Where Do I Start? by Chase Taylor Hackett

Author:Chase Taylor Hackett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

A Viking Raid

Fletch

And do you think there was a pushcart around selling hot chocolate? No.

This is New York, you’re supposed to be able to find anything, right? But we didn’t, not until we were in front of that big, ugly, way-upscale shopping mall thing on Columbus Circle, where there was a truck in front that sold Belgian waffles and “dinges,” whatever they are, and some seriously amazing hot chocolate. So we stood leaning against the marble façade next to a mannequin-filled window where we were out of the wind, and we watched the world go by. Okay, Roger was watching the world. You can guess who I was watching.

What a fantastic afternoon it had been. All this time with Roger, no fighting. Just being with him felt good. Maybe Roger was starting to think so too? And this Belgian cocoa was totally rocking my world. Roger even had a little bit of whipped cream on his nose—you tell me how this day could get any better.

I had also noticed that, under his coat, he was wearing my hoody. Way too big on him, it was over-the-top cute.

“Thanks for coming with me, Fletch. You must have been really bored.”

“Not for a second.”

“Really?”

“Really.” A glimpse into Roger’s world. I was fascinated. “I had fun, honest.”

“Especially the two-daddies part.”

“Yep, that was prit-tee special.”

“Jerk.”

The cream on his nose was finally too much for me.

“Hey, I was going to let you go around all day like that, but I can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve got something…”

“Where?”

He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin.

“Your nose, Dweeb.”

“My nose?!”

“Here, you want me—”

“No!” He pulled his head away from me, very Haggis-like.

“How’s that?” he asked, looking at me over those freckles, his cheeks flushed even more than usual from the cold.

“Perfection.”

It slipped out before I could stop myself. His eyes met mine for a second. He was surprised. I was totally surprised, too. My throat had closed up.

I looked at him, and I thought, Just say it. He was right there, so close. We were having a good time. Tell him!

I know you won’t believe me, I wanted to say, but I promise I won’t hurt you. I swear—I swear on your beautiful, plain brown violin—that I will never ever hurt you again.

We were standing a little too close, and the words were right there. Say something!

But while I hesitated, I was suddenly aware of a huge bulky shadow out of the corner of my eye. Somebody had stopped only a couple feet from us to stare. The sun was behind him, and I couldn’t really see. Some homophobe security guard here to protect the public welfare? Or just some perv watching two boys having a moment? I didn’t care.

“’Sup?” I said with the obligatory chin move, without really looking at the guy.

“Fletch?” the guy said.

I looked over—and up. Damn, he was big enough.

A huge Nordic type, a couple inches taller than me even, and lots beefier, pink face, some blond stubble that glinted a little. Wait, did I know him? A

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