Page 51 of Obnoxious Bad Boy

He grins and puts his arm around my shoulders as we enter the interior filled with cases containing items from the region’s history. There’s even a plastic draft horse in the middle, attached to a very real carriage used by a local merchant over a hundred years ago. There’s more on the mezzanine above, but the special exhibition opening tomorrow is right ahead, in a semi-enclosed area beyond the staircase leading upstairs.

“I’ll see if I can open the case. You could touch the pens,” Vex proposes and taps his pocket, where he stuffed the little tool kit.

I have to hold back a squee. “Really? Just… don’t ruin the cases,” I say, because I have too much respect for museums to go around wrecking things. I get to my toes and kiss him again. “Can you smell it? The scent of old books.”

He stills and breathes in air before glancing my way. “I feel like it would impress you if I said yes, but my nose just isn’t very good,” he says, offering me an apologetic smile.

It’s borderline cute.

I lean over the case he’s working to get open and shine some light on it from my phone. “I got my first fountain pen from my granddad. He always got me books and supported my passion for writing and reading. Maybe that’s why I love all these old things so much.”

Vex directs his flashlight at the case containing the most precious items. “What was he like?” he ends up asking before lowering himself to one knee and taking out the case with tools.

I absentmindedly stroke his hair. “Very… stylish. He had this cane with a silver horse head, and wouldn’t be caught dead without a suit jacket, all the way until he passed three years ago. I inherited a few of his pieces and really love them. And he’d always be reading. Because he was so old-fashioned, I was afraid to tell him I was gay for a long time, but he ended up being the first person I told, and he just said that it was good for me. That I wouldn’t waste time chasing women and have more time for reading. I guess the concept of chasing after men went over his head.”

Vex looks back with a smile. “He sounds like a nice guy. Too bad your parents didn’t take after him,” he mutters, putting his lockpicks to work.

I stare at the pen beckoning me from behind the glass. “He wouldn’t like what I’m writing, but supporting someone in their art doesn’t have to be about loving what they create.”

The lock clicks, and heat rushes to my head when I realize I’ll get to touch a pen Mark Twain himself used when writing The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, among others. But Vex doesn’t yet lift the glass and rises to his feet, watching me. “I would love to read your story, but you never let me.”

My stomach clenches at this surprise attack. I squeeze his fingers, because when we’re alone, I can rarely keep my hands to myself. “It’s not ready,” I mumble, but it’s not the whole truth.

What was supposed to be a gay smutty academia thriller went off the rails and into sappy territory months ago. Porn might have been arousing to read together, or to tease him about, but the love story that evolved from the original concept feels too personal to share with the man whom I so desperately want but can’t call mine. Maybe it’s that longing for him, or my romantic nature, but the characters have evolved on their own, and I’ve had no say in it. I don’t want him reading into every word, or worse, laughing at what’s come straight from my miserable heart. Because he would have, pragmatic as he is.

Vex is quiet as he lifts the cover, exposing the priceless artifacts he’s brought me to see. “I want to know what your mind made up. I don’t care if it’s not perfect.”

I can’t even look at the pen I was so excited about when his perfect eyes study me so intensely. My heart beats ever faster. “Okay, I’ll polish it over Christmas and let you read it in the new year.”

The corners of his handsome mouth lift, but as he reaches for my hand, his eyes dim. “Are you going away for the holidays then? When?”

I entwine my fingers with his instead of reaching for the pen. “In two days. But I could stay. I stayed last year, taking care of Matt’s cat. I like Christmas, but my parents invite so many guests that it’s no fun. Once my grandpa passed, I didn’t feel like it had the same magic anymore.”

He rubs my hand with his thumb and leans close, so I sense the freshness of his cologne. “We could both go to Yasmin’s place and just relax.”

I beam at him, but my attention does stray to the pen so I finally lift it, half expecting an alarm to start blaring. But nothing happens. “Ooh! I’d love that. I’ll see if I can twist out of my parents’ grip. Can we take Inkblot to Yasmin’s as well?” But once I weigh the pen in my hand, reality blurs as I lose myself in the instant connection to the past. It’s so amazing. It feels substantial in my grip, and I can even sense scratches from frequent use.

The itch to steal it is unfamiliar. Why not? A voice is telling me, You already broke in here. But if everyone thought along those lines, I would have never seen works of art in museums, so I smell the pen, look at it one more time, and then put it back in place.

“No souvenirs?” Vex asks, and I shiver when he rolls his index finger through a lock of my hair.

I chuckle, already glancing to the next case. “You know I’m a good boy.”

“Oh, right. You can’t be a lawyer if you steal Mark Twain’s fountain pen,” Vex teases and steps behind me to rest his hands on my hips. “But just imagine how naughty it would be to sign documents with it at your firm?"

Does the fact that I’m tempted mean I’m a bad person? I bite my lip and look back at the pen, but the vision of myself sitting behind a desk in a stuffy suit doesn’t make me feel good about the future. “This pen deserves better than a mediocre lawyer.”

Vex rests his chin on my shoulder, and as we move to a case, containing beautifully calligraphed old letters, he holds up the flashlight, so I can see them. “Why would you be mediocre? That’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”

I sigh, running my finger over the glass.

I realize I’m leaving fingerprints and rub them off in panic.

“Because I have no passion for it. I don’t think I told you, but I have a large trust fund set up for me. Sadly though, it’s conditional, and one of those conditions is me finishing law school. I’m smart enough, I can study hard and do it, but I don’t want to be a lawyer. I know, I know, poor little rich boy.” I shake my head.

Vex kisses the side of my head as we move along, taking in the small exhibition. “Can’t you hack it? Finish law school and get the money but then do something else?”

“That would be another four years, but I also then have to actually join my dad’s law firm. It’s all got strings attached. But it’s not like I can make a living with writing and calligraphy. It’s a pipe dream.”