Owning It (Metropolis #3)(13)

"Have I lived in Atlanta all my life?" he repeats. "I throw myself at you and you want to make small talk?"

There's no real reason for me to be here making small talk with him. I can understand his confusion but somehow, I know Derek would hate to know I saw him at the home. "Yes."

He frowns again, and I can tell my simple answer throws him. "You are so weird. Fine. I'm from the 'burbs in North Carolina. I grew up there." He shifts as though he feels uncomfortable.

"What do you do?" I ask him next, trying to get away from a subject that he's obviously iffy on.

"I started at Georgia State but realized it wasn't me. I enrolled in beauty school, and I'm fucking fierce at what I do, of course. I'm a hair stylist. I can help you out with that, if you want."

"Are you saying there's something wrong with my hair?" I run a hand over my hair. It's buzzed short on top and even shorter on the sides-a little lighter than my brown and gray beard. "I like it."

"I like it too. It felt good against the palm of my hand."

"We're getting off track, Derek."

"No. I'm getting on track. You're the one who's off it, and Jesus, do you know what it does to me when you talk like that? If I didn't want to fuck you, I'd hate it, but as is, it's hot." 

And so is he. I am so fucking in trouble with him. "What about your family?" I ask, trying to piece together who he was seeing.

"What is this? Fifty questions? Most of my family is back home. We're not very close. They've never been real fond of my choices."

"Being gay?" I question.

"That among other things. My parents aren't religious. At least, not too much, but their families both are, so homophobia just sort of got passed along. They just disapprove … and I think I was obvious enough from the get-go that they weren't going to try to talk me out of it."

"I'm sorry they were like that," I say, meaning it. That shit is so fucked up. My mom is a lot of things, but she would never have given a shit who I loved or fucked.

He pushes his bangs off his forehead and rolls his eyes. He's definitely not comfortable talking about anything personal … and I shouldn't care about knowing anything about him either. He shouldn't be as intriguing to me as he is. "So, no family here?"

"My uncle, Randy. He's … well, the only one who really gives a shit. Anyway, boring. It's my turn now. I want to talk about you."

And now I know exactly who he was seeing-his uncle. He was taking care of his uncle because his uncle is maybe one of the only people Derek lets take care of him. "Shoot." This time it's me who shifts uncomfortably, but I figure I owe him.

"Have you lived in Atlanta your whole life? Do you have family around other than your wife and kid?"

"I spent most of my life going from state to state. Mom was always chasing love and dragging me around while she did it. Or chasing a job, or change, or running, I guess. We moved here when I was sixteen. Met Steph-she's my ex. Mom wanted to move, I refused. Steph got pregnant when we were eighteen and still in high school. I sure as shit wasn't going to let my son grow up the way I did. My life has been about him ever since. Mom's here too."

"Holy shit. You were young."

"Hardly nineteen when he was born."

"Jesus." Derek shakes his head. "That's some crazy shit. So, now what?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He leans closer. "I get it now … the caretaker stuff, but I don't need you to take care of me. You've spent your life doing that."

I don't know any other way to be. …

"Now what are you going to do for you?"

"I'm fine." I shake my head. "I have everything I need." Even if I didn't, I have too many other things to worry about besides that.





6




Derek


He's serious, but playful. Stubborn, but charming as fuck.

I have such a hard time reading Jackson, and I'm good at reading people.

Always have been. It's how I survived being around my siblings growing up and the kids at school. But Jackson's not an easy read, and that's frustrating and intriguing at the same time.

Even more frustrating is this game of Twenty Questions about my life. Guys ask me questions all the time but trivial ones: what music I like, how my day was, if I watch RuPaul's Drag Race-and of course, I do. But I'm not used to guys wanting to get to know me, and it weirds me out a little. Like really getting to know me.

"You obviously don't have everything you need," I tell him. I pop the lid off my coffee cup and run my forefinger along the edge of the rim, not trying to be subtle. "Something brought you out to Cockfight the other night. You were looking for something."