Page 32 of Scrap Metal & Love Reforged

“Is it a lot?” I asked.

“A few thousand. It’s a lot for me.”

Right. A lot for him. Pocket change for me. And it was awful that someone as talented as him wouldn’t already be famous. I knew more than most, though. The art world was just as exclusive as anything else. No matter how talented you were, it was often hard to break into. There is a reason that most artists starve.

I knew so many talented people. How many of them would’ve just been like Troy? Scraping ends together and hoping to win distant contests? But Brandon was wealthy, or had been. Even if his wealthy parents had cut him off, Brandon hadn’t exactly begun fromnothing. Even if he’d wound up crowdfunding his first film, Brandon had still paid actors, writers, and artists tostartthe project from his father’s money. He’d still bought cameras, make-up, costumes, and props from his father’s money. And it was only toward the end that Brandon had been thrown to the sharks.

And here I was with my acting that I just threw around as a hobby. Was it possible to have art envy? Because I definitely had it now. Troy deserved to have time for his art so much more than me.

“Someday, you’re really going to be something,” I said. “Mark my words, Troy. I’m never wrong about these things.”

He smirked and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I have to close the register,” he said.

“Sure.” I paused. “Can I come over and see your artwork? I’m sure it’s more stunning in person.”

Troy paused. A nervous laugh bubbled from his throat. “I—um—I’m having some work done…in the apartment. I’d rather you not come over right now. It’s a mess.”

I pulled myself onto the counter and scuffed my shoe against the front of the desk. “I don’t mind. It can’t be that bad. I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

After filming with Brandon in his train-wreck studio, nothing could faze me. As long as Troy’s apartment wasn’t crawling with rats, or whatever, it was fine. I wasn’t so sure the apartment was a mess either. MaybeTroydidn’t feel inclined to elaborate on his apartment, but I knew from our conversations online that his apartment was crap with a terrible maintenance department.

But maybe he doesn’t want me to come over because he thinks I’ll judge him.

I felt a spark of guilt. I was lying to him. I really had no right to expect him to think better of me…than me. And sure, maybe Troy was lying to me, too. He had valid reasons. Less selfish reasons, at least.

“Maybe when all the work is finished,” he said, “Assuming I don’t move by then, I’m looking for a new place.”

Hopefully, he’d find one soon.

“Maybe I can help you look.”

Before Troy spoke, I knew he’d refuse.

“I’ll think about it,” Troy replied, pointedly opening the register.

Shorthand fornot happening. I’d known Troy long enough to realize that if nothing else, but I nodded as if I believed him. I sat in silence while he counted out the bills in the register, his fingers going over the bills with an enviable speed.

$6,000 for the entire day. It seemed like such an absurdly small number for an auto shop to make. Troy put all the bills, save for about $500, in a plastic bag, and leaned over to complete the deposit slip.

I glanced out the glass window of the shop, watching as the cars streamed past. Only Troy’s Kawasaki Ninja and my Corvette sat outside.

“Done!” Troy declared, slamming the drawer closed. “We just have to run this to the bank. Don’t rob me, okay?”

I grinned and slipped from the counter. “I’ll try to resist the urge. Where to?”

“The bank first.”

I headed out, waiting as Troy locked the door. I rocked back on my heels, thinking of Troy and his magnificent artwork. I reallydidhope he’d win. He deserved to win. And that was probably the only way Troy would accept money, anyway. If he won it and then owned it.

“I’ll drive,” I said, cheerfully going over to the driver’s seat.

Troy shrugged and climbed in, looking at the interior as if he’d just stumbled into Narnia. He looked enchanted.

“To the bank, then,” I said.

I backed the car from the lot, glancing at Troy as he settled more comfortably into the passenger seat. As I drove, I tried to sort through everything, all my conflicting emotions. There was atinypart of me that just wanted to sweep Troy off his feet and take care of everything. I could be his wealthy boyfriend, cover his finances, and let him make art.

It was an unrealistic, childish dream; utterly stupid. But I’d known Troy—or online Troy—for so long, and I knew he deserved success so much more than I did.