20 Ian
Ian
Ian stares at the bulbous reflection of Heart-Eyes for a heartbeat, then ducks down behind the counter.
They know this isn’t a long-term plan, but it’s the first thing they can think of.
Hide. Maybe they can text for help? Except their phone is still on the counter.
Heart-Eyes would definitely notice a hand popping up and grabbing it.
They listen to the sound of the door closing and footsteps coming farther into the store.
They stop, then pace for a moment. Maybe he’ll leave.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then the sound of a page turning.
Is he…browsing? Ian waits a minute or so more, or it could be an hour, they’re not sure.
Then they hear it again, another page turning.
They wonder how they can get out of this. There’s the back room, but the door is closed, so while they could crawl to it, opening it would still attract attention.
There’s the sound of another page turning.
If he were here to kill Ian, he’d be tearing the place apart, right? Maybe they should just stand up?
Seems insane. But so do all the other options. So they take a deep breath and stand.
There he is, standing in the middle of the store, heart-eyes tattoo facing Ian.
He’s flipping through QUEER COLORS . He glances over as Ian pops up, gasping slightly.
“Oh, you scared me. Drop a contract or something?” His voice is softer than Ian expected.
In the light of the shop, and without the distraction of performing and waitressing, they can take in more of him in the light, too: tall, broad-shouldered, all muscle.
White, maybe thirties with brown hair and blue eyes.
Ian doesn’t think they’re the eyes of a killer. Not that they would know.
Heart-Eyes looks back at the page of QUEER COLORS and seems to really take it in. He smiles a little. It looks natural on him.
“Earring,” Ian lies, tapping the one that dangles. “Found it.”
“It’s pretty,” Heart-Eyes says, looking over at them.
“Can I help you find something?” Ian asks, swallowing down their nervousness. Trying to treat this as normal.
Heart-Eyes smiles, looks back at the book, flips the page.
“This is really lovely work in here,” he says.
He walks over to the counter, still staring at the piece on the page: a pastel of two men sixty-nineing.
“I like art. It’s my name, so I tried to avoid it a lot, but as I get older, I find I like museums more and more.
I wish I hadn’t been so insecure as a kid, y’know? Maybe I’d be a painter now.”
“It’s never too late to start,” Ian says. They can feel their hands shaking, so they lay them on the counter. “We have some great introduction-to-painting books. Even some coloring books if you want to start small.”
Heart-Eyes looks up and smiles, and Ian’s heart beats faster. Is this guy about to kill them with a highbrow erotic coffee-table book? But Heart-Eyes just puts it gently on the counter. There’s a dent from his fingers in the cover though. Strong hands. Maybe he’s trying to hold back his anger.
Ian tries to remember if he heard the click of the door locking when Heart-Eyes came in. If they just run and try to open the door, will they have to unlock it first? How fast can a man this big chase after them?
“Yeah, a coloring book sounds fun. Where are they?”
Ian steps out from behind the counter, still trying not to shake too obviously, and leads him over to the adult coloring books, some of which are very adult. Heart-Eyes smirks, taking down a Tom of Finland coloring book and flipping through the very explicit drawings. His smile grows wider.
“I’m a Kinsey two,” he offers, still flipping. “I hadn’t even heard of Kinsey, until this sex worker I’d hired in the UK—beautiful, and she had this friend—asked if I wanted some company. He was a man.”
Ian nods, not sure what to make of this. Ian eyes the muscles in his arms and then legs. He could definitely run fast. And he’s tall enough, his arms long enough that he could probably just reach out and grab Ian’s collar if they tried to run. Especially if the door is locked.
“We had a great time. I mean, sure, in the military I’d fooled around with guys, because that’s what there was.
Always had fun, and I wasn’t one of those men who wouldn’t bend over or suck a dick or kiss, y’know?
I liked everything. But didn’t realize there was a scale for it until then.
We were taking a break, me and these two good-looking Brits, and just talking, and that’s how they taught me about it. Kinsey two, we decided. Maybe three.”
He closes the book and pulls out another, this one Georgia O’Keeffe.
He nods as he flips though. His nails are short and clean, which feels like a serial-killer thing on a man this big, though Ian isn’t sure why.
“Then there was this other sex worker in Vegas. They really are the smartest people, you know. And I told her I was a Kinsey two, and she laughed. She was trans, had a dick, which I didn’t mind, and she said she thought I was pansexual but heteroromantic.
Said maybe I wasn’t even really heteroromantic, it’s just I felt I had to be because of societal pressure, y’know?
” He looks up at Ian as if expecting an answer. Ian nods.
“So I don’t know,” he says, turning back to the coloring book.
“I know it’s bad to try to put yourself in a box, but it’s comforting, too.
The sex worker, the second one, she said I should think of myself, think of everybody, really, as fluid, always evolving and changing, and being open to attraction or falling in love with whoever.
So that’s what I try to be.” He looks up and breaks into a wide, almost-innocent grin.
If Ian hadn’t gotten a text earlier saying this man was a dangerous merc, they might almost be charmed by all this, would probably be flirting a little. So they smile, try to act normal.
“I’ll take these two,” Heart-Eyes says. “And the art book. Thanks for the recommendation. I just need to find some crayons or pencils or something.”
“We sell those, too,” Ian says numbly, walking over to the kids’ section and picking up a small box of pre-sharpened colored pencils.
“You’re amazing,” Heart-Eyes says, taking the box.
“Just happy to help,” Ian says instinctively, walking back over to the counter, terrified of how their back is to this man, how vulnerable they’re letting themself be.
But anything else would be suspicious. Heart-Eyes follows them and puts the pencils and coloring books on top of QUEER COLORS , then slides them over to the register.
Ian rings them up and takes the offered credit card, noting the name: Arthur Smith. He should let the others know that.
“Hey,” Heart-Eyes says, after Ian has handed him the bag of books. “Thanks for letting me ramble. I know it was oversharing.”
Ian forces a smile, trying to act normal, and shrugs. “No worries, we love it when our customers are inspired to open up to us.”
Heart-Eyes grins. “Any chance I could get your number? I mean, like I said, trying to be open to whatever happens, and what’s happened is I think you’re cute.”
Ian feels their eyes go wide. If they say no, do they get killed? But if they say yes, that feels like an invitation to violence, too, right? They know better than to date someone dangerous. They’re supposed to be the dangerous one in the relationship.
No, wait, that’s probably not good either.
“You don’t have to say yes,” Heart-Eyes says after a moment.
“Sorry,” Ian says, forcing that smile again.
“I was just taken aback. We’re not supposed to give our information to customers though.
Sorry.” Two sorrys. That’s a record—just make them nervous, and apparently apologizing is easy.
But they sigh in a way that they hope sounds sincerely wistful, like Brandon would if a handsome customer came in and asked for his number.
Heart-Eyes nods. “I get it. Well, thanks for all the help today anyway.”
“Sure,” Ian says. They stare a moment at each other before Heart-Eyes takes his bag of books and leaves.
Ian counts to sixty in their head, then screams. Which is just when Kate walks back in, holding two coffees. She startles back, spilling some coffee on the floor. Ian stops screaming, and they look at each other for a moment.
“Got a bad text back, huh?” Kate asks, moving past them warily. “There’s a pillow in the back I use to muffle my sobs, if you want it.”
Ian does a quick calculation in their head—as much as they want to tell Kate everything, that would be putting her in danger, so instead they just take a deep breath and shake their head. “Just needed to get that out.”
“I hear ya,” Kate says, handing them their coffee.
Ian takes a long sip of the coffee, wishing it were spiked.
“My treat because I need your help unloading stock,” Kate adds.
Ian frowns; so much for texting everyone immediately.
They follow her to the back room, which is half office, half storeroom, a desk in one corner and then boxes and boxes of books.
“New releases,” she says, pointing. “Get ’em all on the shelves. ”
Ian sighs.
“I’ll buy you lunch, too, from that sushi place you like.”
Ian smirks. “For doing my job?”
“For doing the part you don’t like.”
“Fine.” Ian turns away to hide their smile. The tips at the Wreck Room weren’t good the other night, so they were probably just going to skip lunch today. And tomorrow. Somehow it’s like Kate always knows. They hate that they need the charity but are glad for it anyway.
They grab a pair of scissors off the desk, slice open the first box, take the books out in a pile, and walk back into the front room to start shelving them. Kate turns back to her computer to work on the billing.