fuckin’ perv.
“You don’t get excited buying new clothes?”
I pull my attention off the dirty old man and shrug. “I don’t really buy new clothes that much.” A learned habit from the way I was raised. I can afford clothes now, but back then, I had no choice but to wear things until they were falling apart. Sometimes even then.
And sure, I could spend money on new shit every payday, but I’d rather send the extra cash I have back home.
I don’t miss being a teen who had to wear clothes that already had all the life worn right out of them.
I don’t care about those things now, but I have siblings.
If I can make it so that they can have nice things, then that’s what I’m going to do.
Money well spent as far as I’m concerned.
“I buy my siblings’ clothes. That makes me happy—if that counts.
It makes them happy, for sure. Especially Geo and Lottie.
” The littles, they’re happy with that gooey shit in a cup that makes fart noises.
They go nuts for that. But Geo and Lottie are older, all pent up with the injustices of the world that come with teenage angst. You kind of stop asking for toys when that happens.
“You have five siblings, right?”
“Yup.”
“So you buy clothes for five kids?”
“Yeah. Not—I just like to,” I say, feeling mildly defensive at the judgment I can sense. He’s never had to help his family pay any bills, and he has no siblings to love enough to want to give good things to.
“No, I get it. It’s nice. You’re a good big brother.” He smiles cutely, almost shy about it, as he gives me a rare compliment. It’s adorable. “I have no brothers and no sisters, but I definitely buy enough for five people just for me.”
I believe him. Anyone could tell he likes shopping just in the way he dresses.
Mostly trendy, the same kinds of streetwear most boys in this area wear, but he throws in the occasional girly item.
Like the constant pink nail polish. Or a random cropped shirt.
Something pink every now and then. The machine-tattered denim shorts he has on now.
He doesn’t wear makeup a lot, but I know he has some. When he goes out with friends, he wears a little.
“It’s way too much, honestly. I pull an Ariana and buy what I like as soon as I see it. It’s a problem.”
The corner of my lips tips up as I watch him stuff his sixth pretzel bite into his mouth.
For someone who didn’t want any, he sure has put them away.
I knew he would though. He only thinks he’s eating my food at the moment, but I ordered this many because he does the same thing at home.
I’ve learned better than to think that any food is mine alone when he’s near.
“Is Geo short for something?”
“Yes.” I’m surprised he bothered to circle back to it, that he actually wants to talk about my brother. “But it has nothing to do with his real name.”
He waits for me to explain, but I’m not gonna.
“What’s your real name? Why does everyone call you Baby?”
His eyes roll. “Fine. Be like that.”
He stands up, collecting some of the trash on our table. I catch that same guy staring at him again, and it sours my mood all over again. I don’t even know why it bothers me so much. I don’t care when people watch me—for any of the many reasons they do. Couldn’t give a fuck less.
But Baby’s being watched, and it makes me want to grab him. Snatch him right up so they get the hint.
Except, I don’t even get the hint. I just know they should not be looking at him like that.
“What’s wrong now? We’re done shopping, Logan,” he says with the same smile you’d give a pouty child, but the shopping isn’t the issue.
“Nothing.”
“Something,” he presses, emphasizing the word with a gentle nudge.
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“What?”
“That so many people stare at you?” So many guys.
He looks around, but in this exact moment, there’s nobody specific. “I don’t see anyone staring.”
“The cashier from earlier? The old man who was sitting close to us back there. The—him.” I nod my head to motion at the man we’re passing, and there’s no way he misses it when the stranger’s eyes trail down his body. I hate it.
“I’m… they’re just shorts.” He pulls at the frayed bottom in an attempt to pull them down, but that isn’t what I was talking about. They’re not really the kinds of shorts I’d expect a guy to wear, but I don’t care. “You could have said something.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I made you change, so if you’d said all the stares were bothering you, I could have.”
“It has nothing to do with the way you look—”
“I can’t help it if people watch me, Logan.
” He’s getting mad and won’t let me explain myself.
“But fine. I’ll dress differently next time we go out.
” Not mad. He actually sounds sad, and I hate it.
He shouldn’t have to change anything, and I’d never want him to.
“Actually, no, I won’t! I can wear whatever the hell I want. ”
The quick change from pitiful to pissed off makes me smile.
I don’t know how to explain what the problem really is, but it has nothing to do with his clothes—well, it has a little to do with his clothes. But only because his legs are nice to look at and he’s a boy, so everyone who can look is looking, and it has me slipping into a mild form of insanity.
“I don’t know why you’re so worried—I didn’t think something like this would bother you.”
It’s like a frog, his mind. A mentally ill frog with zero survival instincts. It’s always jumping to the craziest conclusions.
“I really doubt anyone actually thinks we’re together just because we’re…”
“I don’t care if they do! That’s not what I meant. At all. I don’t care that they’re looking—fuck them—it’s just… I care that they’re watching you like they want to…”
“Logan, homophobes are pretty common. You’re the one who wanted to come here together.”
“They’re not homophobes! Maybe some of them are, and they can eat shit, but I’m talking about the ones who… Baby, they look at you like they want to fuck you.”
He stops walking to gape at me, but the shock quickly morphs into a cocky smirk. “Um, duh. I’m hot.”
“Well, it’s bugging me.” I continue walking, trying not to consider the truth in his words.
It feels like forever before he’s speaking again. “But why?”
“It just is—keep walking!” I snap at a man who possibly was only looking at us because we’re in his way, but just in case he wasn’t, I hold my glare.
“Logan. That poor man was with his wife.”
I watch the guy, a short man clearly old enough to be my grandpa, walk away while holding an old lady’s hand.
“Let’s—weren’t we leaving? Come on.”
He snickers behind me, and my shoulders tense.
“It’s not funny.”
“I just had no idea you were so protective.”
∞∞∞
“Damn, I look good.”
The shirt he picked out is black—because I’m prone to messes, he says—with an open collar.
The buttons were almost too small for my fingers, but the struggle was worth it.
It’s simple, just a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up a bit and a pair of slacks.
I thought for sure I’d look stupid in the pants—they’re smaller than the jeans I usually wear, and I’ve got some thick legs, but it worked out.
He even did my hair. Sort of. It looks the same as always, but he played with the front for what felt like years, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I saw no difference.
It’s maybe a little neater. If it had been anyone else in my face for that long, I’d say it wasn’t worth it, but I kind of liked being fussed over.
When Baby doesn’t say anything, I turn my head to find him staring at me and am delighted.
“You checking me out, Baby?”
His face changes instantly as he frees his bottom lip from between his teeth to glare at me. I don’t care. I saw what I saw. Teeth digging into his lips, a dreamy look in his blue eyes. My little vampire wanted to take a bite.
The thought reminds me of the one and only time he did just that. The mark is pretty much gone. A faint yellow-ish bruise, but it’s visible enough that some will notice—especially in this getup. I kinda miss when it was darker. I had visual proof that his mouth was on me.
I nod at my reflection. “I don’t blame you. I do look good.”
“Only because I picked your clothes out.” He can take all the credit he wants.
“That’s true. It’s why you’ve got a boner for me right now—you picked stuff you’d want your boyfriend to wear, huh?”
“I don’t—” He actually checks, looks down at his crotch like he’s scared he’s gonna find something he doesn’t expect.
“I was talking about your brain boner. It’s hard as a rock right now, huh?” I reach a finger out and just miss his forehead as he jerks away from me. “Don’t lie,” I speak quickly when his face shows me the signs I know to mean he’s gonna lie his ass off.
“Shut up.”
I laugh. I like it when he’s like this. A little ball of coy. “That mental wood is almost as cute as the real thi—”
“Shut up.” He shoves at my stomach. He’s a skinny guy, but I don’t expect it. The force has me taking a step back. I’m stunned into silence as I watch blood flood his cheeks. “It’s not funny.”
“I was just teasing.”
“Well, don’t. Not about that.” He looks like he might cry, and all I’m doing is watching him, feeling ungainly as I stand there having been properly chastised. “Don’t even bring it up. Ever.”
“Baby—”
“I’ve gotta change.”
I feel guilty. I knew better than to mention it—us ignoring the whole dry hump thing is the only reason he still talks to me. But I didn’t mean it in the way he thinks. It wasn’t funny. I know that. No part of it makes me laugh when I think about it.
In fact, it kind of gets me all hot and bothered.
Remembering him and how he acted. He was so desperate.
I don’t think he’d like me thinking of him like that, calling him desperate, but he was.
He absolutely was, and he left the proof on my shirt—chased an O on my stomach and sank his teeth in my neck like an animal.
I was all about that shit.
In hindsight, I should feel a little—a lot—conflicted about it. I’d never kissed a boy before. Never felt another dick but mine. But it’s… Baby. Somehow, that makes it less confusing.
He got to come, and I didn’t—at least not right then. I’ve thought about it a few times, can’t help it, and it’s because of all that thinking that I owe each and every one of my orgasms from the past week to him.
Which isn’t as weird as it sounds because, again, it’s Baby.
It isn’t until Cade makes himself known that I realize I zoned out.
“Whoa. Why’re you all dressed up?”
“Baby’s friend invited me to her bridal thing.”
“Oh. Lame. I thought I heard you guys talking about boners.”
I blow out a breath with a pfft. “I—we were.” I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough.
“Who’s—Baby’s?” he asks so nonchalantly—like the idea of us discussing Baby’s dick isn’t out of the ordinary at all.
“I do not have a boner!” Baby pops back into the hallway, giving his door a very unsubtle slam. He’s carrying a bundle of towels and toiletries when I see him again.
“Bummer.” Cade makes room for our resident sass, and it’s very clear Baby’s still upset. “You should work on that. They’re fun to play with.”
“Get out.”
I hope he’s talking to Cade so I can try and fix things—make it so he’s not so angry—before we have to leave.
“Both of you, out.”
Or not.
We make moves to leave, but because he’s Cade and he can’t help but tease Baby whenever he can, he keeps it going. “Why? So you can play with your—” The door is slammed in both of our faces.