Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Thank you for bringing us lunch.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been working so hard, and Darius never eats right. I wanted you to have some decent sustenance.”
Darius scowled. “I eat just fine.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Just because I treat myself sometimes doesn’t—”
Her glare stopped his words.
He reached for the basket. “Thank you. We’d best get back to work now.”
“He does need to work on his manners,” Marc said.
Darius was going to kill him, but Clarice beamed. “I like this boy.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s a grown man who has work to do.”
“Hmpf. He’s probably more mature than you.”
Marc tried not to laugh.
“I’m going back to work.” Darius stomped off.
Clarice turned to Marc. “Do you like musicals?”
An interesting non sequitur. “I love them.”
“Good. Darius and I have season tickets to the Fox Theater, but my granddaughter is in a play this weekend, so I won’t be able to use my ticket Saturday night. I thought you might want it.”
Holy shit. She was trying to set them up. Marc glanced at Darius, who was now standing next to Clarice. He looked like he was contemplating what implement in the shop would make the best murder weapon. As much as he wanted to go out with Darius on a real date, not just a Netflix-and-chill, he didn’t want it to happen against Darius’s will.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing this weekend. My friend Riley’s getting married, and he—”
“The ticket’s for Book of Mormon. It’s a really good show.”
“Oh, wow.” Marc had wanted to see it for years.
She handed the ticket to him, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking it. He and Darius didn’t have to go as a date.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
Clarice nodded. “My daughter took me to see it in New York.”
Darius jumped and spluttered. Marc was fairly certain Clarice had kicked him. “We can go together. It’s fine. The ticket shouldn’t be wasted.”
His words were stilted and unsure. It was almost cute.
Clarice rolled her eyes. “You really are dense, aren’t you? Bless your heart.”
Darius tensed, clenching his fists. “I think you have somewhere to be.” Hell maybe, he mouthed when Clarice turned away.
“It’s so nice seeing you again,” she said to Marc. “You’ll love the show. I laughed the whole time.”
“I’ve heard it’s amazing.” Marc was having a bit of a hard time reconciling a polite southern matron like Clarice enjoying what he’d heard was an absurdly offensive performance.
“It is,” Darius said.
“You’ve seen it before?”
“My daughter included him in the trip. He’s basically family.” She gave Marc what seemed to be a pointed look.
Was it a warning? Don’t hurt this arrogant, rude man who didn’t want to go out with him.
“I’m glad to know Darius has someone to look after him.”
Clarice gave a sly smile over her shoulder as she opened the door. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job as a stand-in.”
When she was gone, he risked looking at Darius. “I like her a lot.”
“You would,” he said and stomped to the back.
***
During a stretch between clients on Friday afternoon, Darius stepped into the workroom. “So do you want to go to Book of Mormon together or what?”
Why was he so fucking nervous? His voice actually shook.
Marc looked almost as unsure as he felt. “Whatever works.”
Not going to make it easy, are you?
“Well, we might as well if we’re sitting together anyway, and I guess we need to eat some dinner and…”
Marc studied him carefully. “Are you asking me out?”
“I’m just saying we need to eat.”
“So you’re not asking me out.”
Darius closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “I’m… Do you want me to?”
“Maybe, but I’m not the one who made the rule against it.”
Darius waved him toward the couch. “Sit down. I’m going to tell you a story, one I expect you not to repeat.” One I never thought I’d tell a soul.
“Okay, I—”
“Just sit.”
Marc’s eyes widened at his sharp tone. Why did he always sound like such a grumpy bastard around Marc?
Because that’s what I am.
“Remember the arsehole I mentioned working for when I came back to America? His shop focused on repairs and alterations, not design, but it paid the rent and didn’t involve accounting. My boss, Oscar, was fine as fuck, and one night he asked me to work late. We ended up fucking in his office. The fucking became a habit, and I fancied myself his boyfriend. I told him I wanted to design clothes, not just reconstruct them. He claimed to want to go in with me and offered to loan me money. I was so bloody naive. He kept putting me off, saying he needed some time to get money together, all the while getting…rougher with me. He kept insisting I do things I wasn’t comfortable with, and he made it clear that if I left, I would lose my job and the chance at a loan, a loan he said the bank would never give me. A young black man get money from a bank? He laughed at the idea, and he didn’t bother to use a term as polite as ‘black.’”