Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Carl murmured, “That was amazing. I love to be touched. Massaged.”
“Everyone in here got that.” Grayson cleared his throat, and it turned into a rather violent coughing fit.
Carl scooted off his chair and plunked himself beside Grayson, clapping his back. “You all right?”
Grayson nodded and ended up coughing again; Carl kept a hand roaming his wide back until he’d calmed.
“My cold is much better. Just had a strange tickle in my throat.”
Carl rested his wrist on Grayson’s shoulder and told him to wait a few more minutes before trying to leave. He looked at Grayson’s cough-flushed cheeks and his gaze swept to his even redder ears, and there—Carl hadn’t noticed before . . . He leaned in, gently touching Grayson’s ear along the shell.
He trailed his fingers off the soft, scarred skin. He whispered softly at his ear, so they couldn’t be overheard, “How did you get that?”
Grayson stilled next to him, a quiet sort of still, like he’d suspended his breath.
“Is this seat free?” A patron asked, gesturing to Carl’s chair.
Grayson lurched to his feet so fast Carl tumbled onto the floor. By the time Carl had told the patron to go for it and picked himself up, Grayson was at the counter paying for the both of them.
“I wanted to get this,” Carl said, coming up to him.
Grayson made for the exit sharpish. “Thanks for the foot afternoon. I’ve got . . . places to be. You know me, busy, busy.”
“Whoa, hold on.” Carl caught him by the sleeve outside and jostled him to the store wall to avoid being trampled. “I saw your calendar. You’re wide open.”
Grayson kept his eyes on the road and the buses coming down it. “I took work home to finish.”
“Then consider me your PA today. I’ll help.”
“It’s accounting stuff. You’d be better doing something else.”
Carl grimaced. “Accounting.”
“Lots of Excel sheets.”
Ugh. Not his favourite. But, “I’ll manage. For you.”
Grayson shifted from foot to foot. “Okay, what is a ribbon and where does it appear?”
Carl scratched fingers through his hair. “On a . . . doll?”
“It’s the main interface at the top of the Excel window allowing access to commands. What’s pivoting? Dropdowns?”
“Shifting . . . onto your knees?”
“You’ll be very bored.” Grayson escaped between two groups of tourists towards the road. “You stay and have fun in town. I’ll take the bus.”
Carl frowned and watched as Grayson hurried across the road, slumped onto the bench at the bus stop, and ground his head against his palm.
Carl didn’t chance upon Grayson for the rest of the day, or the following morning—despite a visit to Under The Raindough. Not that he had to be glued to the hip with him now that they were friends. It was just curious, since before, Grayson had haunted every other street corner.
“If being friends makes him disappear, I should have tried that at the beginning.”
His musing was interrupted by the doorbell, and Carl started towards it at a sprint, only to slow to a crawl when he realised who it would actually be. He fished out his phone and texted Grayson.
Have that piano lesson!!! Help. Help.
The message was immediately marked as read, but Grayson was not typing back. Carl heaved out a sad sigh and managed to make it to the door.
It was hard not to regain his spirits when bright-eyed Leo bubbled his way into the house holding up all his music books. “Oh wow, Jason! Look at all these awards. Amazing. I can’t believe you’re letting me touch your grand piano!”
Carl ushered him to the impressive instrument and told Leo to go ahead and “feel the magic of the ivory under your fingertips. Absorb the power of the keys.”
Grayson was right. He was fairly good at bullshitting.
“What’s our first lesson?” Leo asked eagerly.
Carl glanced from the boy on the stool to the books he’d brought with him. “Of course, today is about gauging where you’re at. If you’ll play one of the pieces you know, I’ll observe. See what good habits you have, and what ones need training out of you.”
“Minuet in F Major?”
“Minuet,” What on earth was a minuet? Could he possibly sweat more? “Excellent choice.”
Leo played, and Carl nodded soberly and jotted things on a notepad that were remarkably like Scorpio traits and compatibility, pondering Grayson’s encouragement to read his horoscopes if he liked them and wear flannel if he was more comfortable . . .
He scribbled them out and grimaced. The other times he’d played Jason, there’d been the fear of getting caught, yes, but the experience had also been energising. Praise scattered his way made him feel confident, seen. But today . . . Today playing Jason only felt stressful. “Ah, um, play a few more.”
Leo did, and when the clock struck half the hour, Carl’s perspiration had practically made a puddle on the floor. “We’ll stop there for today.”