Page 19 of Guitars and Cages

He grinned. “Thanks. I’m Conner, by the way.”

“What brings you to this shithole?” I asked, half out of curiosity and half because I fucking miss adult conversation.

“The ‘apartment for rent’ ad in the newspaper.”

“Were you wearing a blindfold when you checked the place out? The mice and the roaches have filed numerous complaints over the accommodations.”

He laughed; I scowled. I hadn’t said it to be funny. The only reason I lived there was ’cause it was the only type of place a loser like me could afford. For some reason, he didn’t strike me as that kind of fuckup.

“It was the only thing in my price range close enough to my new job,” he said with a shrug as he looked around the hall. “It could be worse.”

I barked out a short, hollow laugh. “Wait until you’ve been here on a Friday night, then say that.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah. I’d say more, but I don’t wanna spoil the surprise. The cops are in here just about every other week, especially in summer. Speaking of which, don’t leave any of your windows open if you ain’t home. You’ll come back to find the place gutted.”

He paled then—well, even more then he already was. It didn’t look like he spent much time in the sun. It made an awesome contrast, all that pale skin and the brightness of his eyes, and then there was his face, framed by long, dark hair, strands of which had escaped his ponytail and lay with a slight wave against his cheek. I kicked myself for checking him out, and then kicked myself again for fucking things up with Tina. I was gonna have to find another easy chick to fuck if this is what was gonna be livin’ across the hall from me.

“I, uhh, won’t, thanks. I take it you’ve lived here a while?”

I blinked, startled out of my thoughts and trying to figure out what he’d asked me. “About fifteen months. At least it’s a roof over my head; living out on the street sucks, especially in the winter. I’d like to avoid repeating the experience for as long as possible.”

I wanted to laugh at the horrified expression that crossed his face. That was likely too much information to have given a stranger, but what did I care? Besides, I liked watching his rugged face change with the shifting of emotions. I wondered how much time he spent in the gym to look the way he did, ’cause the T-shirt clinging to him like a second skin showed off how well he was cut.

“You lived on the streets with your kid?” he stammered.

“Ain’t my kid; he’s my nephew, and no, I didn’t. I haven’t had him here that long.”

“Oh...”

I chuckled then, somewhat enjoying his discomfort. Usually I was the one uncomfortable talking to people. “So, where do you work?”

He seemed relieved at my question and the change in subject.

“The photography studio over on Third. The owner’s son is going to be leaving on some kind of tour soon, so he needed help, and since I needed a change of scenery, I applied for the job.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. He scowled in response.

“What?”

“You’re working for Angus MacBain.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I know his son Sionn. His band just cut their first CD and now they’re gonna tour the country, lucky bastards. You should enjoy the job at least; Angus is a riot.”

I watched him relax then, and slouch against the doorframe. “Yeah, he seemed pretty cool to me. Better than the last idiot I worked for.”

I chuckled, ’cause I knew a thing or two about crappy bosses. “Pretty shitty, huh?”

“The worst.” He sighed. “Guy had his wife as the secretary, and she couldn’t ever manage to keep the appointment books straight. We pissed off more clients that way, and to top it off, the paychecks started to bounce.”

I grimaced. “That had to suck.”

“Big time. So, um, what’s your name, anyway? I feel like I’ve told you a ton about me and you haven’t even given me your name.”

“It’s Asher.”