I just got the damned thing fixed. Even if it’s still under their thirty-day warranty like the guy said, it’s still a hassle to drop it off and collect it. To do without it for the few days it takes for them to work out what’s wrong.
Trent pings my phone as I turn it on, coming out of the lecture hall, offering me a lift. There’s a small wriggle of worry about his closeness, what thoughts he might be growing, but I push it away.
He has a fetish, but he’s nice, he’s sweet. Instead of wrinkling my nose that he’s crowding me, I should be grateful while it lasts.
Channelling my inner Finley, I wave to him where he’s parked in the student carpark. “Just passing by, were you?”
He shrugs. “Nowhere near but I didn’t want you to harangue my investigator again while he’s just doing his job.”
“Harangue.” The word makes me snort.
“What else would you call it when you steal his car keys then take him for everything he owns.”
“Finley was the one owning his arse, I just sat back and watched.” I stow my laptop in the footwell, giving it a tiny kick. “Would you mind dropping me at a computer repair shop in town? My laptop’s on the fritz.”
He glances across, then takes out his phone, sending a text to someone. A minute later, there’s a buzz as it’s returned. “Don’t worry about the shop. My friend’s coming over to your flat to take a look.”
“Right. And he’s a computer repairman?”
Trent tosses me an amiable smile. “Something like that.”
I sit back, giving up on this fight because it doesn’t matter, and I already feel good from hiring someone so easily for the planned event.
It’s weird to have a wriggle of excitement about a job. Even when I enjoy the physical aspects of my work, or the slow unwind of interactions after, it’s still work. It’s still something I’d rather pass on in favour of going home and reading or watching tv while inhaling snacks.
But now… this isn’t like my usual jobs. I can hear my mother’s voice turning strident as she gets into her lecture. On what I should or shouldn’t do. On how I keep myself safe.
The safety part isn’t just physical.
It’s the mental strain of forming intimate relationships then unhooking them at the end of a scene. The delicate handling required when someone becomes too enthusiastic, wants too much of my time, and I have to pull back before a preference becomes an obsession or worse.
Now, here I am, leaping into this thing with a boy who I feel a growing connection with. The push and pull of a normal relationship based on interest and attraction rather than the transactive nature of my usual job.
I should walk away but even if it weren’t for the threat from my mystery card deliverer, I don’t know that it would be that easy. Even this early, the first tentative tendrils of a relationship are putting down roots.
It’s the same way I felt after a week spent living with Finley. We clicked immediately and I can’t see a future without us being in each other’s lives, no matter what they might entail.
At home, Trent parks across the road and waves to another vehicle, already waiting at the curb. A lanky boy gets out and I stare for a moment, gobsmacked.
He’s remarkable. Like someone pointed to all their favourite bits of their favourite humans and wove them together into the world’s tastiest snack. Enough to satisfy any girl’s hunger.
Then his blank eyes meet mine and I glance away as a shiver catches hold of me. Trent’s warm gaze is the perfect antidote, heating me back to normal.
“This is Caylon,” Trent says, putting his arm around my waist. His hand lands on my hip like it’s natural, like it belongs there. “He’s a tech genius.”
“Compared to my friends,” the boy says in response, giving a half shrug before turning to stare at the flat. “If you stacked me against an actual genius, I’d fall short. This you?” He gestures across the road and, when I nod, he leads the way, falling into an alpha position with so little fanfare that I hide a smile.
He has to drop back when we get to the door and I unlock it, waving them through before I secure it behind us, putting my useless laptop on the table.
“It froze in the middle of class,” I say, the explanation probably falling short on detail, but I don’t know enough to add more. “The same thing happened a few weeks ago, and I got it repaired but I guess it didn’t stick.”
“Sure.” He unrolls a mat with a tiny set of tools that make me think I should go have an eye exam soon.
“You want something to eat or drink?”
Caylon barely registers the words, and Trent answers, “No,” for him, then drags me over to the couch to keep out of his friend’s way.
It doesn’t take long. The boy glances over with a confused expression. “You said this had been repaired?”
