“I know, Sam.”
But what he’s really saying isNo.
“I’m not saying this to discourage you,” Chief Peterson says.“I want you to apply.But I also want you to know what I’m looking for in a candidate.”
I nod.I even mumble something about thanks.Somehow, I find my way out of the office.I even close the door behind me, real careful, because Gran says being polite never killed nobody.
2
Gray
I’ve got a million things to do, and this thirsty twink isn’t one of them.
It’s one of those things, not too long ago, I would have said out loud.But, you know, self-improvement and growth and all that shit.
It also probably would have cranked little Robin’s motor, and that’s exactly what Idon’tneed.
“I don’t know how you carry all those boxes,” Robin says.He’s walking backward in front of me, about six inches off center so that he can see me—and, I suspect, more importantly so that I can see him—around the boxes.“God, you’re so strong.”
“Stairs,” I say so he doesn’t fall and break his thirsty neck.
Robin doesn’t even glance back as he prances up the steps.“Do you work out?Youhave towork out.I can see your biceps.”
“Door.”
He makes it through the door without even looking.I’m starting to think he’s practiced this.
“I bet you could lift me right up into the air,” Robin says.He’s got pink lips, blue eyes, perfectly coiffed hair.He’s wearing a little makeup, and honestly, it looks good on him.“I bet you could hold me there as long as you needed.”
“While I fuck you,” I say.
Robin trips over a chair.
“Or is that not what you meant?”I ask as I move around the desk.
It’s not much of an office.It’s more of a closet, actually, where somebody managed to shoehorn in a desk and a chair and yes, even a filing cabinet.You can see where they ripped out a set of shelves at one point, and the fluorescent panel overhead flickers constantly, which means by the end of the night, I’ll have a headache concentrated behind one eye.It still smells like mop.Like every building on Wroxall College’s campus, it’s got a bizarre layout, apparently because everything here was built before anybody invented a job called architect—I have no idea what the little suite of rooms we were given was originally meant for, but what matters is this weird little space is ours.For now.
Robin is already on his feet again, leaning against the desk slinkily.I think the point is to let me know I could put his legs behind his ears if I wanted to.If the fall bothers him, he doesn’t give any sign of it.He gives me a little smile and says, “I’ll have to check my schedule.”
You have to give him credit for trying.And to be fair, if we’d met a year ago…
“Is there something I can help you with?”I ask as I set the box of phones—yes, phones; real, old-fashioned phones—on the desk.“Or do you want to start doing the work I’m not paying you to do?”
“What about you?”Robin asks.“Any plans this weekend?”
“Get out.”
“Any hot dates?”
“Out.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
“Fuckin’ A.”I pull out the chair and give him a look.“Work, Robin.Now.”
“It’s because you’re stressed.You never take a break.You need to relax.You need to have some fun.”
“Interesting idea.I’ll consider it while you’re out there doing some fucking work.”
