Javier smiled. “You just seemed in a bad place the last time I saw you. I was concerned.”
Bowie stopped walking, turning to face him, planting his feet like he was steeling himself for a fight. “Why?”
Javier tilted his head, examining the lock of hair that fell over the boy’s one eye, fighting the urge to push it out of his face. “What do you mean why?”
“I mean, I’m not a child. You’re a child victim advocate according to your card. I didn’t call you, but here you are, waiting outside my work after seeing me for all of five minutes in a police station. Why are you here?”
He was direct. Javier liked that. He hated subtext. “When you were giving that cop a verbal beat down, you said the man who assaulted you was following you, harassing you. That don’t sit right with me. I don’t like bullies, so I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
The boy flushed beneath his mottled bruises, his apple green eyes narrowed in confusion. “How did you even find me?”
Honesty was the best policy. “I heard them say your name at the station. I asked a friend to do a little research.”
Bowie let out a deep breath and started to walk again, languidly this time, like he was waiting for Javier to catch up. “You get that’s kind of creepy, right? Like, do your bosses know you, like, look up strangers online and follow them to their place of employment?”
Javier gave a wry smile. “It was my boss’s husband who found your information, so I guess, yeah, he does. But since I never actually cared enough to look up a total stranger before, I guess they figured it was worth the risk. They trust my judgment.”
Once more, Bowie gave him a wary glance. “You don’t really look like any victim advocate I’ve ever seen before.”
“No? What do I look like?” Javier asked, amused.
Bowie shrugged. “Like somebody with intimate knowledge of a prison cell?”
Javier smiled, winking when Bowie looked his way. “I know my way around the yard.”
“So, you have been to jail,” Bowie said, tensing.
“I’ve been to several.”
“That’s…”
Javier wiggled his brows. “Hot?”
“I was going to say alarming,” he countered, voice clipped.
“Liar,” Javier said.
They walked a short way in silence, Bowie watching the street and Javier watching Bowie.
“Are you…are you flirting with me? Is that what this is?”
Javier chuckled, tilting his head. “I don’t know, angel. I thought we were just taking a walk.”
Bowie grew flustered. “Guys who look like you don’t call guys who look like me angel. Not unless they’re about to, like, beat them up or something.”
Javier liked the way Bowie looked when he was flustered. He had a valid point. Javier didn’t consider himself gay or straight or even bisexual, really. He’d been with more women than men, but he’d always had bigger things to worry about than the genitals of the person he was getting off with.
In Mexico, he’d stuck with women because it was the easy thing to do, the least problematic thing to do. Gun running and murder were pretty testosterone fueled businesses, so why rock the boat if he didn’t have to? But after his last bid—after he’d told histíohe was out for good—he’d found himself a lot more open to exploring his options. He knew what he liked and he dared anybody to have a problem with it.
But, if he was being honest, Bowie wasn’t his type. He liked women with soft curves and men who presented more masculine. But there was something about this boy. Javier liked the way his hips moved as he walked, like he put all the weight on the balls of his feet. He liked the wide set of his mouth and the way his bottom lip was just slightly bigger than his top lip. He liked his thick dark brows and hooded lids that made Javier want to know what it would look like to have him staring up at him with those long lashes and those big green eyes. “You don’t want me to call you angel?”
“It’s probably bad form to flirt with a rape victim. Like, isn’t that in the manual?” Bowie said, flushing. Javier couldn’t help but notice he avoided answering his question.
This time, Javier couldn’t help but snicker. “I work for an organization that rescues animals and advocates for children. I’m pretty sure they didn’t think they needed to write down that we’re not to flirt with those two very distinct groups.”
Bowie glanced at him, seemingly trying to hold back a laugh, before giving in, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, that would be gross.”
Javier did his best to mask the gut-punch that was Bowie’s smile, but it was near impossible. He’d heard people talk about smiles that lit up rooms and it always sounded fucking insane, but Bowie’s could power all of LA. Javier felt himself smiling just because Bowie was, and it felt rude not to smile back. Like he’d disappoint him somehow, and Javier suddenly couldn’t think of anything worse than being the one to wipe a smile off Bowie’s face.
