The asshole’s grin broadened. “Twelve.”
“Thirteen.” Hazard couldn’t stop himself.
“Two thousand.”
The silence rolled in like fog.
The gasoline fire had picked up in Hazard’s brain. He was seeing the world in red. So what that they didn’t have two thousand dollars. So what that they didn’t have two hundred dollars. None of it mattered right now except showing everybody in the room who Somers belonged to.
Hazard opened his mouth. He caught a glimpse of Somers out of the corner of his eye. Somers gave a tiny shake of his head.
Fuck it, Hazard thought. Fuck it. He’d put it on a credit card.
But before Hazard could put in his bid, Will shouted, “John-Henry Somerset is sold for two thousand dollars to this fine gentleman.”
And the auction was over.
VII
OCTOBER 20
SATURDAY
8:50PM
DON’T WORRY.”
“I’m not worried.”
“It’s one date.”
Hazard nodded.
Somers, who had put on his button-up and khakis again, was watching Hazard intently. They stood at the Pretty Pretty’s bar, Hazard with another Guinness, Somers with another club soda and lime. The crowd of well-wishers—whom Hazard suspected of just wanting to get close to Somers after his performance on stage—had finally dispersed, and they could talk privately.
“It’s not even really a date.”
“I hope not.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“Ok.”
“We’re just going to eat, and that’s it.”
“I know what dinner is, John.”
Somers was biting the inside of his cheek; Hazard could tell.
“I shouldn’t have done this,” Somers said.
“It’s for charity.”
“You’ve got this look in your eyes.”
“What look?”
“Uh.”
Hazard took a long pull of Guinness and said, “What look?”
“You know what? Never mind.”
“Now I’m curious.”
“Christ, I really shouldn’t have done this.”
“You won,” Hazard said. “I knew you’d win.”
“This was a huge mistake.”
“You won,” Hazard ticked items off on his fingers. “You raised a lot of money for that kid. You looked super hot. And I discovered a very interesting new use of duct tape.”
Somers grinned. Then his smile slipped as he looked past Hazard.
Over his shoulder, Hazard spotted the asshole working his way through the crowd toward them.
“Ready to go, hot stuff?” the asshole said. He was checking his bedhead again.
“You know,” Somers said, glancing at Hazard. “You go ahead. I’ll skip the limo ride tonight.” He offered a smile. “Save it for dinner.”
“You mean our date,” the asshole said.
“Well, it’s not really a date. I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“Trust me,” the asshole flashed veneers. “It’s going to be a date.”
A rumble built in Hazard’s throat.
“Now,” the asshole said. “Do I need to go tell Will that I won’t be writing him that check because you refuse to get in the limo with me?”
The rumble was building into a growl.
“Because,” the asshole said, “I’d hate for that poor tranny kid to be out on the street because you don’t want to live up to your end of the bargain.”
Somers glanced at Hazard. “Ree?”
Hazard bared his teeth in what he hoped looked like a smile. “Go ahead.”
Somers looked at the asshole. Looked at Hazard. “It’s just a ride home.”
“Sure,” Hazard said.
“I just don’t want that kid to lose the money we raised.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll meet you back there.”
“Perfect.”
Somers kissed him on the cheek and then slid off the stool. Hazard watched them go. His knuckles ached from grabbing the bar so tightly. When the two men reached the doors, the asshole gestured for Somers to go first. And then he slapped Somers on the ass.
Hazard got up so fast the stool fell over with a crash. He surged toward the exit. He was vaguely aware of a few people who got into his way; he bowled them over without slowing down. When he burst out into the crisp October night, the limo was still idling at the curb, and the asshole was sliding onto the back seat. Hazard glimpsed Somers in the limo’s shadowy interior. As the driver closed the door, the asshole’s hand fell on Somers’s knee.
Hazard marched toward the car. The driver was saying something—it might have been a question. Hazard couldn’t hear him over the gasoline fire inside his head. He went around to the other side of the car, yanked on the handle, and the door opened. He got into the limo, blinked as his eyes adjusted, and took in the scene.
Somers had slid all the way up to the glass partition. The asshole had pursued him and was now pressed against him, hand on Somers’s knee.
Hazard dropped onto the back seat.
“What the fuck?” the asshole said. “What the absolute fuck? Get the fuck out, asshole. I paid for this ride.”
And Hazard knew he didn’t mean the limo.
Somers sighed, settled back against the partition, and rolled his eyes.
“Hey,” the asshole said. “Fucktard.”
Hazard settled into the seat, getting comfortable.
“Hey,” the asshole shouted. “Retard. You fucking retard. Get out of the car.”
Hazard spread his legs. He leaned forward, one elbow on his knee, chin resting on the heel of his hand.
“Jesus Christ.” The asshole hammered on the partition. Then he hammered on a window. Then on the roof of the car. “Will somebody get this asshole out of here?”
Hazard cleared his throat. He made eye contact with the asshole.
“What the fuck—” Something got caught in the asshole’s throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Hazard extended his free hand and pointed at Somers. He was having trouble with words, but one came through clearly.
“Mine.”
For a moment longer, the asshole hammered on the glass. Then he met Hazard’s eyes again. With a squeak, he scooted along the leather upholstery. A moment later, he threw the door open and jumped out of the car.
Somers sighed again.
Hazard pointed at the seat next to him.
Somers rapped once on the partition, and it lowered an inch. Somers gave their address. The limo pulled away from the curb.
Hazard pointed to the seat next to him again.
“He’s going to throw a fit,” Somers said.
Hazard jabbed a finger at the seat insistently.
“He’s going to give Will hell.”
“Get over here, John.” Hazard could barely work the words out. “Right. Now.”
Somers was trying
