Chapter Five
Troy
My niece Jess sat in a hard, plastic chair, swinging her legs back and forth.
Her nose was buried in her Nintendo DS. She’d been playing for hours.
Skye wouldn’t like it, but I didn't care. Jess had already finished her homework, and it’s not like there was anything interesting for an eight-year-old to do around the shop.
Unless, of course, Jess wanted to sit around and watch me work on cars, but even as much as I loved cars, I knew I’d have hated watching someone work on them as a kid.
And really, Skye didn’t have any grounds to complain. I came cheaper than a babysitter.
I tapped my finger against the keyboard, just beneath the spacebar.
So far, Seth's parts bill was already at three-thousand dollars. I couldn’t help but keep my eyes from drifting towards his bike, parked neatly outside.
When the shop closed, I’d probably walk her back behind the place.
Then I wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening to her.
Headlights flashed against the windows as Skye drove into the parking lot. “Looks like your mom’s here,” I said.
Jess closed her DS and pursed her lips together.
Skye swept through the door. “Ready to go, sweetheart?” she asked.
“Yep!” Jess replied.
“Good. We’ll probably get drive-thru on the way home. I don’t feel like cooking.”
Skye toyed with our grandmother's old wedding ring on her finger, the only bit of inheritance that grandma had left my sister. She almost never took it off, and twisting it was always a sure sign that something was bothering her.
“How is Seth’s bike?” Skye asked.
I leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care? Hoping to pretend to be really into motorcycles to impress him or something?”
After she had Jess, my sister’s boyfriend walked out on her, and you’d think that kind of experience might make a woman more cautious about relationships. But not Skye. For better or worse, she fell in love faster than anyone I'd ever met
“No,” Skye said. “I was just thinking that he seems nice. That’s all. You two have things in common.”
“So?”
“So maybe you and Seth ought to be friends,” my sister said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When was the last time you went out and actually did something with a friend?”
“High school,” I shot her a glare.
Skye put her hands on her hips and gave me an exasperated glare. “He’s been very nice to you, and you’ve been really rude. Just so you know.”
“I haven’t been rude.”
Had I? I mean, maybe I'd been curt. A little. I guess. But professional.
“Are you kidding me?” Skye asked. “I’m amazed he came back after the first time. But since he did, maybe give him a call. You’ve got his number, after all.”
“Just because I have his number doesn’t mean I ought to call the guy,” I replied.
But if I had been rude, maybe it wouldn’t hurt. He had invited me out for drinks, after all, and it might be cool to talk bikes. My gaze drifted to his bike, parked on the curb and outlined in the darkness of night. Skye cared. I knew that. Her intentions were good.
But Godofdiscord also said I ought to be more outgoing. I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
I fidgeted with my phone. I rarely followed Skye's advice, but this time, I actually listened. I’d called Seth, and he’d happily agreed to go out and have drinks. So here I was, at a bar waiting for him.
I’d been here a time or two before. Arthur liked to throw work parties, and although I generally avoided going out to bars with people, I usually showed up to those.
Staying on Arthur's good side was crucial to keeping my job, and Arthur could be really weird about stuff like that.
It was as if he was convinced that work should be the single most important thing in your life, and you should never miss any work-related function unless you were on your deathbed.
What if he doesn’t show?
It might be a relief. Then, I wouldn’t have to be social with him. I could go home and settle down with my beat-up laptop and vent to Godofdiscord, who’d be filled with righteous indignation on my behalf. Might make things awkward when he came back for his bike, though.
But no, Seth entered and looked around, searching for me.
I waved him over. He was wearing a form-fitting leather jacket and tight, dark washed denim jeans.
I tried not to notice just how attractive he looked dressed like that, but it was indeed difficult.
Seth could’ve made a flour sack look good.
“Hey, Troy!” he greeted, sliding into the seat beside me. “Great to see you!”
He said it like we were best friends.
“You, too,” I said, with considerably less enthusiasm.
Seth didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he had the grace not to mention it.
“How was work?” he asked.
“Good,” I replied. “I put your bike behind the shop, so you don’t have to worry about it being stolen or anything.”
“I wasn’t worried about it. I knew you’d take care of her,” Seth said, grinning. Anyway, it’s insured, probably for more than it’s worth.
I nodded and swigged from the beer I’d asked for. His easy confidence made me antsy. If I had bikes as nice as his, I wouldn’t have trusted them out of my sight for more than a few seconds. But then, Seth clearly came from money.
“So, this place is nice,” Seth added cheerfully.
“Yeah, I guess.”
The bartender sauntered to him and took his order. She was a tiny, pixie-like blonde, and I saw Seth’s eyes follow her as she walked away to retrieve his beer. I’d half-expected Seth to get some sort of fancy French wine I could barely pronounce. “She’s pretty,” I said.
“She is pretty. Not as pretty as him,” Seth added, nodding toward the male bartender nearby.
“You’re gay?!”
The bartender returned with Seth’s drink. “No,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “Bi, actually. I swing both ways. All the ways. Men, women, extraterrestrials if it comes to that.”
He was…bi. I relaxed my shoulders and let myself slouch a bit. He was safe. Maybe I should tell him I’m gay? I thought. He’d understand.
And both Godofdiscord and my sister kept telling me to be more outgoing. To make friends. Maybe they were right.
“So, what do you do in your spare time?” Seth asked.
“Not much, I gotta say.”
Seth nodded and toyed with his beer. “There must be something, though,” he said. “Everyone has hobbies.”
“I do. I do junk assemblage. It’s a type of art.”
“Oh, I know it,” Seth said. “I know a few junk artists. I know a disproportionate number of artists, actually. Junk assemblage, painters, actors, writers…lots of talented people. More talented than me, if I’m being honest, but I’d never tell them that.”
“I have pictures,” I said awkwardly, trying to gauge if Seth was truly interested.
“Oh! Show me. I want to see your art.”
Seth leaned eagerly forward as I pulled out my phone and flipped through a few pictures. I’d taken several with the intention of posting them online for feedback, but I hadn’t gotten around to doing that yet.
“These are incredible,” Seth muttered, as I swiped through photos of twisted, painted metal and half-deconstructed engines. “You must have so much patience to make these things.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“But I mean, twisting all those pieces of metal, and then painting them! I dated a graffiti artist once, and let me tell you, I now can affirm that I suck at spray painting. It looks much easier than it is, but you’ve got this done so well!
” Seth pointed at my screen, which presently showed repurposed clock parts, painted with floral patterns and small, twinkling stars.
“I’ve been spray painting since I was a kid,” I said, “So I’ve just had a lot of practice. That’s all.”
“So do you get parts from the shop?” Seth asked.
“Sometimes. Mostly, I dig around scrap yards and junk stores.”
“Oh! If I’d known, we could’ve done that instead,” Seth said. “That sounds like fun. We could go treasure hunting together.”
I raised an eyebrow, as I imagined Seth digging through old cars and heaps of junk in those tight jeans and that expensive jacket, having gotten off a $300,000 bike.
I didn’t want to be prejudiced, but he looked like the sort of man who’d freak out if he got a speck of dirt on him.
But maybe I was underestimating him. Or maybe—
Maybe he was interested in me, romantically. My face grew hot, and my emotions skyrocketed. I plunged face-first into several increasingly elaborate fantasies of how splendid this evening could turn out.
“We could still go look,” I ventured, “If you wanted to. I mean, we don’t have to go. We could just stay here.”
Seth hummed and downed his beer, finishing it in a few, quick gulps. “Can we walk there?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “There’s a junk shop just a couple of blocks over. I think they close at eight.”
My phone said it was six.
Seth hopped off his stool and stretched, arching his back. He grinned at me; his hazel eyes brilliant with mischief. “That sounds good. Let me close out, and we’ll head over. I’ve never been to a junk shop.”
Not a shock to find out.
After we closed our tabs, we headed out.
The night was cool, but not unpleasant. I stowed my hands in my pockets and fidgeted with my phone.
Bluehaven was busy tonight, people coming and going in all directions.
Women passed, wearing short party dresses.
Groups of men lingered outside the bars.
I felt a shiver of displacement, as if I were an imposter and didn’t belong.
As I took the lead to the junk shop, I glanced at Seth from the corner of my eye. He seemed completely at ease, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “So, what do you do?” I asked.
If anything. Seth’s primary occupation was probably being rich.
“I’m an actor,” he replied.
“That makes sense.”
Seth furrowed his brow and glanced at me, his eyes questioning. “Does it?”
“Well, sure, you’re a—”
Very attractive man.
“—wealthy. It makes sense that you’d be something like that.”
Seth laughed. “Oh, I don’t even break even on the acting. It’s a money pit. My grandfather's money, and his grandfather before him. So, old money. I didn’t do a damn thing to earn it.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered.
Seth opened his mouth like he meant to say something, but then, closed it without another word.