Rentboy

as if she hadn’t
    threatened to tell Eddie everything. He texted back. Can’t. In class.
    “You’re not in class. You’re standing outside.”
    About twenty feet away Eddie looked at him, clearly angry and hurt. Heart sinking, Fox hurried
    toward him. He had known this was coming, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of hurting sweet,
    kind, gentle Eddie. Yet he had hurt him. “What are you doing here?”
    “What are you doing here is more to the point, Fox. You’re not in art school. You live in a box
    in a back alley in Soho plying your trade as a rentboy.”
    Unable to maintain eye contact, Fox dropped his chin to his chest. “Sorry.”
    “Are you really? Somehow I find that hard to believe. We need to talk.”
    “I can’t.”
    “I saw Nik last night. She told me you had dumped me, among other things. I’m not leaving until
    you tell me why you are such a bloody liar!” His voice escalated in volume with each word, drawing
    the attention of people milling about the reception area that doubled as an art gallery.
    “All right. Let me get my stuff.” It seemed that everyone in studio also heard the conversation,
    because they all looked at him, including the nude model, as Fox went to his easel. When they were
    finally out on the street, Fox sighed with relief. The whole school didn’t need to hear what an
    arsehole he was. “Shall we get a coffee?”
    “Perhaps a stiff drink. I certainly need one. There’s a pub down there.” Edward pointed.
    “Better go to the student union pub. They don’t like boys with guyliner in some of the pubs round
    here. Come on.”
    Even in the middle of the afternoon the student union pub bustled with noise as groups of art
    students gathered about the bar and tables. “Go and sit over there. I’ll go to the bar,” Eddie said in a
    tone that brooked no argument. Usually the leader in the relationship, Fox knew it was time to give
    Eddie the reins.
    “Right, you’re very masterful today.” He made his way between the crowded tables to a small
    table in the corner. It took Eddie several minutes to get served, leaving Fox to watch him as he stood
    at the bar, wondering how the hell he could explain his dysfunctional existence to someone who lived
    such a civilized life. He couldn’t lie again.
    Eddie paid for two bottles of Stella and began to weave his way through the tables to Fox. He
    wore his nerdy glasses and brown corduroy trousers with a plain navy blue polo shirt. Who wore
    navy and brown together? Eddie plunked the bottles on the table and sat down.
    Fox couldn’t stop looking at him. The way Eddie walked and talked gave him a hard-on. Eddie’s
    long-fingered, bony hand holding his Stella and his prominent Adam’s apple when he tipped back his
    head to drink all made Fox want to reach out and stroke his throat and hold Eddie’s hand to his lips
    and kiss it.
    “Eddie, I’m sorry.”
    “What are you sorry for? Tell me all about it.” Sarcasm was not Eddie’s specialty, but he had it
    mastered today. The sneer on his smoothly shaven face and the tone of his voice came together,
    showing his anger and confusion.
    “I lied to you.”
    Eyebrows raised, Eddie nodded emphatically. “You certainly did. You don’t live on the street,
    do you?”
    Shaking his head, Fox gripped his beer bottle, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “I live at home with my
    mum and dad and the twins.” No need to hide it anymore. Eddie would never go to his home anyway.
    They couldn’t see each other again.
    “Even the story about your mother having a boyfriend who hated gays was a lie? What’s wrong
    with you? Why would you lie about something so small and stupid? Did you want me to feel sorry for
    you or something?”
    When Fox spoke, it came out dismally quiet. “No. I was just playing around, and it got out of
    hand. I’m really sorry.”
    “I doubt it. You’d still be lying to me if Nik hadn’t seen you at the farm. Admit it. You would.”
    It was true, but not for the reasons Eddie thought. “Yeah, probably. I was going to finish with
    you when we got back to London; I just didn’t have the bottle to face you. Sorry.”
    “Stop saying you’re sorry. Liars are only sorry when they get caught. And I know you were going
    to finish with me. Nik told me. Why didn’t you say it and get it over with instead of leaving me
    waiting and wondering where you were for a week and then the other night? Utopia. What was that? I
    was actually worried about you, thinking