Splinters (8 page)

Elsie nods, still staring. “You know what…” She waves her fingers at me. “You can appear very masculine like this. We could play on that, if you like.”

I swallow my tea so I can’t spit it at her when a laugh bursts out of me. “The time it would take for them to realize I’m utterly femme would be very fast indeed.”

She makes an
oh poo
sort of gesture. “It’s the same as what we did by amping up your femininity, just the opposite direction. We could send you to a gym for a while and really get you pumped up—” I wrinkle my nose, and she sighs. “Oh, all right, stop looking at me like that.”

“That’s just not
me
. I’d feel like a fake all over again.”

Elsie hums, no doubt remembering our first attempt to sell me as a crossover model. I was brilliant and secure playing up the feminine or teasing at it. It was disastrous trying to be more masculine because I kept hesitating to do anything while internally debating whether it was manly enough. I’d felt like I had back in high school when too much swish or sparkle had me slammed into a locker or shoved down stairs. I didn’t ever want to feel like I had to hide myself away to be what others expected or demanded.

“I won’t do that, Elsie.” I sip my spiced orange tea, a comforting warmth spreading through me. “I am who I am and that’s all there is to it.”

She smiles at me with no resistance to the idea. “Well, the sensation of your abduction will boost your exposure.” She sighs when I look at her again. “Allan, sweetie, stop glaring. Whether you like it or not at least some of the details about what’s happened will come out eventually. Just looking at you will tell everyone
something
happened.”

“It just seems wrong. Like a stunt. I don’t want to take advantage like I’m desperate for attention.”

Because I’m not. I want to work, enjoy what I do, and live well from it. There are, of course, requirements for models to keep working—like staying in the public eye—but I don’t want to merely get the sympathy vote. I’m still too young to retire.

“I understand that,” Elsie says. “And we could go into lockdown mode and deny and lie about everything that’s happened—I’d do that for you.” She leans forward, feet on the floor and nibbles forgotten. “But consider standing up and admitting that, yes, something did happen and it was horrible in every way.
But you’re not going to be a victim
. You’re going to continue the movie junket and book shoots, showing the world that it’s men like you who are the strongest ones of all.”

Put that way—where I’m not so much taking advantage of people’s sympathies as I am declaring my strength—I feel better. Femme men like myself catch hell all the time for being ourselves, even from within the gay community. Perhaps this was an opportunity to shine a light on our struggles and also our resilience. Then, on a more personal level, maybe being seen as strong and resilient will give me the freedom to attract the jobs I prefer instead of the ones I need just to keep my face in the public eye.

“Do you think we could concentrate on products and causes I believe in and let it be known I’m interested in more acting parts?”

Her eyes widen and she flutters her hand in front of her chest. “You’d give up modeling underwear? But, Allan—”

I laugh and it feels so good to do it. “No, I won’t stop showing off my assets for Henri’s never-ending creative ways of holstering a man’s pride and joy. I’m the only one who can make those things look elegant.”

Henri Dubois made a name for himself with brightly colored fabrics and an abundance of strategically placed elastic for briefs and jocks that can make any man look like he has an anaconda between his legs. Most of his models are the muscled sporty types, palming basketballs and bench-pressing small cars. Henri enjoys me as the foil to them. He launched my career by having the studs surround me while I looked like Marilyn with my skirt blown up, revealing the almost dainty jock I had on. It’s a beautiful shot that we’d also filmed as an online commercial. It still gets hundreds of hits a day, six years later.

I rub a hand over my peach-fuzzy hair. “Maybe this will make for an interesting contrast.”

Elsie gets up and smoothes her hands over my head. Her smile gets progressively dirtier, until we’re both giggling. But when she leans in and kisses my forehead, yet another switch flips inside me. I feel tears well up; she sees them, and instantly cuddles me.

“We’ll figure everything out,” she whispers against my temple. “They’ll catch whoever did this to you, and we’ll rise above and all that crap that’ll make you stop crying before I start, too.” Her voice is breathy by the end.

I reverse our grips on each other and hold her now. “I’m fine. It’s just been a bit of a roller coaster, and it’s really great having you here.”

She kisses my cheek. “
Now
can we talk about that divine cowboy?”

My face heats. “Duke Walters.”

“Yes, I caught his name and the fact his eyes are laser guided to you every time you’re in the same room together.” She gives me a squeeze. “Leave it to you to be rescued by such a stud.”

“One who adores my scandalous perfume ad.” If I had any hair, I’d twirl it around my finger. So soon and I’m gone on him. It’s ridiculous. It’s wonderful.

She sits up slowly, mouth open and hand covering her cleavage. “Oh, dear. You’re giving me palpitations.”

There’s nothing wrong with Elsie’s heart. Her palpitations are from her wicked mind tossing Duke and I into bed together and fulfilling her every voyeuristic fantasy of gay sex. Once she stopped detailing these imaginings to me a few years ago, it ceased being quite so creepy. Still odd, though.

Now she grins devilishly at me. “No wonder you’re staying here while you recuperate. If he was my nurse, I’d never get out of bed again.”

I snort at her and shove until she’s sitting up and giggling at me. “He’s being very gentlemanly, thank you. Moments of mild ravishment aside—”

“Ravishment,” she whispers and delicately melts against the back of the sofa.

I roll my eyes and continue. “He’s been gracious and protective, making me feel quite safe right here. I don’t want to bring scandal to his door, but… Well, I want to soak up what I can while I can.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She pats my arm. “Now I simply
must
stay here and see your romance play out. Excuse me.”

I only sigh and shake my head as she tiptoes in her stockings into the kitchen. “Mia, dearest,” I hear her say before she purrs, “Oh, hello, boys. Don’t you look marvelous.” Apparently, the hands are in for lunch.

Should I… Who am I kidding? I get up and hustle in to gawk, too. And to see if there’s an opportunity to flash my panties at Duke.

ia, apparently, has a thing for ranch hand Toby. Elsie seems oblivious to this, but she’s a natural born flirt and she likes to separate the gays from the availables as soon as possible. It’s obvious she’s determined both Toby and Ray are straight enough that they’re appreciative of womanly curves and plenty of cleavage. It’s also obvious—to me—that Mia would rather bean Elsie in the head with a chair than let her chat up Toby for one more second.

I intervene. “Elsie? Angel-cakes? How about we take a turn around the ol’ homestead, hmm?”

“A tour?” she asks with a bright smile.

“Exactly.”

“Marvelous. Let’s go.” She poses, looking over her shoulder with a hand on her hip. “I suppose you boys have to get back to work?”

They nod mutely while valiantly attempting to keep their wandering gazes on her face instead of the rounded tush she’s got pointed at them.

Elsie pouts for a second, and then waves a hand. “Oh, well. See you at dinner then, lovelies. You too, Mia, darling.”

Mia's going to crack teeth if she clenches her jaw any tighter.

I follow Elsie out into the main room again. “Would you like to change into something more suited to the outdoors?”

She pauses to glance down at her outfit. “Yes, you’re right.” She tiptoes to the stairs. “I added my things to your trunks back at the hotel just to make it easier to transport.”

“How did you manage to find room?” I’m not teasing. I don’t pack light. Obviously.

“Well, I wasn’t planning on a world tour like someone I know, so I only have a few essentials.”

Which I know means something different to her than to me. She is actually equipped to rough it. She’s been
camping
. On purpose. In a forest and everything. To me,
a few essentials
means a week without access to a full-length mirror or definitive evening-out plans—anything could happen, so I pack for everything. It’s entirely possible Elsie brought only things made of
cotton
.

I wait out on the front porch for Elsie and am leaning against the staircase railing when Toby and Ray leave by way of the kitchen door around the side of the house. I can hear their voices but not their words as they come around. Their boots kick up little puffs of dust as they walk across the expanse of dry earth between the house and the barn. Toby’s the one who sees me and then makes a sharp noise to shut Ray up.

I smile and wave. They do the same back.

Not the first time I’ve been the subject of whispering. Of course not. At least they don’t seem at all hostile or even mildly upset. The couple of glances back and quieter, resumed discussion look curious to me. Duke said he had their support, but it could be eye-opening for them to see such blatant gayness as I possess. Duke has probably passed for straight all his life without much effort. I can imagine Toby or Ray saying to the other something along the lines of
what could Duke possibly see in him?
Even some gay men can’t imagine why anyone would want some fey boy over a far more straight-passing man.

I’ve always had trouble articulating why I’m just as good a catch since I’m after the muscle bear alpha male, too. Is it hypocritical? I just don’t know.
Ah, well
.

Elsie comes out, politely stopping the screen door before it can slam. She’s changed into jeans, rainbow canvas tennis shoes, and a blue T-shirt with a yellow equal sign across her chest. My girl… Making a statement even when she’s roughing it.

She comes over to me. “You were brooding,” she says and uses her thumb to smooth out the lines between my eyes. “Stop that.”

“I was
thinking
. Brooding implies darker thoughts.”

She leans in—she’s six-foot, like me—and kisses my cheek. “Only think happy thoughts, then. Like ones that involve your brawny cowboy.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

I chuckle and link arms with her, leading the way down the stairs. “He
is
inspirational.”

“Completely.” She waves her other arm to indicate the rustic area. “I feel the need to book a shoot with someone selling cowboy paraphernalia.” She glances at me speculatively. “Or maybe just you straddling a saddle with—”

“Woman, if you say ‘with Duke wearing it,’ I’m leaving.”

Her giggle is naughty. I’m taken back to my “ride a cowboy” conversation with Duke.
Gawd
, what I’d give to ride that man. I want him sweet and gentle like out there by that tree, but I also want to see him watching me dance on his dick. I’ve had men appreciate me in many ways, but there is something new and exciting in Duke’s eyes. Like he sees more.

“You’re doing it again,” Elsie says.

I try to relax my expression. “Am not. You’re misinterpreting contemplation.”

She makes us stop walking to lean on the wooden fence rail of a small corral beside the barn. “Are you really all right, sweetheart? I mean really?” She squints at me. “I was teasing before. We can leave right now, if you want to.”

I shrug. “I
don’t
want to leave. I know it’s a little crazy, but I feel safe here. Content.” I sigh and rub at my eyes for a moment. I stare out at the boundless space all around us. “I know I should want to run far away from a place that saw me abducted and drugged and everything else, but leaving feels wrong.”

“Because of Duke?”

“Well, yes, but also… I’ve been rushing.” I nod, getting into the explanation. “I’ve been running around, doing the junket and every little appearance asked of me, and I think I might’ve been approaching burnout. It’s so
quiet
here. I feel like I’m somewhere better than normal.” I look over at her, not sure I’m making sense.