Chapter Sixteen
Clark
I got the phone call from Mars on what was supposed to be my day off. The day I actually did the giant pile of laundry that had been building and maybe went for a bike ride if the weather held out.
And tried not to obsess about Mars and Rip. That was my main goal of the day. Not to obsess about the fact that I had hung out with Rip Cirillo and had a good time, and the fact that Mars kept complimenting me and acting nice, even though we hadn’t had sex again.
Or the fact that they were… whatever they were.
Friends? Lovers? Secret boyfriends?
Which is what I was thinking about while I folded my sweaters, placing them carefully in my dresser. My room was very minimal and very organized. A necessity, in order to live among the fabulous Valeria decorations that ran rampant in the rest of the house. I was thinking to myself,You should just ask Mars more about his relationship with Rip, instead of making things up in your head, and then the phone rang.
“Mars?”
“Hey Clarkle,” he said, making me giggle with the new nickname. “What are you doing? Are you free?”
“Kind of,” I said. “What’s happening?”
“My truck broke down, and I need to get to a piercing appointment. Two, in fact.” I heard him take a deep breath, then sigh. “I could pay you?”
“It’s no problem,” I said brightly. “Text me the address where you are?”
“Sure, I’m just at the apartment. Thanks! You’re a lifesaver.”
I hurried around like a deranged xenomorph, changing clothes and checking my hair, then changing clothes again and checking my hair again. After feeling a bit more relaxed around Rip, I was almost ready to think about another hookup with Mars.
Or if not, to at least let him lay his hands on my chest again and rub his thumb across my cheek.
By the time I got to the apartment where he and Rip lived, Mars was sitting on the front porch with a woman in a long wool jacket and a stocking cap. I started to park the car, but he ran out to me immediately.
“Thanks for coming!” he said as he hopped in. “One client owns a tattoo parlor. The other runs some hip bar downtown. It would have been the death blow to my career if I missed the appointments and pissed them off.” He flipped down the visor, then ran his hands through his hair. “I really thought I was going to screw this up. You’re the best, Clark.”
“No problem,” I said. “Just tell me where to drive.”
I asked about the piercing business, and Mars launched into some detailed stories about the piercing community in Seattle. It was apparently quite large, and for whatever reason, his style really caught on there.
“Makes sense,” he said. “I mean, hot gay guys with tattoos is one of my favorite things, too.”
I cleared my throat. “And hot gay guys without tattoos,” I added.
Mars leaned a little closer. “Lately, I’ve had a thing for guys with glasses,” he said.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so much and all the flirty jokes Mars made as we drove around town. When he did his piercings, I hung out in the background and tried to look mysterious. He fell into his easy joking with the two women who had booked him, and they each took his advice, going for looks that they called “classic.” His playboy qualities could usually make him look a little flighty and ungrounded, but now that I saw him at work, I saw how those charms relaxed his clients and helped make the whole piercing experience a fun one.
Even though my mouth clamped shut the second I got around his clients, I still felt excited to be there. I was imagining myself as Mars’s cool, silent boyfriend, which was much different than how I usually imagined myself.
By the time I got back to drop him off, it was dusk, and I was thinking about the pile of half-folded laundry waiting at home again. That was when my plans got derailed for a second time that day.
Rip ran up to the car as I let Mars out, then popped his head in. “Hey, Clark,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” I answered, trying not to switch into my awkward mode around him again. “Just heading home to fold laundry.”
“Why don’t you stay for dinner instead? I just made too much pizza.”
I tilted my head to the side, thinking about it. “You made pizza?”
Rip shrugged. “It’s kind of my thing. Come on up, have a slice.” He slapped his hand against the top of the car a couple of times, then rose back up to his feet.
