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Cayson
He didn’t even take the watch off when he showered. Quick told him to make it a part of his skin, and since he couldn’t take that off, he wouldn’t take off the watch, either. He was too wired to nap, so Cayson turned on the radio in his room to a classic rock station. He loved all kinds of music, but when he was in a really good mood, he wanted to hear some Tom Petty, Steve Miller, or someone equally good. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he could bob his head to the beat.
The music buoyed his mood tenfold, and he got more and more excited as six grew nearer. He was showered, shaved, and dressed in under an hour. He opted for dark blue jeans and a white and tan collared shirt. He left it untucked, throwing a camel corduroy blazer over it. Not knowing how much walking they’d do, he chose his comfortable, tan casual shoes. He hadn’t worn cologne in ages, but he still had a few dusty bottles in his bathroom drawer. Working in a hospital, it was courteous to the patients not to wear overpowering fragrances. He was so out of date. Checking the names of each one, he froze when he saw Stetson fading sadly on one of the bottles. Not that it was a bad fragrance; it was just so damn old. Cayson had the original one with the cowboy and horse on the label. Jesus. I bought that bottle in college. There was no way Cayson was putting any of that on. He’d probably have to treat himself for chemical burns if he did.
He yelled, “Ah-ha!” when he picked up the Kenneth Cole cologne giftset with aftershave that he’d got from the Pollyanna his nurse made him participate in last Christmas. Right now, he was so happy she did. He gave the cologne a sniff before he sprayed a fine mist around his collar. That was plenty. He walked around with a glass of Port in his hand while the Red Hot Chili Peppers screamed through his Dolby speakers about giving it away now. He startled slightly at the sound of his doorbell. It was only five forty. Quick was early. Thank goodness. Because, if Quick was even one minute late, Cayson would already be nervous about being stood up.
Cayson opened the door without even a who is it? Jerking to a pause when he saw Dr. Joe standing there, looking nervous and uncomfortable.
“Did you get my flowers?” Joe asked quietly, anxiously looking around, like someone was in Cayson’s hedges with a long-range mic and a TMZ camera. “Can I come in?” Joe finally asked after Cayson just stared at him through his storm door.
“I was just getting ready to leave, Joe. This isn’t a good time.”
Joe finally got a good look at Cayson, narrowing his eyes with realization. “Are you going out with him?” Joe said the word “him” like some would say the word “shit.” With pure disgust.
“That’s none of your business.” Cayson stepped out onto the porch and closed his door behind him. There was no way he was about to get caught in the house alone with Joe when his date would be there any minute.
“It is my business. You are going to get yourself in a world of trouble, Cayson. Traipsing around with those two thugs at the hospital this afternoon. Are you trying to lose your license?”
Cayson barked a sad laugh. “You keep using the word thug to describe my friends – one of whom is my patient – and I don’t appreciate it.” Quick had been sticking up for Cayson; maybe it was time Cayson did the same for him. “They are bounty hunters. Didn’t you see their uniforms?”
“That’s just a cover occupation for hoodlums who want to fight and hurt people legally.”
“My gosh. Joe, you do know bounty hunters put criminals back in jail when they try to evade going to court? I mean, that’s common knowledge. I would hardly say they’re hoodlums. I sleep better knowing there are occupations like that out there to keep people safe.”
Joe shook his head pityingly, as if Cayson were the most naïve person in the world. “You always have been too trusting, Cayson. But I’m not going to keep giving you chances,” he said harshly.
“I didn’t ask for a chance at anything, Joe.”
“I mean it, dangit!”
“Joe, settle down. I don’t understand any of this.” Cayson took a step back; needing distance between him and a man he thought was his friend. That was the only thing Cayson had ever been naïve about. Joe was turning that frightening shade of red again, and Cayson noticed his fists were balled up and shaking at his sides. Joe was being completely irrational, and Cayson hated to admit it, but he was nervous. He wasn’t afraid. He and Joe were rather equally matched in size and weight. Cayson actually had a few extra pounds of muscle, but he wasn’t a fighter. Violence only begat more violence. Wasn’t that taught in grade school now?
