I didn’t hold back my sigh. “Charley, it’s…complicated, all right? I will explain, but I’m not sure a drive in the dark is the best place for it.”
“Is something going on? Like, are you really spies or something? ’Cause I don’t think I wanna be mixed up in anything dodgy. More dodgy than the shit I’m in already.” He sounded suddenly very young and unsure.
“It’s not like that, I promise you. And it’s a bit late to worry about getting mixed up in dodgy shit. May I remind you we only met because I nearly ran you over? While you were running from folk who say you were involved in a murder. Can’t get much dodgier than that.”
It was Charley’s turn to sigh. “I’ve been trying to forget.” He groaned, and scrubbed frustrated fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp the way I wanted to. I ignored the way my cock suddenly lurched against my fly, and tried to redirect the conversation.
“Can’t you ask me something easier?”
He thought for a moment. “Okay. How come you’re able to head off across the country without, I dunno, checking in with your work, or asking for time off or whatever? You can’t be poor, not with this motor, and you’ve got expensive taste. Did you rob a bank?”
“Ahh, that I can answer. Have you heard of Milton’s Relish?”
Charley gave a derisive snort. “You being funny?Everyone’sheard of it. Why?”
I shot him a sheepish grin as we rounded a tight corner. “I’m the heir to Milton’s.”
He gave a low whistle. “Damn, that’s a big deal. You’re proper loaded then. Are you, like, the CEO or whatever they call it? The head honcho?”
Milton’s was almost as famous worldwide as Heinz, except we didn’t diversify nearly as much as they did; sauces were our thing. The relish was the original product that had launched my great-grandfather’s career into the stratosphere, and by a combination of rampant sexism (my grandfather’s) and good luck (mine), I was his sole heir.
The road straightened out and I stuck the SUV into cruise control while the going was good. “Kind of, but I have a board of directors who manage the company. My grandpa still runs it day to day. Doesn’t want to retire, or something like that. Which means I’m pretty much a figurehead unless I get called into a meeting.” I knew I was grimacing as I admitted everyone else on the board was at least twice my age, and that they tended to treat me as a combination of a spoiled little rich boy and a potentially dangerous pet. Which, to be fair, had its benefits, especially the dangerous pet part. Ha, if only they knew! I finished my little spiel by saying, “And yes, as you put it, I am loaded. I’m incredibly lucky, and I know it.” I managed a genuine smile. “That’s why I have the time, and the resources, to offer a helping hand.”
“Nice.” After a beat he said, “You looking for a sugar baby?”
Delivered in his deadpan way, it took me a moment before I burst out laughing, although I also shuddered. “I don’t want anybody calling me daddy unless they’re in primary school, thank you very much. The rest, I’m willing to negotiate.”
Charley’s laughter gurgled over the low background hum of the radio, and I joined in. I knew he was troubled, so it was good to give him something to smile about. The radio crackled, so I suggested he scroll through the music apps on my phone for something he liked. He fiddled about until he settled on a playlist he pronounced suitable for the occasion. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but he hummed along and seemed to relax a fraction.
We drove on, and he fed me fruit from the back seat, refusing anything himself. “Not even a drink?” I persisted, but he said he wasn’t thirsty, so I didn’t push it. He was a grown man, even if he did look like the twinkiest twink who ever twinked. His gothic pallor and kick-ass clothing style had initially led me to believe he was a tough guy, but it was merely armour over what I suspected was a very soft centre. And by now I was almost certain the pallor wasn’t a fashion statement.
A train of thought which led me to ask,
“You know your sensitivity to light? Have you ever had it investigated?”Do you know what you are? If so, please tell me, because I don’t, and it’s bugging me. I have my suspicions, but I can’t totally trust them, not even if I can tell Gethin thinks the same.
“No.” Charley looked at me. “Do you think I’m sick? Like, I’ve got some terminal condition or something? I’ve been thinking perhaps things aren’t…right, exactly, but I don’t know what I’d even say to a doctor. Oh god! D’you think I’ve got a brain tumour? Jeez, I’m only nineteen. That would suck.”
I chuckled in spite of his obvious anxiety. “I really don’t think so. Take a breath, man. You’ve got other symptoms, don’t you? Have you always had them?”
He explained, with some prompting, how he’d always been inclined to sensitivity towards light, especially bright sunlight. “Which wasn’t generally annoying, considering we live in England,” he chuckled. “I’d already nailed the goth aesthetic by about age eight, so if we got any really amazing weather, I’d hide indoors with a book or my action figures, constructing elaborate fantasy stories. At school I even persuaded gullible teachers I enjoyed helping tidy the classroom rather than go out to play. I was such a dork. Mind you,” another chuckle, “I’d also leg it out the bedroom window and off the porch roof as soon as the sun went down, so I could play in the garden.”
“Oh, I bet your parents were thrilled with that,” I murmured.
“Mmm. Let’s say they found me…trying. My penchant for escaping in the dark was nothing compared to the worst shit I did.” He huffed a couple of short breaths down his nose, and his scent changed to one of embarrassment — no, something stronger. Mortification?
“My parents are strict vegetarians. Not quite vegans, but really into sustaining the planet, low food miles, you name it. So, that’s them. And then there was me.”
“Go on.” What the fuck was he about to admit to, stealing sweeties from the corner shop? Raiding other kids’ pack-ups for their Lunchables?
“Well, obviously, kids run about a lot. And because they’re clumsy as hell, they’re always falling over. And they bleed. Sometimes quite a lot.”
I bit my lip as I felt my eyes widen. He wasnotgoing there, was he?
He sighed. “Apparently I had a thing about running up to whoever was bleeding — and bear in mind this could be at any random park where I didn’t know anyone — and licking at the blood. Imagine the picture here.” His syllables came out strained. “Some poor little toddler has gone arse over tit at the playground, is yelling blue murder for their mum, and there’s me, also a toddler, doing the four-minute mile to get there before mop-up time with tissues and plasters. That’s not even the worst part.”
“It’s not?” I tried to sound interested but non-judgmental.Damn, I think I was right.
“Nah, it’s definitely not. I mean, that’s weird enough, and a bit freaky. But it was chalked up to being some strange form of attention-seeking due to having been adopted. They like to say everything’s about being adopted.” I glanced over and saw him rolling his eyes. “When I got a bit older, and oh god, I remember doing this…” He hid his face in his hands. “When I got older, nobody fell over so much, but I still wanted to lick them, so baby psycho Charley resorted to taking chunks out of other parents’ precious poppets instead.”
