Guyliner Page 2

  He waited for his sister to get out. The rain blurred his view of the Explorer while he sat there. He had to get over this. He’d seen the guy for a few minutes. This sudden attraction was ridiculous. Sure, he’d thought other guys were attractive before, but he’d been able to brush aside the thoughts, or block them. Deny them. For the first time, Connor was afraid brushing those awkward thoughts aside wasn’t going to be easy. All because he found an eyeliner-wearing soccer player too fascinating, too hot to ignore.

  It didn’t matter anyway. He had a plan, and nothing was going to get in the way of it. He would escape this piece of crap small town and make a future for himself. Somewhere bigger, better. Nothing could distract him from his goals. So this weird fascination with some guy—based on no more than a quick glance—needed to end. There. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. It’s over. It’s done. Back to reality.

  Chapter 2

  THE CHAOS exploding through their small house reinforced his need to stick to the plan. He loved his family, but so many people in such a small space was enough to drive him nuts.

  “Damn it, Kory, Kaleb, shut that video game off.” Dad stood at the sink, scrubbing a day’s worth of grease and oil from his hands.

  The twins completely ignored him, the sounds of the game almost loud enough to drown out their jeers and trash talk.

  If that wasn’t enough noise, his three-year-old sister Abby sat at the table and sang the theme song of her favorite cartoon.

  He stopped to ruffle her blonde curls. “Hey there, cutie.”

  The singing stopped. “Con-Con!” she squealed and grinned up at him, her blue eyes shining.

  He stooped to kiss her forehead. Mom paused as she set the plates and silverware out. She still wore a skirt and blouse, a sure sign that she’d gotten home late from her job at the Green Valley Chamber of Commerce. “Good. You’re finally home. Make sure you take off your shoes. Don’t you dare track mud through the house. Drop your stuff in your room and come down for dinner.”

  Connor rushed up the stairs to his room and tossed his bags on the foot of his bed, ignoring the mess his brothers had made on their side of the cramped space. He returned to the dining room as the rest of the family settled down at the table for Mom’s fried chicken. His stomach growled at the smells. It had been too long since lunch, and Mom didn’t make fried chicken very often. Lately she’d been on a healthy eating kick—one of her newest campaigns—so fried food of any kind was rare.

  Dishes began to make their routine cycle around the table, and he heaped his plate full of mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans.

  “What happened to you?” Dad’s sharp tone had Connor lowering the forkful of potatoes he’d lifted to his mouth.

  “What?”

  “You haven’t been fighting, have you? No school is going to offer you a scholarship if you have a history of getting into trouble, no matter how good you play ball.”

  Connor straightened in his seat, frowning at his father. “Why would you think that? Have I ever been in a fight before? It was an accident in the weight room. My grip slipped on one of the machines, and it hit my chin.”

  “Did you put any ice on it? That will help with the swelling.” His mom stood up, moving toward the freezer.

  “Mom, it’s fine.” Connor waved his mother back to her seat.

  Dad ignored this byplay and continued the lecture. “Good. With seven mouths to feed, you know your mom and I can’t afford to pay for college. So unless you want to spend your life working at the shop, you’ve got to keep up the grades, keep playing ball, and keep your nose clean.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Believe me, I know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad set his fork down with a clang.

  The twins stilled, watching the brewing argument with wide eyes. Becca looked down at her plate as if the green beans held the answers to her next biology test. Connor hated this. Hated that the constant confrontations with his dad ruined the mood of the whole family. Even so, he couldn’t make himself back down.

  “It means I’ve heard the spiel before. Believe me, I have no intention of repeating your mistakes. I’m not going to throw away all my dreams and plans by getting some chick pregnant at eighteen and getting stuck in this dead-end town.”

  Mom’s head jerked up. “Connor!”

  Dad didn’t raise his voice, but his words were icy cold. “You will watch your mouth when you speak to me. I work my ass off every day to support this family. The least I deserve is respect. God knows your mother deserves a hell of a lot more from you than that.” His dad’s face, so like Connor’s, was statue still.

  “Give me some credit, Dad. I’ve got serious plans for the future. I have no intention of screwing it up. I know what I need to do and I’m doing it, toeing the line across the board.”

  Dad slapped his palms on the table. “Don’t you think I thought the same? I had plans, too—college, a career, a family, in that order. But one mistake was all it took to ruin things for me.”

  Connor clenched his fists next to his plate. “So you remind me, all the time.”

  “Enough.” Mom’s glare took in both Connor and her husband.

  Dad looked around the table, taking in Becca’s and the twins’ worried faces. “We’re done with this discussion. Kory, Kaleb, thank your brother for his attitude. He’ll be doing dishes tonight. You two are free after dinner.”

  “Sweet!” Kory held up a fist for his twin to bump. Kaleb ignored him.

  “Whatever.” With an irritated jerk of his shoulder, Connor turned his attention back to his plate and dug into his meal.

  His mom forced a cheerful smile. “Tomorrow I’m driving to Jasper for the Rural Revitalization Coalition fundraiser. Who wants to volunteer with me?” Not that she actually expected anyone to come with her. She’d had plenty of practice lately drawing attention away from his and Dad’s arguments. Connor sighed in appreciation when the conversation turned toward everyone’s weekend plans, and shoveled more potatoes into his mouth. After the fight with his dad, the food tasted like cardboard, but since he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut around him, it was better to at least keep it full.

  WHEN WOULD Dad trust him to know what he was doing? Connor added dish soap to the rushing stream of hot water and watched the suds mound in the sink. When would he recognize all his efforts? Connor worked his ass off, to steal one of Dad’s favorite phrases, every day. He wasn’t going to stay in Green Valley his whole life, working as a mechanic in his dad’s shop. He had plans—plans that included a scholarship to a top-rated university and a career that would take him out of Indiana.

  He cut off the flow of water with a vicious twist of the faucet, grabbed the stack of plates, and slammed them on the counter near the trashcan. He scraped chicken bones and leftover potatoes into the garbage, his mind focused on the frustration bubbling in his gut.

  “You’re making a mess.”

  Becca leaned against the counter, her face serious.

  He glanced down at the beans and gravy splattered against the wall and on the beige linoleum floor.

  “Great.” He took the cleared plates to the sink and slid them into the water. After grabbing a sponge, he wet it and went to wipe up the mess by the trash can. When he’d finished, Becca was elbow-deep in soapy water.

  “Oh hey, I can do this.” He tried to nudge her aside and grab the dishrag from her hand. “I thought you had plans with Margo or something?”

  “Not till later.” Her grip on the cloth was firm. “It’ll go faster with the both of us. I’ll wash, you dry and put away.”

  “What do you want? Since I know you don’t have some deeply held love for dishes, I can only assume you want to borrow money. Or, let me guess, you need help with your history essay.”

  “I guess I hoped we could talk.”

  “About what?” Connor dropped the towel onto the counter and turned to face his sister. “Is something wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “That�
��s what I was going to ask you. You and Dad have been going at it a lot the last few months, and it’s totally tense around here. You’re usually so….” She paused, searching for the right words. “Positive, I guess it is. I mean, you’re not one of those super-chipper annoying people, but you’re not moody. Whenever you and Dad are in the same room, you suddenly act all resentful.”

  “I’m resentful?” The bubbling frustration in his gut boiled over. “He’s the resentful one.” Connor snatched up the discarded towel, grabbed a plate, and rubbed with so much force that he almost dropped it. “It’s like the moment college applications started arriving, he thinks I turned into some kind of dumbass delinquent who’s going to fuck everything up. Every day, I swear, he says the same thing, over and over again. Like I didn’t get the message loud and clear the first hundred times he gave it.” He shoved the plate into the cupboard, rattling the dishes.

  Becca set the last of the clean plates into the dish rack and started scrubbing the potato pot. “You know he just wants the best for us, and money’s tight, especially now that Mom’s only working part-time.”

  “You know I get that. It’s his method that needs work. I’m not going to jeopardize my future. I’m doing everything right. Why can’t he see that? I’m junior class president, student council treasurer, I have a four-point-oh GPA. I’m the starting catcher—and have been since freshman year—on the state champion baseball team. I work part-time at the garage for my own spending money, and I even babysit Abby and the twins whenever they ask. I never get into trouble and always do what’s expected of me. I’m a parent’s freaking fantasy child. The only one who doesn’t seem to know it is him.” Connor slammed the cutlery drawer shut behind the last of the spoons, taking grim pleasure in the discordant jangle.

  “Well, you’re definitely the Golden Boy, that’s for sure.”

  Connor barely heard Becca’s words, and the meaning didn’t register at all. It was as if the moment he opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop the spewing words until they were all out, every aggravated one of them. “Did you hear him? Once again he had to bring up all his plans and how his life was ruined when Mom got pregnant.”

  “You brought it up first.” Becca looked over her shoulder at him as she rinsed the sink. “Well, you did.”

  “Yeah, well, how many times have I heard the story? He regrets his lost opportunities. Boohoo.” Connor inhaled deeply and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He threw the towel in the now-empty sink and avoided her gaze.

  “Connor….”

  He kept his back to her. “You know what? I think you’re right. Maybe I am resentful. But let’s see how accepting you’d be if you were told over and over, day after day, that your birth was a mistake, that your father regrets you were born. Then we’d see how resentful you’d be.”

  Becca’s voice was soft. “You know that’s not what he—”

  Connor held his hand up, cutting her off. “Just leave it, Bec. Let it go.” Without looking back, he headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room.

  Chapter 3

  GRAHAM PARKER certainly wasn’t in St. Louis anymore. He sat in the parking lot of Fitz’s Auto Repair and Service waiting for the song on the satellite radio to finish. As the final note faded, he shut off the engine of the two-year-old BMW. Like the rest of the town, Fitz’s was unpretentious and a little bit grimy around the edges. It was the kind of place that made him think of hardworking blue-collar Americans, and of lazy dogs lounging behind chain-link fences, stuck smack dab in the middle of the Midwest. Green Valley was the kind of place where tofu and fusion cuisine were considered too “citified” for regular folk and meatloaf was on the menu weekly.

  A nice change from the trendy St. Louis neighborhood he’d grown up in. He’d gotten enough side-eyed looks since arriving that he was tempted to act a little outrageous. Really give them something to stare at. He’d decided, fun as it would be, to ignore his impulses. This place wasn’t ready for sequins and feather boas. Not that he owned any. No, it was better to focus on making a good impression on the athletics department. Despite the just-this-side-of-hick feel to the town, the high school had one of the highest-ranking soccer programs in the country, and college scouts were known to stop by matches pretty often.

  Graham lived for soccer.

  Besides, he wasn’t really the in-your-face kind. So if he was going to attract attention, he’d do it by being himself—the eyeliner-wearing new kid who kicked ass on the soccer field.

  He stepped out of his car and onto the damp asphalt in front of the small office attached to the garage. Bells tinkled as he walked through the door and into the cramped sitting area. The smell of oil, grease, and tire rubber interspersed with burned coffee assaulted his nose. The place might not be as sleek and modern as the shops they’d used in St. Louis, but they had to do good work. Philip Parker didn’t let just anyone touch his vehicles.

  “I’ll be right with you,” a deep voice called from somewhere in the back.

  “No hurry.” Graham looked at the board above the counter listing the services and prices offered at the shop. He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his tight jeans and rocked on his feet while he waited, trying to picture the face and body that matched the yummy voice.

  The guy who walked out of the back room put his imagination to shame. He was tall, broad, and blond. His muscles, revealed by the grease-smeared white tank, gleamed golden with a fine layer of sweat. Graham’s eyebrows winged up in recognition. It was the hot baseball player who had offered him a ride the day before. The worn jeans had seen better days—there were holes at the knees, and they were threadbare along the seams—but they hugged an incredible body. The blond wiped his hands on a towel that was more black than white as he approached the desk.

  The guy’s polite smile slipped when his hazel gaze landed on Graham. A quick flash of recognition flickered across his face before the professional mask returned. “What can I do for you?”

  Graham held up his key ring. “It’s due for regular maintenance. Oil change, tire rotation, you know, the whole list. My father called yesterday to say I’d be dropping it off this afternoon.”

  The blond nodded and tapped at the plastic-covered keyboard of the computer. “Parker, right?” At his nod, the guy printed what Graham assumed was the service order and stuffed it into a blue folder. Another piece of paper spewed out of the printer. This one he pushed at Graham. “I’ll need you to sign here. It should be ready for you by six.”

  “All right.” Graham handed over the keys. Before he could think better of it, he said, “You’re on the baseball team, right? I saw you at practice yesterday.”

  A wash of pink crept up the guy’s neck, and Graham figured he knew why. He hadn’t paid much attention to the baseball players who shared the weight room with the soccer team, but he couldn’t have missed the clanging weights and the coach’s shout.

  Lips quirking into a smile, the guy poked at the hint of a bruise that showed below his mouth. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m Connor, Connor Fitzpatrick.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Graham.” He looked at the sign on the wall that read “Fitz’s” and arched his brows. “Family business?”

  “Something like that. It’s my dad’s garage.” Connor held out a pen for Graham to sign the form.

  Graham reached for it, accidentally brushing his fingers against Connor’s. Connor jerked back, dropping the pen. They both reached for it at the same time. Their gazes met and held over the greasy Bic. Connor cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  Graham’s mind whirled as he signed the form. He knew better than to assume Connor’s reaction was attraction. He didn’t expect to meet another gay student in Green Valley. Despite the size of the high school, the place seemed a little too rural, too conservative for a queer population to flourish. He figured a Gay-Straight Alliance group on campus was too much to hope for, and after spending a few days around his new classmates, he suspected that any student still sitting in the close
t would keep it quiet until college. But maybe he’d lucked out. If ever there was a guy to match his personal fantasies, this was the one.

  Handing back the pen, Graham wanted to extend the conversation, and he wracked his brain for a topic. He had nothing. He opened his mouth, but before he could say something completely lame, a large man in blue overalls stepped into the office from the garage. He had to be Connor’s father; the resemblance was too close for anything else. He was a bull of a man, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a hint of a beer gut. His blond hair was buzzed close to the scalp. His face showed heavy wear, despite looking fairly young.

  “Connor, I need you to—” The man broke off when he saw Graham standing there. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Not a problem. We were finished up here anyway.” Graham tipped his head to Connor and turned toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He fought the urge to look back when Connor’s dad addressed his son again. “I need you to print the invoice for the old Chevy. Mr. Thompson will be in to pick it up later. After that, you’re on your way out, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m heading to Marc’s for a couple of hours to help him with physics, and then I’m taking Allyson out. We’re going to the movies and maybe something afterward.”

  The door closed behind Graham, cutting off the rest of the Fitzpatricks’ conversation.

  Girlfriend. “Shoulda figured, Parker,” he told himself. “You couldn’t be that lucky.”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started up a playlist. His new house was a couple of miles from Fitz’s, and the walk home would be a way to explore a little more of the town. He put in his earbuds and headed toward home.

  The shadows lining up with his told him that someone followed him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw two boys he vaguely recognized from school. Both wore dark green letterman jackets, the white GV on the breast weighed down with medals, and both were built like Hummers. The only real difference between the two was their hair; both had boring close-cropped hair, but one was a pale blond and the other was a mousy brown.