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“Do you have plans tonight?” I asked Morgan. “We can meet up later if you want.”
“I can’t. Unfortunately, I’ll be working late. We’ll talk soon, though.”
“See you later, Mr. Swift,” Rowan, one of the receptionists, said from behind the front desk. Morgan smiled and waved at them.
After Morgan left, Rowan said, “He’s so dreamy.”
I cocked a brow at them. “Also has a boyfriend and is too old for you.”
“Hey, a person can enjoy the view, can’t they?” Rowan said, making me chuckle.
“Yeah, I guess they can. Let me know if you need anything.”
The center was busy today, people walking around, talking, playing games, reading. We had a large collection of queer books, thanks mostly to donations.
A decent number of people spent quite a bit of their days here, especially teens and young adults. We had groups, therapy sessions, medical clinics, book clubs, games clubs, and anything else you could think of.
I headed straight for the library, and like I figured he would be, Gael was sitting in one of the chairs with a book. He was eighteen and would be graduating from high school in June. His dad hadn’t been supportive of Gael’s sexuality, but he’d been gone for years now. There wasn’t anything his mom wouldn’t do for him, but she worked like crazy, trying to make ends meet in an area where it was very hard to do that. Gael was smart as shit and had gotten into a private Santa Monica high school for the arts on scholarship, so he bused in every day from Los Angeles, where he and his mom lived. Their hope had been that it would be better for Gael here than at his old school, and while he wasn’t tortured and bullied like before, he had struggled to make friends. He liked to pretend he was a loner, but I could tell he’d have preferred things to be different.
We weren’t supposed to have favorites, but Gael was mine.
“How’s it going today?” I asked, taking a seat beside him.
“Good. Just reading.”
“What’s the book?”
“Giovanni’s Room,” Gael replied. I cocked a brow and got my first smile.
I wanted good things for Gael so much. He was such a special kid, and I wanted him to know that even though things weren’t always easy now, they would get better. People like Gael changed the world. “You don’t want to go play games with the other kids?”
“Wouldn’t I be in the game room playing games with them if that’s what I wanted?” Gael countered.
“Snarky little shit,” I teased but couldn’t help grinning. It was such a Gael response.
“Ask silly questions, and you’ll get sarcastic responses.”
“I guess. I just wanted to make sure. I saw Laken is here. She loves to read too. I think the two of you would get along well.”
Like a mini adult, Gael reached over and squeezed my hand. “I know you want to help. I appreciate you and all you do for us, but if you try to help me make friends one more time, I might murder you in your sleep.”
I barked out a laugh. “Fair enough. I’ll let you get back to your book.”
He smiled, and I got halfway to the door before he said, “Spencer?”
“Yeah?”
“I really do appreciate you.”
My heart swelled, feeling too big for my chest. “I appreciate you too.” Without another word, I went back to my office.
And yet instead of working, I found myself on Corbin’s Instagram page.
His latest photo was of him in a jock, bare ass facing the camera, and he was looking over his shoulder sexily. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t one of the hottest things I’d ever seen. Corbin had a great ass. No question about it. But that wasn’t what caught my gaze. Okay, well, it was, at least at first, but then I noticed the look in his blue eyes. The way they didn’t match his smile. It was like he tried to look happy, but those blue mirrors into his soul couldn’t hide the truth, seemed to say that maybe Corbin was tired. Maybe he was sad. Maybe he felt alone.
I shook my head at myself and closed the app. I needed to stop trying to look for things, stop trying to see more in Corbin than was likely there.
CHAPTER THREE
Corbin
“Hello and welcome to The Vers, where four friends who rarely agree on anything share their versatile opinions about everything. I’m Corbin Erickson, The Charmer,” I recited the opening to our weekly show.
“Marcus Alston, The Realist.”
“Parker Hansley-Weaver, The Romantic.”
“Declan Burns, The Loner.”
We recorded every Sunday at Marcus’s place. His house was where we did most of our gathering. I had more happy memories here than I did at my own place. We’d laughed here together. We’d supported each other here together. Marcus’s house was more my home than anywhere else ever had been because no matter how much they gave me shit, I was not only loved here, but completely accepted for who I was by the three people in this room with me, and now their partners too.
